"There is nothing permanent except change." ~ Heraclitus
Sometimes Change is HARD - Even Indirectly
Two days ago, a chapter closed that I never really expected to close. My Dad sold the last of his cattle, making the end of generations of raising livestock on our family farm. This past week has been a poetic symphony of emotions. I've known this moment was coming, but knowing doesn't make it any easier. It's the kind of change that sits heavy on your heart, like the weight of history smothering you with emotion. Admittedly, I've been a little absent lately, stuck in my head processing and in my heart feeling the flood of emotions that come with something this impactful - not only for me, but more so for my family, for my dad, for the Eirich legacy.
One of my all-time favorite things to do has always been checking cows with my dad. There's something about the way he can spot a sick calf from a mile away, the way he would grumble about the weather, yet never hesitate to pull on his boots and do what needed to be done. I wish I had made more time for it in recent years, but life gets loud and busy, and then you blink, and suddenly everything is different, and those opportunities have faded into the past.
When the sale was complete, I asked my dad how he felt, and he said, "My babies are gone." So sadly! And it crushed me - not only because, HELLO, am I not his baby?! But because he REALLY meant it! Those cattle were his babies. Their babies were his babies. That herd had been in our family, in one form or another, for two generations. My Dad retired from the cattle business. He actually did it! Well, he did hold back three bulls, so I guess now he's trading the cattleman title to be a pimp.
He is still going to farm his crops, although he's cut back on that, as well. My uncle is going to continue his herd and likely even add to it, but he's already realizing how much he will miss having my dad's support, especially during calving season when it's freezing cold, hard work, and my dad is warm and snug in his bed. There is something special about having a partner in those long, grueling stretches, and now that dynamic is changing, too.
This is bigger than a herd of cattle. It is about life's big transitions, those moments where we stand at a crossroads, knowing things will never quite be the same. These milestones hit us in waves, each carrying its own mix of nostalgia, grief, and hope. My dad's next chapter isn't just his - it shifts the landscape for our whole family. Things are changing for all of us, in different ways and at different levels, but there will be beauty and fun in the next phase. Especially if it means my dad and stepmom will be able to visit us more and we can take trips together, exploring the country like we always talked about but never had time to do.
Am I sad? YES! I'm incredibly sad. But I am also excited for him and the new hobbies and pastimes he will discover now that he has fewer responsibilities. He's already adopted a new baby - and if you had told me MY dad would ever sell his cattle and adopt a CAT, I'd have told you you were out of your ever-loving mind. But here we are. My dad is now a "cat dad."
Things change. Life changes. Every chapter, every phase, is full of unexpected turns and blessings. It is important to embrace them, rather than fear them. I am SO damn proud of my dad - for all he's accomplished, for all he IS, and for the new adventures he will take on in his "semi-retired" years. I cannot wait to hear all the stories that come with it!
So today, I sit with the weight of it all. The end of a lifestyle I've known my whole life. The end of an era on our farm. And the beginning of something new for my dad - something different, something hopefully incredibly good, but something undeniably bittersweet.
