“I just had my own ‘Hilda moment,’” I texted Mom one Saturday morning, standing in a field transformed into a temporary stockyard, holding cattle on display for auction. There was a crowd walking through the cattle, just thirty minutes before the sale was to begin.

It didn’t take Mom long to respond, “Oh no. I’m sorry.”

Hilda was not a long-lost cousin or a moment of forgetfulness. Hilda was a cow.

Born and raised on a dairy farm in the 1950s, my mother’s formative years were also spent in a barn. She recalls one day when her daddy came in from the farm and asked my mom, a teen at the time, to run upstairs and get his wallet so he could go to town. Mom did so, but before returning downstairs, she ran to the south side of the farmhouse and looked outside to see what he was up to.

Loaded in the back of the livestock truck was Hilda, mom’s favorite cow. Hilda was going to town, and when cows go to town, they don’t come home. It was crushing for the teen who spent years showing, leading and milking that cow. My own childhood was woven with mom telling stories of this beloved Holstein cow.

Decades later, it was my turn.

1705 has been my favorite cow for years because of her even temper and docility. When we would push her to the barn so she could have her calf out of the wind, rain or snow, she moved slowly and easily. When the calf arrived, she let us tag and treat the calf while she stood back and watched. When it was time to turn the pair out into the world, she didn’t leave the barn without a back scratch.

1705 was a leader who never caused trouble, never cut through the wrong gate, never pushed the limits. She was predictable, and when tasked with moving cattle alone, I prefer no surprises.

I should have known it was coming. Months prior we set aside a day to picture sale cattle, and 1705 was one of the cows we photographed, but I made the poor assumption she was there to only get an updated photo for our website.

Despite the disappointment of seeing my favorite cow leave our family farm, I also understand the reason. She served us well. She mothered bulls that have built a name, and she mothered heifers that remain on our land. She still has life left in her; it’s time for her to serve another herd. She was purchased by a family to be a foundation female for their upstart herd, and we’re quite excited for them.

There is certain validation that comes when you realize letting go of something isn’t all bad, and that is what 1705 taught me. Letting go frees up space for something new, different or better. Though, I wouldn’t say I’m the kind of wife who gets excited when I see more cattle unload at our farm. Who is going to feed them? You’re looking at her.

Letting go and passing on to someone else allows for someone’s success, fresh start or excited beginning. I know a man who sold many of his tools as he slowed down into retirement. With each tool he sold on Facebook, I thought about how great it was they wouldn’t be rusting in a shop or waiting for the next generation to sell in an estate auction in 25 years. His letting go will enable the next generation of home builders.

Maybe it isn’t cattle or tools that are taking up pen or tool bench space in your life. Maybe it is a habit that no longer serves you. Is it time to let it go, for good? Maybe it is a skill that you no longer use. Is it time to pass it down to someone else? Maybe it is a committee that you no longer contribute to. Is it time to let the more eager serve?

While I push due mothers into the barn during calving season, I often wonder what the night will bring. A full night’s rest? A new heifer calf that will one day become our daughter’s own Hilda or 1705? Something worthy of passing on to someone else? I suppose only time will tell.