As I sat here at my computer and watched our “Calf Cam” over the internet, I marveled.

Oh, not at the technology, although its seemingly “magical” powers are astounding… but at the man on the screen.
I tweeted about him… step by step… as he loaded a heifer in the chute… struggled with a slimy chain and slimy calf leg… grimacing in his way as he worked the links over the hooves to gain a firm forceps-like grip on the baby calf.  
I watched as he worked with the young cow, matching her steps and leans  and contractions while being firm and determined but not overwhelming or demanding.
She was turned out into the larger pen and he pulled the chains downwards aiding in the birth.  With minimal fuss, a calf was soon brought into the world, shaking its head, clearing mucus from its nose.  Another Angus calf was on the ground… adding to our running total of 90 in the past 6 days!
The technology that allowed me to witness this from 4 miles away is amazing.
The miracle of birth can always bring hope and smiles.
The development of the man before me brings me to tears.
He is my Oldest Son… the one who was overdue by a month and whose nice round head and all 8 pounds 10 ounces of him were both Very Memorable.  
He is the one who refused to eat the first four days of his life, then, suddenly, ate every 4 hours from then on out!  
He was built “sturdy”… “like a salt block”… and dunked both his 5 year old self and his swimming teacher when he was told to jump into her arms in the pool.  
He was his little brother’s interpreter… his big sister’s student.  
He was the one who begged to go riding on his first gather at age 5, and was told not to whine.  The day turned into one of those Days From Hell and he did not whine until we rode up to the barn and he simply said in his little boy’s voice, “I think my legs are bleeding.”  
He was the one who found his Magical Pony about age 9, “Floating Feather”, a buckskin paint.  Together they had one speed.  ZOOM.  
He was the one with the infectious laugh, the one who lived for football and his Firebird.  
The one that went to college because I told him to, but has returned to the ranch, because this is where he belongs.
He was all of these things, but he is becoming more… and I see that in his actions everyday.  
He is no longer my little boy, but a man who, God Willing, will eventually run this ranch as its fourth generation.
And I marvel at those little chubby hands that I once held, soft and tender, as they now bring new life to the world.
Note:  For a look at my Marvel, this is the post for the following day… “Wordless Wednesday – Marvel Photos”
March 22, 2010   A Growing Collection
March 22, 2009   Two Days and Counting
March 22, 2008   No entry.

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