October 17, 2021
It has been almost two years since I last lived on the farm, Moose was my friend, a large brown Swiss cow of great beauty, she taught me so many things about love, about nursing a baby and being connected to the land, and the seasons and the power of presence and communicating without out words.
Today is a very special day… October 16, 2023 of gratitude, anticipatory grief and loss but also a celebration of how we heal and how we are so intimately tied to one another. Every cell, every rock, every plant, every animal every spirt as a life force. I am amazed at the charm and cycles of seasons beckons us to take another look not so much with nostalgia, but with wonder and fresh eyes that we can see things differently at different vantage points over time. The synchronicity of the calendar and what goes on this day, and the days to follow as well as revisiting what occurred in some other time and place on the same day allows us such wonder and awe; if we choose to pause for a moment of reflection and grace.
I was not breastfed, not nursed by my mother. I was intensely loved and connected to my mother and other people and spirits on the planet so that my ability to attach grew and blossomed and thrived. My ability to love and to be loved was nurtured by those who were present and did what they could. Reserving judgment holding the light, just presence.
It is quite a story of irony in that my first attachment to a particular mother’s milk: a first food; golden colostrum was from a cow named Moose. She gave it to me as a gift of sisterhood and understanding of generations of sharing, standing in the gap as if she knew what I might need to heal me: mind, body, and soul. Sometimes we want something that someone else can easily provide. No words are necessary, but indeed there is meaning and after that experience the receipt of a gift or time spent, you are changed.
Every injury, every recollection, every transition, every loss, every separation voluntary or not every leave taking is an invitation for healing. Somehow opening that doorway for remembering. We acknowledge the land, the space, but do we also acknowledge what took place there and cycles…
On October 16, 2018 I was having surgery. My gut was not working, I had an obstruction and my sacred tribe encircled me with love, standing in the gap for connection and love and nourishment and holding on. Commitment, covenant, just holding the high watch of healing possibility and light in the face of the unknown, the unexpected; just waiting and standing by. Not so much what you say or do, but who you are, just being your best self. Probably the less said the better and there are things that words cannot convey. My sister tribe. They sang they danced they waited, they did everything but worry.
There is a language, how a space and how someone makes you feel that energizes and inspires you. Looking back, you can see what worked but indeed you can’t explain why or what indeed may have motivated you intuitively that it had such a profound effect on you and everyone around you. Moose was my mother; my first encounter with the mystery of mother’s first milk. Sacred cow. Sisters on a journey!
For some reason, Moose felt she owed us and she paid me back in spades.
One day very shortly after giving birth to a new calf. It has been the practice to quickly separate mother and baby. The first milk, the golden colostrum with all the rich antibodies is crucial to life sustaining bonding, attachment. Tears and moans of udders full and taught are no match for milking machines, powders and seeing your baby across the pasture just out of reach and range to suck. As if instructed by Moose, Vernessa collected the first milk washing her udders, sterilizing the jars, and hand pumping directly into sterile jars assuring her it would get directly to her baby and assuring her that she understood the precious power of connection. So much milk was Moose asked that it be given to me a secret pact was made to share the remainder. Raw, unpasteurized un homogenized the thick custard made coffee cream, fresh cheese, fermented yoghurt without a drop wasted. Generations would be introduced to what it may have been like for me and her to try something old and new… How could she know her milk would heal me…
MOOSE’s Milk Day ONE Colostrum
Today is the day, this October 16th
Moose will be “put down”- euthanized, heart failure they say, tumors blocking her last breath well timed, it is no accident that she would want me to know a season ended our lives and connection complete but never ending and we pay it forward.
Five or six years is a long time for a prized brown Swiss Dairy cow. We enjoyed our time together in the garden.
Our conversations about daughters and grandchildren and weaning and tears shed over separation and loss and the curious JOY of staying together each day with the rhythm of the seasons. Watching our daughters and sisters grow and caring for each other, nursing each other’s babies… saying goodbye…
What joy it is to be seen and known!
Cows jumping over the moon and chasing away chickens and critters and llamas and not liking turnip greens no matter what but liking beet greens and sharing her first milk with me. Knowing it warm and from the teat sent to me would heal all wounds.
Moose got a message to me of gratitude, parting at the fork in the road. She was urging me to move forward and do and be what only I could do and be when there was no one else. Just do your part. Separating mothers and babies, be it fences, heart ache controlling what we can…
the details escape me but the wound and the space is also the place where the light can come in. We met there once, and now it was time. Moose taught me so many things
I shall miss her…
Knowing your tribe…
Moose with her daughter and granddaughter
Weaning when you get good and ready… handling separations and loss and gathering those who would be willing to walk with you…
It’s never ever too late to heal old wounds.
Love knows no distance. circling back.
Gathering and Healing Our Tribe
Moose October 15, 2023. The day before the last day
Breastfeeding 365 