Cows are also Women
A true story and an invitation to reflect deeper
The morning sun found its way onto the cobblestone courtyard. The frost that had covered the fields just hours before was now gone, and an early spring day hung in the air. Lovely. It was also International Women's Day, and that's why three generations of women (my mom, myself, and my one-year-old daughter) were at our local farm to buy some quality meat for dinner.
I don't often eat meat, but if it comes from a local farmer with eco-friendly values, I might consider it. Meat isn't inherently bad, I tell myself, and if the animals have been treated well and get to graze in open pastures (which also benefit the soil when cows and bulls stomp around), then it feels okay to "treat" myself to a piece.
We were early and the farm shop hadn't opened yet. "Let's go explore the farm!" we said almost simultaneously to Eloise, who happily ran around looking at everything from flowers to rocks and trucks. We started walking towards one of the large barns and saw signs pointing toward where visitors could see the farm's cows. We asked a girl walking by if it was open to visitors, and she replied “Absolutely, just go over and say hi!”
"Awaiting Calving," says one sign, "Calf Nursery," says another. I feel a lump starting to form in my stomach. Memories from books and documentaries I had devoured many years earlier come to the surface, and I suddenly wonder if I'm ready to see what awaits within these red walls.
I express my thoughts to my mom, and she wonders if I want us to skip it. "Ah, we're here now, and besides, I have to allow myself to see things that might be difficult." After all, it's what my whole book is about, I remind myself.
Several heavy-looking cows lie Inside the "Awaiting Calving" area, waiting to give birth. The sun seeps in through a hole in the roof, birds chirp outside, and the expectant mothers chew hay, sigh, and simply exist. A very peaceful scene, after all.
Right next to the Calving area is the nursery, so in the next window, we're met with a very different sight. Inside, calves run around and play with each other. No mothers are to be seen or any other "adults," for that matter. My fears are confirmed, and I explain why.
"See, from an early age, calves are separated from their mothers so that most of the milk goes to production. I find it heartbreaking. Cows have incredibly strong maternal bonds, and the thought of them having to give birth to child after child that they never get to spend time with hurts deep inside."
I also tell the story of a cow that eventually ended up at a sanctuary after many years as a dairy cow in the USA, a true story I had read during my more passionate days as a vegan. One day at the sanctuary, the staff couldn't find the cow, which was worrying because she was pregnant again, and also close to giving birth.
After a few hours, they finally found her behind a bush. There she lay, licking her newborn calf clean and doing everything in her power to hide it from the people on the farm. "Let me have just one child," she probably thought, "don't take it away from me!"
As we glance back into the Calving area just a few minutes later, we are met with a miracle – a little calf has been born! In the left corner of the large hay-filled enclosure lies a little newcomer, lifting its head lightly. The cow next to it, which we understand is the mother as mucus and blood still hang from her backside, starts licking it clean. The cow standing next to her comes over and helps out. They start mooing in chorus, and other cows join in – a new individual has come into the world!
We stand there marveling at the scene and regret that we missed the birth by just a minute, but we're glad to witness it nonetheless.
"So how long do you think the calf gets to stay with its mother now?" my mom asks me.
"I don't know."
"Let's ask!"
Just then, two younger girls come out through a door inside the barn and walk towards us. We catch them and ask the question.
"Sorry, only English," one of the girls replies. The other has continued on.
We repeat the question in English. The answer cuts deep.
"We're going to have lunch now (she looks at her watch on her wrist) so we'll probably grab it when we come back."
A couple of hours, maximum, is the time the cow gets to spend with her calf.* I squeeze my daughter's hand a little tighter and can't imagine anything worse. "Don't take my child away from me!" is all I can think.
Tears well up in the corner of my eyes, and I look away towards the friend, the other cow who helped clean the calf, and realize she's looking back. She looks me straight in the eyes, not letting go of the gaze.
"I promised that I would speak for you," I think to myself.
"Yes, you promised," the eyes reply.
We stand silent for a moment. Mom strokes my arm. "Do you still want to buy meat?"
"I don't think I can," I reply.
"I understand, we'll have something else for dinner!"
*I did some research after and it seems like they get to spend the first 24 hours with their mother.
When we return to the car, the farm shop has opened, and we decide to go in, now that we're there anyway. We're greeted by shelves filled with goodies and decide on a jar of honey, a pack of pumpkin seed crispbread, and a bag of cardamom cookies. Eloise starts to lose patience, so I lead her to the exit while mom pays at the counter. On the way out, I'm met by a large sign explaining the systems on the farm and how they even extract fuel for their transport from cow dung.
