Snowflake

May 20, 2021

If there is one word that best summed up the life of my mom, Lois Hainsworth, it was that she was a nurturer. Anyone who was in need could count on her benevolence and attention. Babies, children, and the elderly were all the recipients of her tender care. And those babies weren’t always of the human variety.

The arrival of twin calves can be both a blessing and a curse. A blessing in that for the price of one cow, two calves are produced and if all goes well, the return on investment is increased. However, not all twin deliveries are greeted with optimism.  There are often complications and one (or both) of the calves doesn’t survive the birthing process. Occasionally the cow doesn’t give enough milk to satisfy the needs of both calves and one (or both) must be supplemented with milk replacer or milk from another cow. And sometimes, for some strange reason, the mama cow doesn’t accept one of her calves as her own legitimate offspring.  It was this situation that presented itself sometime in the spring in the early seventies.

Cows in Alberta, as I suppose cows everywhere, are not blessed with an overly good sense of timing. Calves are just as likely to be born in the middle of the night as they are on a sunny afternoon. Weather doesn’t seem to be a factor either, for a cow might just as soon calve in the middle of a blizzard as anytime else.  It was probably March or maybe April when a typical spring blizzard blew in. One of the cows in the herd chose this as a good opportunity to give birth to twins. It soon became obvious that one of the calves wasn’t going to be accepted by the mother cow. After being brought into the back porch to be warmed up and dried off, it was moved to a warm stall in the barn. It was apparent that this calf was going to require some extra T.L.C.

Dad recruited Mom to take over the task of caring for the little twin. And with typical maternal perseverance, that is exactly what she did, bottle feeding and tending to its needs. And it wasn’t long before the affection was returned as the calf came to realize that it had found an adopted mother. We should have seen it coming, when mom gave the calf the name, “Snowflake”, in a nod toward its arduous entry into the world. There is a fine line between a domestic animal and a pet. Receiving a name definitely suggests the latter.

Snowflake, in spite of her harsh entrance into the world,  grew and thrived. Growing quickly she pastured near the house in the barnyard all summer and after a few months was able to join the main herd. It was amusing to see that when mom went out to check the cows, Snowflake would come running to nuzzle her and have her head lovingly scratched. The two had a close relationship and even as the calf reached maturity, the bond was still present.

I always knew that mom was loving and tender hearted, especially towards the young and defenseless. And I also knew that she could be practical and  unsentimental as she navigated the realities of life on the farm. But I guess that I was presented with just how pragmatic she was when we sat down to supper one evening a year or so after the Snowflake tale began. I commented on the nice tender steak that we were enjoying. I was brought up short when she replied, “Oh yes, it’s Snowflake you're eating. She cooks up wonderfully, don’t you think?”