— Before the sun could shine over the glazed fields of west-central Illinois, farmers Steve and Brice Jack were eyeballing one of the 35 pregnant cows in their barn.
Her tail was up and crooked, her black ears tilted slightly back, and she was restless, searching for a place away from the herd. The farmers could see two small hooves poking out of the cow’s backside. She was ready to calve.
The pregnant heifer didn’t belong to the Jacks. They were caring for her as part of the unique farm business they run 15 miles from the Mississippi River — a maternity ward for cows.
Business has been pretty good lately at Jack’s Custom Calving, possibly the only business of its kind in the state. Already during this frigid calving season, Steve and Brice have delivered about 250 newborns. And if the cold continues, many more customers — primarily local farmers — may opt for the convenience of having the Jacks tend to their expectant animals rather than risk having them deliver their babies in a freezing pasture.
The birth that was imminent on Wednesday morning had the Jacks concerned. When the other animals were let out to feed, the restless cow was kept inside to relax, lie down, and hopefully push her baby out. But she didn’t. Her pacing increased and anxiety worsened.
They feared for the health of the calf, and decided it was time to assist. The father-son team corralled the nervous black heifer into a small calving pen and then a head gate that would confine her for their safety and hers.
With sure hands, Brice Jack in elbow-length gloves attached small obstetrical chains to the hooves and pulled a slippery black calf front feet first from the new mother, laying it in the bedding near her. And then they released mom from the gate and the men walked away to give her space.
“It’s all about Mother Nature. We’re just here to assist as we can, and it’s good when it all works out,” said a calm Steve Jack a half hour later when the new mother was licking her 75-pound heifer calf as it nursed.
Customers pay $60 for the Jacks’ calving service and $3 a day for feed. For that they know their calf will be born under shelter from the wind and in fresh dry cornstalk bedding, as opposed to outside where it could suffer frostbite and even freeze to death before it stands — an especially strong concern this winter.
The expectant mother will be fed 35 pounds of feed a day plus hay, and checked at least every two hours, 24 hours a day. The Jacks will assist her in delivery or call a veterinarian if need be. And they will make sure the calf nurses in the first two hours to get the crucial colostrum from the mother, building immunities for life. They will also vaccinate each newborn and attach identification tags to an ear.
For the Jacks, who have their own herd of 175, the business means working 24/7 from roughly January through April. One of them — they swap nights — will sleep in the warm office and wake every two hours, pulling on rubber boots and a coat to face the cold and walk through the herd, checking each expectant mother.
Hard rock music blares through the barn night and day to distract the cows from other sounds that make them jumpy. Lights are on, and the Jacks’ sheep, many with newborn lambs huddled under heat lamps, bray in a fenced corner.
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The 50-by-160-foot barn with a hooped canvas top is warmed only by the heat of the large bodies, which probably weigh 1,300-1,500 pounds. Although they can keep 200 animals, totals have ranged from 35 to about 150 at a time, they said. They have averaged four births a day this year, but some days bring one newborn and busier ones have seen nine or 10.
“There’s no time schedule. They feed first thing in the morning. And then they’re gonna do it when they’re gonna do it. They’re females,” said Steve Jack, laughing on a break in the office/living quarters they built steps away from the cows.
“This is a maternity ward. They are here to have their babies and then we send them home.”
Most farmers plan to bring their animals a few days to a week before the impending due date and pick them up two days after the birth. But even those animals that have been artificially inseminated may deliver a week or two early or late.
Cows that have given birth before are more comfortable with the process and may lie down and deliver in 15-30 minutes with no trouble, they said. But 90 percent of those the Jacks tend are heifers, cows that have not had a calf, and then it’s often a more complicated adventure. If labor continues more than two hours, they step in to assist.
“It can be difficult for them mentally and physically,” said Brice Jack. “They’re nervous. They don’t know what’s happening. Just like people, they’ve never done this or felt this before.”
Repeat customer Ray Johnson of nearby Monmouth made arrangements to drop off two of 10 pregnant heifers at Jack’s after falling on the ice and injuring an arm.
“I’m opting for the easy way out. I’m not ready for calves at home,” he said. “I don’t have a good place for them, and so I send some of the heifers that have more trouble. It’s better they are under cover and out of the wind.”
Two nearby veterinarians are quick to respond to situations that the Jacks can’t handle.
“I think it’s a great service they provide,” said Stronghurst veterinarian Jon Schar. “A lot of these farmers can’t spend the time that they do. With the wind chills we’ve had, calving can be brutal. Those babies can get cold really fast. It’s crucial they are dried, standing, and get to nurse as soon as possible.”
But there are no guarantees. Stillborns don’t come often, but they come.
“The customers know that,” said Brice Jack. “We do not get a live baby every single time. It’s impossible. It’s not guaranteed. But customers know we live here and we’re doing the best job we can.”
Although those who see the big men crouched down and bottle-feeding lambs and occasionally calves might think different, for the Jacks this is all business.
“You can’t get attached. You got to know where your food comes from,” says Brice Jack.
It’s also business for their customers who know the value of their cattle.
A weaned calf at six to seven months is worth $750-$1,000, said Dan Shike, an assistant professor in the Department of Animal Sciences at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. The Jacks estimate that a pregnant heifer is worth $2,500 at least.
Shike said some farmers with large cattle operations and cows at different locations may bring all of their pregnant animals to one location for convenience, creating their own maternity ward. But he had never heard of or seen a business like the Jacks’ that eases the job for smaller farmers.
“With this cold weather and inclement conditions, it makes a business like theirs more of a necessity,” he said.
Steve Jack, 47, started the business six years ago with longtime friend Jim Kane after another farmer asked them to calve his 30 heifers. After word got out, requests snowballed.
When Kane’s work schedule made the time commitment difficult, he opted out, Kane said, and Brice Jack, 25, who has an animal science degree from nearby Western Illinois University and a passion for farming, stepped in.
Now father and son figure if they are going to dedicate time and attention to calving their own herd, they might as well offer the service to others and at the same time make extra income in what would be slow months, they said.
They work all day every day together, first calving and later planting 1,600 acres of row crops in the area.
“I knew I wanted to be a farmer when I was 4 years old,” said Brice Jack. “I’ve been around cattle all of my life. You learn in school, but you learn more hands-on.”
His father, who started farming at 20, calls this “a lifestyle choice.”
“You got to want to stay busy, and I do. I enjoy it,” said Steve Jack, swiftly moving through routine morning and evening chores between births. “Beyond that, I don’t have words for it. I just enjoy it. This is where I want to be and the only thing I have ever wanted to do.”
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