Very eco-friendly, to say the least, and definitely a farm I'm proud to support. The cookies will be a sweet treat to our coffee later, an equally nice way to celebrate this Women's Day! But a dormant part within me has been awakened again. I've been reminded of who I actually want to be, and although it was a heavy moment to witness, I'm glad for this reawakening.
I continue to ponder the incident in the car on the way home. How come I got to experience all of this? And right now, when the book is almost completely translated into Swedish and ready to be submitted? I suddenly understood that something was missing, that a part of my innermost truth hadn't been put into words. This right here feels like the most important thing of all – that all beautiful creatures on this earth get to be seen and appreciated. That's what started my vegan journey many years ago and the underlying values that still drive me today.
Things have gotten complicated.
In the past, when you had a cow on the farm that occasionally had a calf, the milk was enough to feed the family and maybe a few neighboring houses. But today, when we've created a system where milk gets poured into cartons that fill stores across the country, and when dairy cows must be separated from their calves hours after birth to maximize production, something has gone wrong.
*In the US, 99 percent of farm animals are raised in cramped industrialized conditions. Source: VegNews
It's everyone's choice to eat what feels right. We've been killing animals for ages, and in the wild, it happens in the same way. The strongest survives, plain and simple, and that's how it's always been.
But humans also have access to something much greater, something deeper and more beautiful than just killing because we can. We have a different kind of awareness, an ability to see and understand others' realities, to make choices. It's that opportunity we must seize!
When I looked into the cow's eyes, I didn't see a part of a machine. I saw a soul, a strong being filled with courage, love, longing, and humility. I saw a woman celebrating the birth of another's child and going over to help welcome this miracle. I saw a voice that wanted to be heard, not just in her but in cows worldwide. I saw an individual longing to be free.
It's hard to be human. When we go to the store and Arthur says he wants to buy parmesan for the pasta, it's hard to put my foot down and say "No, you can't." He's his own individual with the freedom to make his own decisions, and even though I often (I have less and less energy for it nowadays) suggest that we might as well buy the vegan version, he'll most likely buy the one from cows. And let's be honest, when we sit at the table a little later and a pile of grated parmesan cheese lies on the wooden board in front of us, it's hard not to take a pinch for my plate. The cheese is already here, after all. Someone has to eat it.
Most of us don't have a cow in the yard outside. We go to the store and buy what we need. When we do, it's hard to piece together the context that this cheese has been aged on milk that was milked by a cow that most likely had many children she never got the joy of getting to know. When we sink our teeth into that sandwich, we don't see her suffering eyes longing for the opportunity to live a dignified life. We just see a good piece of cheese, something that can satisfy our stomachs for the moment. The system has made it so.
I’m not adding this chapter to act as a moral police. I wrote it because I remembered my mission, the promise I made when I was twenty-two, that I would give a voice to those who cannot speak, and I realized that I can be better on that front.
I chose to include this story because I want to invite you to reflect more. What does it mean that we eat animals? How sustainable is it in the long run, and how much animal products do we actually need to consume? Can the future look different, and can it reflect a world where everyone's needs (physical, mental, and spiritual) are taken into account?
Room for more
When we give ourselves the opportunity to reflect deeper, we also give ourselves the strength to create room for even more – more love, more understanding, more humility. Do we dare to rethink? Do we have the courage to see the truth - the whole truth - for what it is and choose a new path? Is it possible that we could feel just as good, perhaps even better, with different kinds of food?
We left the farm without meat, but it didn't feel like a loss because I returned to my parents' home enriched. Once again, I had proven that my heart can take it and that awareness breeds new strength and stronger faith. I felt the spark within me reignite and realized that I have so much more to say, and how good it feels to want to say it!
The chapter you just read came to me on the ten-minute car ride home.
This chapter was written as a contribution to the Swedish translation of The Climate Optimist Handbook that will come to market later this year. I decided to share it here as it doesn’t exist in the English version and I find it to be such an important reflection.
Having just read this story, how do you feel about it? I welcome thoughts in the comment section or if you’d rather share it in a private note, feel free to message me! This has been and continues to be a tricky conversation but one we must dare to have.
Sending love!
Thank you for this. Heartbreaking and important.
❤️❤️❤️