As Sure as the Morning Sun

~ by JoAnn

Five-thirty brought an event that was as predictable as the morning sun.  Supper time was at 5:30 every night regardless.  The table was set, the food was homemade and hot, and we were all to be at the table.  Supper time did not flex around our sports schedules, homework, chores or any other thing.  Family time was as valuable a commodity as a winter jacket in a snowstorm.   Not even a power outage stopped family meal time. With ten of us around the table; Dad sat at the south end, Mom to his side; the rest in our regular spots.  Mom could whip up a meal like nobody’s business. She assigned age-appropriate chores for all of us to do so that when 5:25 hit; supper was being set on the table.  

Spring-time meals seemed especially pleasant.  Maybe it was because we could peer out the window past our big maple tree to see the barn, the blooming buds, and all the black dirt ready for planting.  There was something relaxing and stable about that time of day and the meal we shared together.  I don’t think we ever realized how picturesque it was.  We prayed our mealtime prayer and passed the food pots around the table as we always did.  Conversation was usually shared among the older siblings while the younger ones listened intently trying to get the jist of today’s topic and hoping to have a chance to put in their two cents.   The jokes behind the laughter were often over my head and the seriousness of other topics seemed too boring or intimidating to pay much heed.

There was a time when my older sibling’s tardiness threw the family routine into a minor tizzy.  They had joined the track team and had to succumb to its schedule.  The threats of being grounded for the rest of the school year, or even worse; missing one of Mom’s wonderful meals never materialized. From my regular spot at the table I watched the dust kick up behind the blue Dodge Cornet as the athletes rushed to join the family meal time.  

And there we sat, enjoying the fantastic spread, the farm setting and the simple pleasure of being together.  Truly, nothing changed meal time . . . except when the shrill call of my brother or father came.  That call changed everything. 

“Cow’s out!”  came the sudden screaming voice.

We all knew what that meant.  Like a fire alarm sounding; everyone knew we must stop what we were doing.  As the chairs were pulled back, some attempted to shove as much food in as possible before heading out.  With that verbal bugle call the troops set out in full force.  The men took off bravely in the direction of the rebel cow.  Toggling between a brave female warrior and a fear-struck youngster, I looked to my older siblings for cues as to what to do next.  My mom reached for the broom and stood half way between the barn and the house, as if to keep them from finishing our dinner.  My younger sister tucked in safely behind her.  Those who were closest to me in age headed in the direction of the barn.

 “I sure hope I don’t end up in the barnyard, standing in the manure again.”  My older sister could be heard saying.   I knew what that was like, though not from chasing these silly old cows!  (See story entitled “Oh Brother!) 

Many times the cows headed out into the fields beyond the barn in the direction of the little woods.  What they were seeking was anybody’s guess.  Depending on the time of year, we faced different obstacles as we raced to come up behind these boys.  Autumn fields had a thick layer of corn stalks intruding our path.  Winter snow was deep and crusted with ice.  As we ran the thin ice gave way and we slipped through.  It didn’t seem to slow the cows down nearly as it did us.  Summer chasing events meant tearing up our ankles and feet from the stubble of fresh cut wheat.  But it was springtime fields that were the most challenging to face.  They were wet and sloppy.  The soil gave way as our ankles turned under the deep crevasses of freshly plowed fields.  No matter the season, we had to press on; there was no other choice.  The goal was not only to catch up with the cow, but to come in behind him to woo him back to the barn, eventually back to their pasture or stall.  This task became a very athletic endeavor. It was a race of endurance and speed, and perhaps our peers were right to say our cow-chasing was the secret to our families’ success in track & field.   It was the boys who always seemed to come out the heroes as they raced fearlessly across the road, out into the fields, and around to their back side.  They wasted no time; they knew the area well, and knew where each of these cattle tended to wander.  Once the boys were behind them, the more docile cattle meandered back toward home as if we were making too big a deal about their escape.  The more aggressive ones put up a bigger fight; jerking their heads, snorting and threatening to break through the human barriers we had set up.  Eventually, all gave in.  As the cows got closer to the barn it was the girls turn to do their part.  We stood between the cows, the barn and the wide open spaces, verbally shooing them back to the barn, desperately hoping they believed we meant business and would head home rather than charge at us.  None of dared to say what tremendous fear we really felt inside.  If the cow would sense our fear, he would surely take off in a new direction.   If we did our part correctly; small as it was, the cow gave up his fight, and was soon back out-to-pasture.  It was then that Mom’s broom stick was put down, and my younger sister’s jubilant mood returned.  It was then that most of us headed back toward the house, while Dad and one of the older boys would sure-up the fence where the cow had gotten out.   

Sitting back at the table to finish our now-cold supper we reminisced about the events of the evening.  While again listening to the stories about the news of the day and the interval workout around the track, there was an additional topic to which we ALL could relate.  That stubborn cow brought a sense of gratifying oneness.  Young and old alike had taken on the task of bringing that stubborn boy back home.  As vastly different as we were; in age and personality, the lingering moments slowly passed, like a winter jacket in a snowstorm we valued the time spent together. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SMoXhepcU18