Lately, I find myself at a loss for words.  I stumbled through my answer the first few times I was asked but even now, I’m not quite sure how to answer the question.

When asked about my son, I’ve always been able to answer so very proudly, “He is in fourth grade, he’s playing the trumpet in band.  He still loves reading!” or, “He’s in middle school.  He’s actually taking high school level classes!” or “He’s a junior at Central. He also attends the math and science high school as well” or even, “He’s a senior at State, majoring in Computer Science Engineering.  He already has a great job lined up for after graduation!” Every time, I was able to speak to the amazing potential in this boy.  Even when he was struggling through Calculus in high school, he was still taking classes at a more difficult level.  Now, when asked about my amazing boy, any answer I respond with seems less than accurate, diminishing almost.  “He is living and working near Lansing” or “He is working for a software company near State.” Nothing that I come up with conveys the same potential, the same accomplishment, the same level of work he is putting into life. 

I expect this is true of most parents and this stage of life with their grown children, but I’m at a loss for an answer.  While I understand that having a job upon graduation is still a blessing that most will recognize, my pride in his accomplishments is far greater than just that he is employed.  The fact of the matter is, I want to brag on his behalf, I want to express how wonderful it is for his hard work, especially in college, to pay off handsomely at this point in his young adult life!  To make matters worse, I expect this is the same answer I will be giving for a number of years now.  So soon, the accomplishment of a job upon graduation will wear off and at best he will come off as a twenty-something living and working in his field.  Yip.Dee. 

When I think about my own life, and what my dad must say when people ask about his kids, “Oh, Amy?  She’s still teaching.  She and her husband have a small hobby farm. They are doing well.”  Yip.Dee. indeed.

Perhaps it’s because when asked, the expected answer is based in accomplishments.  As we age, those “accomplishments” often include having a career that pays the bills and raising a family.  But in truth, people doing both of those things could be vastly different in terms of happiness.  Isn’t it happiness that we really want to use as a measure of “success”? 

So how awkward will it be when someone asks about Jacob and I go on and on, gushing about how happy he is?  Won’t people assume I’m hiding something?  Or that his accomplishments don’t add up to squat, so I’m rambling on about how grounded, and level-headed and responsible he is instead?  Probably.  Or there might still be the follow-up questions that imply I avoided the question, “Yes, but what is he doing?” or “How is his job going?” Not that those aren’t valid questions, but again, I think his success is measured by far more than the programming he does for a software company.  At least it does in my book.

So, if you want to know how Jacob is doing nowadays, just ask.  You’ll likely get an earful as I boast about what an amazing man he has turned into.  But if you want to know about his job, well, you might just have to ask him yourself.

Why I’m grateful a large branch fell on our roof at 8:00 pm on Friday night:

1.  It didn’t fall on our roof at 3am on Friday morning.  Dealing with this in the middle of the night would have been tremendously worse.  Obviously darkness would have made things much more difficult, but it was also raining later that evening and there’s always my biggest concern:  bats.

2.  It didn’t happen at 9am Friday morning, either.  We were home at 8pm.  Any other time and we might have been at work, or out for the evening and come home to this mess, or even gone for the weekend, but we were home when it happened.

3.  We had the whole weekend to deal with it.  We didn’t have the added stress of going to work and trying to make phone calls and arrangements with the insurance company.

4.  It wasn’t raining yet.  The sun was still shining while the holes got covered and tarped.

5. We didn’t have a houseful of company this weekend.  We did not that long ago and we will soon, but this weekend it was just us.

6.  Rob and Julie were home.  Not only was an extra set of hands helpful, but someone not emotionally affected by several holes in the roof was also a plus.  The best part?  I didn’t have to go on the roof!

7. We now know what it’s like.  Maybe that sounds irrelevant, but when you live in the woods and your home is surrounded by trees, this is bound to happen.  We thought it would have happened with the dead ash we had taken down last month, but in any case, we now know that while the event itself is rather frightening, we have awesome insurance (with extra coverage for trees!) and a great agent who made the whole process simple and relatively painless. 

