Paul Marchant

I backed under the gooseneck of the trailer and jumped out of the cab to crank the jack up. I plugged the lights in, even though I knew there were clearance lights only on the left side and the right blinker didn’t work.

Earl calls the Heartland his home. He grew up milking cows in the country around the Missouri Ozarks, and he’s passed his love of cows and tractors on to his two sons. His affinity for tractors and how they run has developed into a nice little side gig.

For as long as he could remember, Trevor had wanted to be a veterinarian. So he decided early on he’d do whatever it took to reach the goal.

It was a beautiful spring Sunday morning. Due to an abundance of caution being practiced by pretty much every soul on the planet, church was canceled in deference to approved “social distancing” precautions.

I opened one eye and rolled my head to one side so I could get a glimpse of the bright red digital numbers silently screaming at me from the clock on the nightstand. 2:37 a.m., it read. Somehow, I’ve never needed an alarm to prod me from my intermittent periods of fitful slumber during calving season.

As weekly Tuesday auctions go, it was pretty typical. I arrived at about quarter after 1. I was there in search of a few yearlings to finish out a pen, but they were still going through the last of the killer cows and Holsteins.