sandra Moore

It’s been just under the surface, simmering like a pot of salted water right before I drop the pasta. At first, I attributed it to the sub zero weather, the extra layers of clothing I wore just to get the cows out and fed. The blustery, tree whipping winds, the kind that cut at your skin and leave you feeling like you’ve been attacked by a thousand blades, have now traveled further north. It’s not the weather. It’s not the political pablum spewed and regurgitated by talking heads, pundits, paid influencers, and professional politicians with their incessant, droning on and on. They’re easy to turn off and tune out. It’s not the near cardiac event anytime I shop for necessities that I do not grow, raise or create. I’m too busy to make my own deodorant, toothpaste, shampoo nor do I have a desire to. If I was living off grid, in the middle of a 5,000 acres emerald green forest, I would have stocked up on baking soda or been stinky. It’s not the fear of random strangers attempting to take my car, belongings or life. I’m always carrying and trained, center mass, empty mag, reload, repeat. I raise cattle, outrun bulls, ride a Thoroughbred Chestnut Mare and have a kamikaze rooster; I’m not afraid. It’s the apathy. Last night, in the deepest part of my heifer barn, not one but two calves were stillborn. Unlike horses, you don’t pinch off an in utero twin. Calf twins are not that rare and while usually a surprise, both are viable, not last night. All of my barns are equipped with cameras, which I monitor often. One of the best time saving features I have, it affords me the luxury of barn checks in the warmth of my home rather than bundling up, riding down and eyeballing everyone. As I got ready for bed, I peeked in on the chickens, horses, bull pastures, calf barn then heifer barn. If you farm, you immediately recognize the sights and sounds, can differentiate the voice of hunger, from injury, to an escapee that’s being reported, an intruder alarm and the deep, mournful wail of sorrow. It’s unmistakable. This heifer, a cow most relate to as a farm animal that exists to feed us, provide milk or be a decorative lawn ornament novelty, was in the throes of deep, emotional pain. It was then, in that moment, my simmering pot boiled over, my epiphany. Apathy. It’s a national crisis bringing us to the brink of societal destruction. We’ve become apathetic to progress over people and the detrimental effects it has caused. Our children, our future, are being sexualized, sterilized, indoctrinated and cultivated. Criminals and deviants are being normalized. Divisiveness, through hatred, is being multiplied. When did we become so depraved? When did we become a society of selfish, self absorbed, instant gratification, me over thee, disposable humanity? When my pasta pot boils over, I take it off the heat and let it settle. I’m taking a backroads trip today, away from the heat.