The one thing I am NOT grateful for:

Why couldn’t it have damaged the deck that so badly needs replacing!??!

Last spring we had high hopes that Samson and Delilah would, well, to put it the Dixie Chicks way, “do a little mattress dancing”.  By fall, we called the vet thinking she must surely be pregnant as we hadn’t seen any signs of her being in heat all summer.  The vet, however, delivered the bad news.  No calf was on its way.  He did assure us that Delilah was in great health and he found no reason for concern.  He gave her a vitamin shot, told us to “keep doing what you’re doing” and that was that. 

This week we had the vet back out.  We still had no signs of her being in heat and we knew there was a shot he could give that would help jump start the process.  Anticipating a fall birth, we thought this was a great time to try to get that ball rolling.

Samson wasn’t too thrilled about being moved to the other pasture ahead of the vet’s arrival. Sure, an extra bowl of grain is always welcome but then he seemed anxious to be back with Delilah.  For her part, Delilah really didn’t seem to care about being in the pen as long as there was grain to be had.  The Mister has to adjust his system every time the vet comes as her horns get longer and make the confining mechanism a little more complicated.  He always gets it worked out, however, and Delilah was all set and ready for the vet.  And boy, do they know the vet.  The moment he pulls up, she stands stock still.  She watches him like the proverbial hawk.  After the last visit, however, I learned that she hates shots far worse than the “check-up” even when the “check-up” puts the vet shoulder deep in her, well, you get the idea. 

In any case, the vet wanted to check her out before giving her the shot and we welcomed the chance to ensure nothing was wrong again.  James was just re-entering the pasture from checking on Samson when the vet calmly declared, “she’s pregnant”.  WHAT?!?!?  I turned and looked at James to make sure he heard it, too.  “I’d say five or six months along,” the vet confirmed.  Apparently when he reached in, he was able to put his hand right on the calf’s head.

At this point, I might have screamed.  I might have shouted at an unreasonably excited level.  I might have jumped up and down and repeatedly said, “Good girl, Delilah!!  Way to go!!”  A calf?!?  Due in May?!?  Could this be more perfect?!?  The vet, who resembles Barney Fife, walked back to his truck as though a crazy woman jumping around a pasture was an every day experience for him.  We threw about a hundred questions at him rapid-fire, “What do we do now?” (Nothing.) “Do we need to separate Samson when the time gets close?” (Not unless he seems to be a problem with the calf.) “How will we know when it’s time?” (It will be udderly obvious.  Okay, the vet didn’t say that exactly, but it’s my version of the story.) 

We wrote the vet a check.  Somehow $33.50 just doesn’t seem nearly enough in my book for being shoulder-deep in a cow’s arse, but it’s his business, I’m not going to tell him how to run it. 

I then continued to run around, jumping up and down shouting to Samson, “You did it!!  Good job, Samson!!” and to Delilah, “I’m so proud of you, girl!!  Way to go!!  A BABY!!”  Even The Mister thought I was a little over the top.  We released Samson back into the regular pasture with Delilah and he went a running and bucking to see her.  Maybe he was excited about the news as well, maybe it was just that she had another bit of grain from The Mister and he wanted some of that golden goodness, but either way he seemed glad to be together again.  For me, I may have continued saying, “A calf!!  Can you believe it?!” well into the evening, giggling all the while.

Somehow the calf to me just represents pure joy.  We love Samson and Delilah to smithereens, but this calf came about on our farm, and will be ours from Day One.  There are few things in this world cuter than a highland calf and we’re going to have one within just a few months.  Running around like a crazy woman and shouting was the least I could do with all the excitement I felt.

When we were originally talking with farmers about getting highlands of our own, several people reminded us of the importance of having more than one.  “One is lonely. Two is a pair.  Three makes a herd,” several people told us.  Samson and Delilah are creating their own little herd.  Out in our beautiful pasture.  I could not be more thrilled, nor feel more blessed.  These magnificent beasts bring us such joy it is beyond measure (and well worth the cost of hay). 

Way to go, Samson and Delilah!  This is bound to be such an amazing experience for all of us.