March 10, 2005 Issue

One of the most profound experiences in anyone’s life is the birth of a child. Women, God bless them; do most of the heavy work. Men, at their best, can only be supportive. And that’s not all that easy.

Tommy Norred, a famed local boat captain and accomplished hunter, recently became a father at the age of 50. Tommy served in Vietnam and he’s killed animals from the plains of Africa to the green fields of Lowndes County, Ala. He’s also caught everything that swims in the Gulf of Mexico. He’s not the image that comes to when you think of the word “squeamish.” He actually fits the description of the fellow who “can kill a buck deer, and run a trot line,” in the Hank Williams Jr. song: “A country boy can survive.”

Survive in the woods perhaps, but not in a Lamaze class. Before his wife, Lee Ann gave birth to their son, Larkin; Tommy fainted in a particularly graphic birthing class and had to be admitted to the emergency room at the Fort Walton Beach hospital.

Tommy was a participant in our modern day version of “natural child birth.” The man and woman go to a series of about a half-dozen classes and learn how to breathe and relax and gracefully deliver a child.

Some would argue that having men participate in the birthing process is anything but natural. The original Native Americans had a pretty natural approach to life. Traditionally in numerous Indian tribes scattered throughout our country, the women delivered the children privately in the woods, with little or no help—but most certainly with no help from the child’s father.

I have been involved with the delivery of four children. They were all spectacular. And while the role that I played was minimal at best, my wife Carla delivered all four kids with a determined and incredible grace that comes from the focus created by the unusual combination of pain and joy.

Last week, for the first time in my life, I was involved in the birth of a colt. Comparing the birth of a horse to the delivery of a child can put one on a very slippery slope. While I am too intelligent to downplay the sacrifice and significance of childbirth; everything surrounding the birth of a horse is on an amazingly larger scale.

Carrie, our Paso Fina brood mare, has a beautiful disposition and produces gorgeous foals. Last week, she was a month past due, and with a full moon on a Wednesday evening; we were hoping to get this whole thing over with.

She had been bred with Piccarone, the best looking stallion in our area, and we were all excited—and just a bit worried about the new member to our family of horses. Each night for two weeks I had been getting up every hour or so and walking around the pastures with our two Australian Shepherds and a flashlight, checking on her and making sure there were no complications with her delivery.

Had there been complications, I have absolutely no clue what I would have done. Twenty years ago I had assisted in the birthing of a dozen Irish Setter puppies, but I didn’t feel like as if that qualified me for equine delivery.

At midnight, I heard the two free-roaming horses, Marimba (who is expecting in late May) and Carrie racing around our bunkhouse. I checked on them and went back to bed. At 1:30 a.m. every animal in Red Bay began making noise. I grabbed a flashlight, opened the door, and started toward the two areas where Carrie had been staying for the last two months. The fog enveloping our hilltop was thick and the power company lights sent out a bizarre sort of refracted glow over all our barns and paddocks.

I didn’t get far. Not more than 30 feet from my doorstep stood Carrie with an undeniably proud look on her face, and a baby colt whose legs were wobbling almost uncontrollably. The baby’s legs were within a few inches of being as long as his mother’s. She had four white socks and a white blaze running down her forehead. Her red coat was a perfect match to Carrie’s.

He was already nursing, his umbilical cord was clean, and I watched him as he proceeded to perform both necessary digestion eliminations. With mother leading the way, the colt paraded past every horse at our farm—just to let them know there was a new addition. Every horse looked out of stalls, or came up from the pasture, to check out the little colt. I swear if horses could clap and give an ovation, I believe these would have done it.

By first light, Carrie and the colt both looked exhausted. As amazing as it was to watch the colt standing only five minutes after being born, it was even more incredible to see him run. Animals unable to move around shortly after birth are obviously targets for any number of predators. The farm dogs, Obie and Aussie, normally take their duty of not letting the horses lie down more seriously than any of their other chores. But with the new baby, they not only let him lie down in the warm spring sunshine, they cuddled right up with him.

Whether it’s humans or animals, the whole process of the birthing of a new creature is one that touches everyone involved. While it is surely a time for celebration it is also a time for us to reflect on the incredibly wonderful and amazing process that brings us life.

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