The moon was large and full that night, rising over our farm’s cow pasture.

Would we see another little shadow by Daisy this morning? Peering out in the chilly air the next morning, I saw no baby–just Daisy standing as round as an orange on sticks.

It was in March or April when she came back home from her visit at a friend’s farm. We have no bull at ours, and a heifer (female before birthing) has to be pregnant and give birth to give milk.

9 months probably have passed…

Over 2 years ago Daisy came as a yearling. We trained her up to be used to being brushed and rubbed so it would be natural for me to milk her.

Fast forward to January 2026. 2 weeks before now, before New Years, I noticed her milk bag began to grow larger.

She didn’t seem much different on this particular day– I had looked everyday for the past weeks for some sign birthing would start. I read in a book that the space by her pin bones would be looser before calving, so I thought I would test it out, felt around, and there was loosening, but I still didn’t know today she would give birth.

Then, at noon, after I fed the chickens in the late morning with my youngest, Daisy and her red angus friend disappeared. Where were they?

Daisy and her sidekick went off to the back pasture—I’ve never seen them to do this. That was odd, but typical of birthing mammals and humans, too. I should of realized that was a sign–I’ve had 5 natural, undisturbed homebirths myself, and I wanted to naturally be away to focus inward, too.

Our family went off to do errands, but the moment we drove up hours later at 5, I saw our other cows staring at the backyard. I walked up expectantly, and the red angus cows DID NOT MOVE, they were at full attention staring at the back pasture.

Daisy was now by herself in the back pasture and something was flapping around in front of her–was it a white chicken, I thought? I squinted hard. No–it was a little calf with a white head–born just a few minutes ago.

The baby laid by mama cow while Mama stared at her. She started licking up the water bag on the baby–which helps stimulate the baby’s breathing (along with the baby’s fall to the ground, which breaks the cord). For 15-30 minutes the baby lay, with its head up, while mama made soft moo calls I’ve never heard Daisy make until now.

The two other cows kept their distance. We kept the children outside the fence, but Aaron and I came up to take photos–keeping back a little out of respect. Daisy was never aggressive toward us, just overinterested in licking her baby.

Soon, baby started to get up on its legs and kept falling but Mama nudged her on.

Then the baby finally stood, and mama kept cleaning her. The baby searched for somewhere to nurse, but mama kept nudging her away.

As it grew dark we left to get some dinner going inside, but we checked soon after. We thought we saw baby getting milk, but with the darkness, we still couldn’t tell.

I was antsy and worried that I did not see baby nurse.

It’s very important she gets the first colustrum—it has antibodies that protect the baby from harm—calves won’t survive if they don’t get it in the first 24 hours, but I had to tend to my family first.

It took longer to get outside, and I was even more startled when we went back out….

The baby had walked out of the electric fence and was laying in the woods out of the reach of her mother–shivering. She looked like she had some foam in her mouth–maybe she did get milk?

Aaron picked her up. I turned off the electric fence, and he carried her over by Daisy, then off to a 5 corral panel enclosure under pine trees for protection from rain, closer to gate. We don’t have barns here in the south typically because winters can be mild, but Aaron did see that we had a baby heifer—a girl calf–a future milk cow (Hereford-Jersey cross).

Mama cow delivered her placenta and once it dropped…she ate it up. I couldn’t watch.

Once Aaron lead Daisy to her sleeping baby in the corral, I tried to make the baby nurse, handmilked some golden colostrum and put it in a bottle for the baby, but she wasn’t interested yet alert and healthy. So I milked out over a cup of the colostrom and put it in the fridge, just in case we ever needed it.

At 3:27 in the morning, roosters started crowing. I had to check on the baby calf. All bundled and nervous, I made it under the starry sky and through the chilly air, hoping for a sign that all was well. Then, when I came up, the baby was happily nursing, gulping, and I looked up at the clear starry sky and praised the Lord that all was OK.

I left them alone and could now leave rest and the next morning, they were settled in and peaceful.