Dear Farm Family,
This isn’t our usual farm update, and I apologize if I get a bit long-winded. You may want to skip this one, but I’m writing for those who’ve cared so deeply, asked about her, and supported us through this time—for her patient “milk” customers, and, honestly, for myself. I don’t often do this.
To be completely open, I’m heartbroken. The grief has hit me harder than I expected, and I’m overwhelmed by the beautiful life I shared with Lucy, all she taught me, and the deep ache of missing her. My mornings will never be quite the same; they’re just… adjusted.
I dreamed of Lucy for years before I met Danny Joe. A few chickens, a dairy cow—Courtney and Paige were starting their own adult lives, and while I was content working in ag investigations, I longed to return to the farm life I loved. The dream never faded; it just needed time to grow. We had goats, chickens, and some beef cattle, but I was always on the lookout for that perfect dairy cow.
In early May 2015, a post on Facebook caught my eye. A woman was bringing a trailer of three-day-old Jersey heifers from a dairy near Springfield. For $400, I could pick one. I rarely call Danny Joe when he’s on the road, but this was urgent. I told him about it, and his first question was, “How will you haul her?” Paige’s hatchback, of course, I said. With Mother’s Day approaching and raw milk already coming from our friend Lawrence, Danny gave his supportive blessing. So, with Paige and Gracie in tow, we headed to the Lowe’s parking lot in Warrensburg, where I met my little Lucy.
She grew up with our goats, taking their headbutts when they got tired of her wild energy. She soaked up love and attention. My friend, Lawrence, taught me much about the care of raising a bottle dairy calf and I would travel to Versailles every other week to bring home 14 gallons of milk, so that Lucy never had powdered milk replacer. My girls still tease me about the day I texted them, thrilled that “Lucy started chewing her cud”—a sign of a healthy rumen and a moment I’ll never forget.
In 2016, Lucy found a friend in Cheri, a horse from friends in Fair Grove. They were inseparable. When Lucy was old enough, our Braunvieh bull helped bring her first calf, a heifer, on October 18, and our milking journey began. No fancy stanchion—just a rope, a shed, and a bucket. My hands cramped, I struggled, but Lucy was patient. On cold winter mornings, I’d rest my head against her warm flank, breathing in her sweet scent and feeling her soft hair. We bonded deeply through those quiet moments.
Lucy was family. She helped on the farm, leading cattle with just a rope on her halter, saving us from frustration and stressed animals. She shared her milk with struggling calves, and we even fostered one for a friend until it was strong enough to wean. In spring 2023, she gave us Miss Ellie Mae, a beautiful purebred Jersey heifer.
Lucy would go on to have many more calves, as well as helping provide milk for a few friends' calves who were struggling. We even “hosted” one little bottle calf for a friend until he was healthy & big enough to wean. In the spring of 2023, she gave me a beautiful purebred Jersey heifer, Miss Ellie Mae.
Lucy had her share of adventures. Gracie took her to the county fair twice—once as a bottle calf, then as a yearling—where she basked in love and attention. In June 2023, she was invited to the Pilot Grove Sesquicentennial Celebration, standing patiently for over four hours as kids and adults got to experience what it was like “to milk a cow”. Her calm was remarkable. And if you run into Paige, ask her about Lucy’s love for her—she’s got a story that’ll make you laugh.
Three weeks ago this morning I was spending my last few hours with my Lucy. The evening before she came down with colic, I did everything in my power to keep her comfortable until my dearest friend and family veterinarian, Andrea, could come out the next morning. Fortunately, her calf had started eating grain and was old enough to be weaned. I checked on her throughout the night to make sure the pain medication was still working. Just after 5 am she and I took a short walk in the yard. I let her choose her spot to rest. Cheri came down to see her one last time and she checked on her calf. Once she was settled, she and I would watch the sunrise together one last time.
Ending this feels like another goodbye, and I don’t know how to do it. I’m still crying buckets, thinking of her constantly. This grief is unlike anything I’ve known. I’m forever grateful for Danny Joe’s love, patience, and support; for Andrea’s care and all her loving support over the years and in Lucy’s final moments; for Paige and Gracie’s help in the barn when on the occasional days I could not be there; and for Courtney’s stunning photos of Lucy that I’ll treasure always; for my friend Christi who so eagerly learned to milk last year allowing us to take a few days off with all the kids. And to everyone who’s listened to my endless Lucy stories with kindness, thank you—I love you for it.
I know time will ease this sadness, and as I watch Miss Ellie Mae race to the feeder, I see a piece of Lucy living on in our herd. Life with Lucy was a gift, a reminder to find joy in the simple, to serve others with love, and to glorify God through caring for His creation. I’ll treasure her forever.
With all my love,
Deana Imhoff