On Location: A Mild Cow Stampede (an Everyday Essay)

I didn't mean to cause the stampede.

Twilight edged toward dusk, and the full moon peeked above the hilly tree line. I had to hurry to catch the remaining light, but I approached slowly. I didn't want to spook the cows, especially the cute little black one with the fuzzy head nearest the fence. She stared me down, like a barnyard sentinel or a kid still young enough to be curious.

This farm sits next to a monastery just down the road from my neighborhood. The cows have been out in full force lately with the early spring weather. Of course, "full force" for a cow is still a fairly laidback affair that seems to center on the grass -- munching it and lolling about on it. One day earlier this month I noticed that they were hanging out in the field closest to the monastery parking lot, enjoying a smorgasbord (sMOOrasbord?) on tractor wheels,  which was great luck for me. For weeks I'd been on the lookout for a good cow photo shoot  opportunity. I needed some bovine beauties to accompany an essay I'd written. So when I drove by and saw these ladies ready for their close-up, I circled back home to grab my camera and snap a few shots.

It went quietly for awhile. The cows ate. A few stared. The moon rose.

Then I crouched down to get a different perspective.

And that's when the young sentinel bolted, setting off a chain reaction. Stampede! Cows turned and scattered everywhere. A quick rustling sound and then thundering hooves. Dust! Perhaps a stray bellow or two. This was exciting. I became a National Geographic photographer, shooting wild animals in their natural habitat! Cows in action!

I waited for a nun or farmer to appear and reprimand me for provoking the wild life, but no one showed up. I stayed still for a few minutes and the cows wandered back. Some of them went back to eating from the rolling buffet. Others formed a phalanx and kept a closer eye on me.

This one kept her distance from me and the group. She wasn't taking any chances.

I think this gang, staggered strategically off to the side, was part of the Secret Service or the Mafia.

I think they're on to me.

I hope they don't show up in my front yard.

** ** **

About Everyday Essays: At least a few times a week I jot down notes about something -- usually a small moment, detail, or thought -- that I want to write about. Most of those ideas stay frozen as notes and never bloom into essays. Everyday Essays is my new writing practice to allow some of those notes to move beyond infancy. I've decided to share some of them with you here, even if they're still half-naked or half-baked. The word "essay" (as is almost always noted when the form is discussed) comes from the French verb essayer, which means to try. The essay is a reckoning, a rambling, an exploration, an attempt. Think of these Everyday Essays as freewriting exercises, rough drafts, or the jumbled, interconnected contents of my mind, which may or may not take root and grow into longer (deeper) essays.