Moving day. If you are like me, a slight chill just made its way up your back just thinking about the word moving. There aren’t too many things in life that are more traumatic. You have to pack all of your possessions, leave a comfortable place and then lug everything to a new space that holds new challenges. I’ve been thinking about moving a lot lately. Two years ago, we packed up our home and moved the family 27.8 miles (I know the exact distance because it didn’t qualify for an IRS tax deduction) to a new home and town. I’m also preparing to help move my mom from my childhood home in Forest City to a new place in central Iowa. In both cases, moving brings with it planning and hard work.
It was no different when I visited a friend last week while he happened to be moving. I didn’t know that’s what he was doing at the time or I would’ve conveniently been “busy” during the move.
You know how it is. Getting drafted into helping a buddy move to a new place somewhere. It seemed like the years surrounding college, I was always helping to move friends across campus. It always seemed like it was up three stories and the elevator didn’t work. Back in those days, the only reward for moving was several cold beverages, a backache and maybe some funny stories.
This move was not typical for me by any means. Not just because my friend has to do it annually, but because it holds an importance every time he does it.
For Tim Kaldenberg, an Iowa Soybean Association member and farmer from Albia, moving day means ushering his herd of 19 heifers and 40 cows through snow-covered pastures back to his farm. This move, like many traditional moves, has plenty of logistical challenges that can only be solved through hard work.
With good weather in the forecast and me in the copilot chair, we set out in his farm truck several miles down a blacktop. While we traveled, we talked about our families and plans for warm escapes from Iowa’s icy plains. When we arrived at the pasture, Kaldenberg stepped out of the truck, opened the gate and jumped back in. It was go time for the move and, with a fluid motion of his arm, he shifted the truck into four-wheel drive while plowing through a snow drift.
“Here cow, hey cow!” Kaldenberg yelled with his head out the window.
His secret weapon for this move was a payload of fresh, wet corn gluten feed. He leaned towards me, almost like he was about to tell me a secret, and said it was like candy to the cattle so he was sure they would follow.
As the truck sped up, Kaldenberg confidently kept breaking through small drifts and deep snow while a chain of cattle followed at a gallop. It was an amazing sight to see with the powdered snow forming a white trail behind them.
After crossing every pasture, we had to get out of the truck and open gates and assess the progress. That gave the cattle the opportunity to grab a snack before the truck sped away again. I found myself just as nervous as Tim was at times. He was nervous about the cattle following and I was nervous about getting stuck in a pasture miles away from a hard-surfaced road.