This home...

329 Temple Boulevard, Logan, Utah 84321

 

       This is the home where my children and I lived for eighteen years in Logan, Utah. 
 It isn't very large and certainly not flashy. 
You might even say it looks ordinary, almost common. 

But the things that happened in this home were anything but common. 

      Four of my six children were married from this home. 
Three of my daughters left to go on missions for our Church from this home - one to France, one to Argentina, one to Nebraska...
and they all came home to this home.
 
We were living in this home when Grandpa Stevenson passed away.

 We were living in this home when 18 out of 26 grandchildren were born.

Behind the second story window above the front porch was one of two extra-wide window seats that were built,
 (one on the north end and one on the south end)
 so that when the little ones came they could sleep on
 "Granny's window bed"
and look out at the temple on the north or over all of Cache Valley on the south.

 It was magic.
 

     We had numerous pets that lived and died and brought us happiness and comfort in this home.

 We had wonderful family dinners in the dining room,
and countless songfests at the baby grand piano in the living room. 
 We all squeezed into a tiny TV room that was called
the "smoochie room"
 and watched our favorite videos
and drank hot chocolate
and basked in the glow of the lights from the Temple.
 
Families of children and grandchildren came at Christmas,
in the summers, and even to stay for months at a time
 in the large upstairs bedroom.

 There was only one bathroom and no one ever seemed to mind.

     The first time we saw this home
 a realtor was putting up a "For Sale" sign on the front lawn. 
We stopped and asked if we could go through it. 
When we walked in the front door my daughter Emilie said,
"This is it Mother...can you feel the wonderful feeling here? 
Let's buy it."
And we did.

We loved the neighbors, we loved the Ward (LDS congregation),
we loved the wide open front porch,
we even loved the squeaky, screechy back door.

     The last time we were in this home was several years ago. 

One beautiful, clear, winter day during that visit,
while walking up the front walk,
 I stopped to look at this home
and had an encompassing feeling of gratitude for all that had occurred while my children and I lived there. 
 At the same time I had an unexpected but reassuring feeling that it had done all that it needed to do for me and for my posterity. 

It was not only time to move forward, it was right to move forward.

     Two years ago this home was sold.

 I don't live there anymore and neither does my family. 
 I live on a beautiful dairy farm in northern Sweden
and my children and their families live in various parts of the world.

 I feel overwhelmed at the blessing of finding a loving and tender husband who is perfect for me in every way,
even more children and grandchildren to love,
 and the richness of my life.

 It is not ordinary or common,
 it is miraculous,
 and it holds the promise of memories to be made
 that are as dear to me as those of the past.

     When the sale of this home was completed
 we were not able to be there.
My brother went into the kitchen to leave a set of keys for the new owner. 

This home that had been filled with so much life
 for so many years
 was empty.

 He stopped for a moment,
and as he stood by the kitchen sink,
he realized that that same wonderful feeling from so long ago,
that had been with us throughout all the years,
 was still present there. 

 I would like to think that it always will be. 

        

  

       "Au Revoir Notre Ami!"      

Anthony looking out over the interior of the barn at Lundgren's
 from the fika room/office in the loft above.

     Before Anthony left our farm, there were some other things
we wanted him to see.

     We arranged a visit to the dairy farm of Håkan and Monica Lundgren,

 dear friends  who lived in the small village of Långvattnet on the other side of Junsele, about a half hour away. 

     I met Monica when I first came to Sweden. 
 She had volunteered to teach a Swedish language course and I enrolled
 in company with a couple from the U.K. and a German girl. 

     "I was an innocent child in those days,"

  as my Auntie Ellice used to say.

I had no idea about the demands of daily farm life and it wasn't long until I had to relinguish my teaching sessions at Monica's kitchen table so that I could get up to speed with what was required of me
at home and in the barn.

But the friendship we forged at that time has remained strong.

                                                            When I called Monica she not only invited us to come, but she took the time to give Anthony the grand tour, explaining their "state of the art"  dairying equipment in detail. With the automatic feeding system, rotating brushes that cleaned the cows as they walked by, and even the "touchless" manure removal (no hand shoveling!), it was all a marvel!

                                                                           
Anthony surveyed their electrical and piping setup and was especially interested in the computerized system they had installed where each cow wore a transponder around her neck.  The wireless transponder would send such information as how much she was eating, what her volume of milk output was, etc., to the computer adjacent to the milking parlor.

