On a hot, humid Indiana day in late June, a show heifer named Mary broke loose from the Bartholomew County 4H Fair and made a run for it.
The fairgrounds, typically filled with the sounds of laughter and livestock, buzzed with excitement as Mary seized her moment. I can almost picture it — a young cow, biding her time, suddenly breaking free, shaking off her halter, and galloping with fair-goers lost in the sweetness of sno-cones and cotton candy in the distance. Her heart races as the warm air rushes over her body. Spooked by quick movements and loud noises, she darts away from those chasing her into what she believes is her first experience of freedom. In this case, however, freedom took Mary over railroad tracks just minutes before a train went by, across one of the busiest highways in the area, and through the East Fork White River, which is more brown than white.
All I can say is that sometimes real life is more unbelievable than fiction.
Mary couldn’t have imagined the community-wide buzz she would create throughout Columbus, Indiana, and beyond. From social media to local news, the saga of the runaway cow continued for almost a month. People reported seeing her drinking at a stream, roaming in an industrial area, or walking near Beatty Lane. But like the elusive Bigfoot, Mary quickly vanished, leaving only eyewitness accounts in her wake.
Those first days for Mary must have been exhilarating, though. No set schedule. No one bossing her around. Eating as much corn as she wanted, whenever she wanted. And the solitude of nature must have been refreshing. However, as the days and weeks passed, one could only imagine what Mary began to think and feel about her situation.
Now admittedly, I’m not a person who knows much about livestock, nor do I know anything about how long a young cow can survive alone in the wilderness. One thing I do know about cows, though, is that they are social creatures that can experience anxiety and fear. And I imagine Mary grew lonely and afraid each night she was away from her herd. A fleeting moment for an unbridled spirit became a fearful reality of being alone. Mary walked in circles for days, ending at the same stream, panicked that she would never find her way back home.
One evening in late July, Mary finally saw an opening and made her way out of a wooded area. She spotted some cows in the distance. It wasn’t her herd, but it didn’t matter to her. She didn’t want to be alone any longer. At the same time, watching from his porch, an older gentleman walked nonchalantly down from his porch, calmly opened the gate, and let the story play to its wonderful conclusion. The young cow walked in, her heart swelling with relief, and quickly joined her new friends.
For the last couple of years, I’ve written about the self-care of our hearts, minds, bodies, and souls. We find freedom by breaking the shackles that bind us. We regularly practice solitude, helping us breathe and find lasting peace. We reconnect with nature, centering us and filling us with gratitude. And all of those things are essential to our well-being. But ultimately, we aren’t meant to navigate life alone. Real contentment often comes when we find our way back to community.
Like Mary, we might occasionally need to break free. Yet, as the days pass, we may realize being alone is not enough. We also need to be connected to others. In the end, life is not exclusively a solitary journey to find ourselves but about finding a place where we belong — a place where others welcome, embrace, and love us for who we are, even if it’s not the herd we started with.
Columbus novelist Brandon Andress is a former longtime Faith and Community columnist for The Republic. His blog can be read at brandonandress.com. Send comments to therepublic.com.
