Lessons from Bessie

“I would like to get a cow,” said my otherwise rational husband. He, having dabbled extensively in gardening and chicken raising, was ready for a new adventure. My response was immediate and uncompromising: No. I don’t want the mess, the work, the large animal, the commitment. I don’t want to haul in water and feed. I don’t want to deal with gallons of milk that I really don’t want to drink. I don’t want that much ice cream. No.

But I love my husband. His memories (apparently formative) of getting raw milk from a farmer as a child, sang the siren song of dairying. Also, my husband is kind but persistent. After years of resisting, I gave my list of conditions—and relented.

So we became the owners of a two-year-old Holstein-Dexter cross with a mind of her own. In the last year-and-a-half that we have owned “Bessie,” we have learned many lessons together.

Obedience: Bessie had never been restrained as a calf and couldn’t be led. We had a lovely pasture for her, but we couldn’t get her to it because she balked at the rope. We knew she would be happy to get out of her pen and into the grassy field, but she refused to take direction. Instead, she ran from us with abandon and easily snapped the line out of my husband’s hand. She broke down the fences and had to be coaxed from the woods with buckets of grain. When we finally tied her to the tractor to lead her to her pasture, she nearly broke her neck in an escape attempt. With much effort, we finally got her to her field. As we repeated this pattern, she started to get the idea.

As I watched Bessie’s resistance to potential joy, I wondered, do I act like my ornery cow, balking against the very things that will make me happy? Moses, in Deuteronomy 30:19-20, promises the Israelites “life, …length of days,” and the opportunity to “dwell in the land which the Lord sware unto thy fathers,” if only they will choose Him. God has “green pastures” in store for me, too if I will humbly follow and obey His word (Psalms 23).

Patience: Through all this, my husband continued in patience. He didn’t scold or yell but continued to speak to her kindly. Anything she did right, he praised. She was his “good cow.” While she continued to run from me, in time, he became able to approach her, even calm her during distress.

Patience, particularly accompanied by kindness, is powerful. It breaks down resistance in both man and beast and brings peace. Paul teaches the Romans to have “patient continuance in well-doing” (Romans 2:7). He counsels the Corinthians to be effective ministers of God through “much patience, in afflictions, in necessities, in distress….by love unfeigned” (2 Cor. 6:4-6). I would do well do develop more patience.

Hope: My husband’s vision of fresh milk from our own cow led us both to new experiences. Dealing with a large animal (which I found surprisingly satisfying), and learning all we could about dairying seemed almost magical—the idea that with some good pasture and grain, Bessie would give an abundance of raw milk and cream. Even I got excited about new cooking adventures and healthy possibilities. One of the sweetest adventures was the birth of our calf, “Daisy,” born on a cold December morning. My husband’s hopes were on the verge of being fulfilled.

What is my vision for the future? Do I want a happy family? Good health? A strong relationship with God? If my hopes for the future lead me to act on my mental picture, the likelihood that my hopes will be realized is high. Paul taught the Romans, “But if we hope for that we see not, then do we with patience wait for it” (Romans 8:25). As I strengthen my faith in God, my vision of how to become more like him becomes clearer, my actions more purposeful. My hopes help me become.

Habits: Cows, like people, are creatures of habit. If we could get Bessie to do something three times, we knew she had a good start on a habit. The first time we got her in her milking stall, she resisted, gyrating her 900-pound bulk to escape. Food and calming words were required to help her relax. Less coaxing and food were needed the second time. Now she walks right in, ready to eat and be milked.

When we started giving Daisy a morning nursing ourselves, Bessie bellowed her objections. But by the third time, both calf and mama understood and cooperated. Complex patterns of behavior became simple and routine.

What kinds of complex patterns of behavior would I like to make into a habit?

Commitment: As my husband considered the abundance of owning a milk cow, he asked a local dairyman, “Why don’t more people own a family cow?” Bovine care is relatively simple and inexpensive, and the rewards are many. His answer, “Most people don’t want the commitment.” It is true; a milking cow takes consistency. We must milk every twelve hours. Every twelve hours. Even on Christmas, even when the new Star Wars movie comes out or when we don’t feel so hot.

But the rewards are many: enjoying the company of a beautiful large animal (something I discounted when my husband first proposed this idea), a new calf, the milking itself, and enjoying the richness and freshness of her milk and cream. This pattern of commitment is lived the world over, and it feels good.

Commitment is what mature people do. We are happiest when we are committed to each other. God promises eternal happiness when we commit ourselves to Him. Even (especially!) on Christmas or when new movies open or when we are ill. Binding ourselves to serving God and each other is a pattern for joy.

Thank you, Bessie, for teaching me.

Kristin Fry is a mother, grandmother, teacher, and novice cheese-maker in Palmer. She loves starry mornings, gatherings with friends and family, and singing with children. She is a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.