This good young man who had been such a help to us was raised on a large commercial dairy farm in France.  His time with us gave him an entirely different perspective of a smaller and more intimate family farm where between 16 and 24 cows were milked.  Visiting the Lundgren's was a terrific mid-point experience for him with about 40 to 50 cows, but much more sophisticated equipment.   Also, Lundgren's sell their milk to a large commercial dairy, where we make cheeses on site with our milk.  And that difference alone affects so many aspects of how things are done on the respective farms. 

It was a wealth of information and a
 valuable experience for him.

Another great day was spent "on town" in Örnsköldsvik when Gustav,  his friend Erik, and Anthony took in their skateboards and "cruised Övik", then spent a few hours at the ever-popular Paradisbadet waterslide.

Here the three of them are looking dapper in a boy pose at the start of the day...


...and here they are again several hours later after all the hilarion was accomplished and they were ready for the ride home.

Anthony was with us for nearly a month. He came on an internship through his school in France.  It seemed like he had always been with us and then we turned around and it was time for him to go.   We felt so grateful for all he had done.  We loved his gentle nature with its unexpected spark of fun.  

Taking him to the bus station at Örnsköldsvik and sending him off was bitter sweet to say the least.
We hoped he had enjoyed his stay with us as much as we had enjoyed having him.

Only a few days later we received an e-mail from him.   
It said in part....

"It is realy strange because I miss you and your farm, and I realy will try to come again with you.
 I had a great training on your home,

 and that was maybe the greatest experience of my life!"

The feeling was mutual.

Welcome to the

"BOVINE BILTMORE!"
(Sorry,  NO VACANCY!)

We are in the middle of
Calfing Season!

This year has been like no other...

instead of the calves being born one at a time over a period

 of from four to five weeks,

this year we got...

12 (out of a total of 19) IN 11 DAYS!!
And several times we got 2 in one day!

Since this picture was taken, another arrived on the 29th

 and that made 13 in 12 days which means that 

we only have 6 more left to go.

Everywhere you look, there are: 

 ladies in waiting, 

both standing up and lying down,

mothers licking up their newborn calves just after birth,

not to mention moo-triarchs like these two who have agreed to
"double occupancy"
in the maternity ward,
sharing happily with each other and their two baby girls!

  Because the calves were coming so thick and fast,
 we made the decision to move last year's heifers
 from inside the barn to a sheltered outdoor pen.
We needed even more  room in the barn for the mothers who were calving to be able to have their babies in a safe environment.

We were so glad to have cousin Andrew with us this year and he and Gustav got busy putting the pen together and filling it with a
 deep straw bed
for warmth and comfort.
(That would be the Plaza Suite in the annex...pretty cushy.)

Then it was only to move the heifers out...
Lycka till!
("Good luck" in Swedish)

Gustav and Andy surveyed the situation then Pappa and Gustav worked on getting the first heifer haltered up,

but did she want to go?
Not on your life.
(Check out Gustav hauling with all his might while Andy and Pappa push).

Then there was this one who actually allowed herself to be coaxed into following the tractor out to the pen....

unlike her half sister who fought it tooth and nail
all the way.

But finally with a lot of pushing and pulling
they managed it,

 and all were safely in!

Our Grandpa Stevenson always loved to travel,
 and he absolutely loved hotels.
He used to say that one of the biggest factors in the success of any hotel was it's dining room. 
He felt that anyone could offer a clean bed and a shower, but the hotel that offered extraordinary cuisine would always get the customers.

With that premise in mind,
 no description of calving season would be complete,
  without telling you about
kalvdans.

When a new calf is born
 the first feeding of the mother's milk always goes to the calf.
 After that it drinks freely from it's mother but no calf could ever consume all that is available in the post-partum udder.
So when the second milking after the birth produces a colostrum-rich liquid called
råmjölk
(in Swedish)
it is collected in a milking can.
Even with the new baby all fed, a mother can give six to seven liters of råmjölk.

Mixed only with a tiny bit of sugar, a small stick of cinnamon, and a pinch of salt,
 it is baked in a bain-marie,
 giving a pudding that is rich and smooth and delicious.
 It jiggles when you move the baking dish, something like a little calf dancing, hence the name.

I have come to believe that the calfing experience is like that beautiful pudding.
There are moments of sweetness and moments of spice/sadness.
You love to see the miracle of birth and the love of the mothers for their young, but sometimes you have the sting of losing  a mother or a baby in the process.

When it is all accomplished however, and all the babies have been born,
there is a feeling of contentment and fulfillment,
much like the taste of the kalvdans.

We aren't done yet, but we are close.
As of this writing two more have come
meaning there are only four more to be born now.
Soon our "Bovine Biltmore" will be full for another year,

 and so will our hearts.