
Wendell Berry reflects on the demanding, watchful season of animal births, when he and his family repeatedly check the barn through the night for signs of labor. Though the work brings fatigue and anxiety, it also brings curiosity and an enduring eagerness to witness new life. He rejects the view that care for animals or children is merely drudgery, arguing that people necessarily belong to and are used up by commitments; for him, belonging to his wife, children, and livestock is a meaningful way to live as a farmer. When a first-time heifer struggles in labor in a field, Berry, his wife, and his son bring her into the barn. They find that only one of the calf’s feet has emerged. Berry washes his arm, reaches into the birth canal, locates the calf’s second foot and nose, and, with his son holding strings looped around the legs, helps pull as the heifer pushes. The calf is delivered, and they clear its nose and help it breathe. The heifer, despite having no previous experience of calving, immediately recognizes and tends to her newborn. She licks the calf’s face and makes low, comforting sounds. Berry is struck by the mystery of such maternal knowledge. Terms such as instinct and evolution explain survival in part, but they do not satisfy his wonder at the origin of the animal’s intricate, passionate care. He feels honored by his association with the supposedly “dumb brute,” whose mothering seems connected to an intelligence beyond human instruction. As the calf struggles to stand, Berry helps guide it to the heifer so that it can nurse. The mother permits his assistance, and he wonders whether animals understand when help is needed. When the calf finally takes its first milk, Berry, his wife, and his son share relief, satisfaction, and joy. The newborn is standing and nursing, and they celebrate life restored to its feet.
By Wendell Berry · First published 2019 · Genre: Nature Writing, Personal Essay, Agrarian Literature · 1,517 words
IT IS the season of motherhood again, and we are preoccupied with the pregnant and the unborn. When birth is imminent, especially with a ewe or a mare, we are at the barn the last thing before we go to bed, at least once in the middle of the night, and well before daylight in the morning. It is a sort of joke here that we have almost never had anything born in the middle of the night. And yet somebody must get up and go out anyway. With motherhood, you don't argue probabilities.
A few Words for Motherhood is listed on Textopian as an essay by Wendell Berry, dated 2019 CE.
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motherhood · parenting · family · rural life · nature · community · domesticity · caregiving · feminism · gender roles · marriage · children