A Calf Born in Winter

Reflecting on death, growing up, and my grandfather’s farm

The last photo I took of my grandfather, on my last visit to his farm.

The Cows

The calf was born in winter. My grandfather’s neighbour, Alan, had interrupted our dinner and ushered us into this drafty corner of his barn, following the irritated mooing of a mother cow in the throes of labour. We shivered under ill-fitting winter jackets, watching through clouds of our…