Livestock was vital to settlers

When she saw what was happening, she immediately went looking for her father. Being only five years old, her short little legs would not cover much ground, but she was doing the best she could. It turned out her father was in the garden inspecting the progress of his efforts on this beautiful spring day in 1839. There had been a late frost, and he was checking for damage. The potatoes looked a little singed; the carrots seemed to be all right; the peas were hurt the most, but maybe they would make; it was too late to pull them up and plant again.
He was bending down pulling up a few weeds when he first heard his daughter calling for him. She was the middle of his three girls, now four, five, and six years old. The garden was on the far side of the clearing, so his daughter was out of breath when she came to him. “Daddy. Daddy, come quick,” she gasped. “Molly is having her calf.” “Oh, no,” he thought. “This is too early; way too early. The cow must be aborting the calf. Oh, no.”
“Alright, Baby Girl. Let’s go see what is going on. Thank you for coming to find me.” His long strides carried him much too fast for her to keep up, so he reached down and scooped her up as they headed across the clearing to the pens to check on the cow, Molly. Livestock was an essential part of the plan of survival for the first citizens of Gonzales and Green De Witt’s Colony. The oldest known census of the colony, dated 1828, had a category for livestock owned by each resident. The cows and the calves they bore contributed significantly to the economy in early Gonzales. A good cow and calf pair could bring $10; a bull, $5; likewise for a heifer. Those were significant dollar amounts when land was selling for two and three cents an acre.
When they arrived at the pens his worst fears were realized. Molly had in fact given birth. Lying in the pen was a small, somewhat misshaped heifer calf, not much larger than a small dog. The calf was just lying there; not moving - not trying to move. “Is she going to die, Daddy? Is she going to die,” his daughter asked? “I don’t know, Baby Girl. I hope not. Listen, Go to the house and tell your mother to bring a pail of milk left over from breakfast. Hurry now,” he urged. She was out of sight in a second. “And a towel. Any kind of cloth,” he yelled after her.
No, this calf was in trouble, but he would do what he could to save it. He thought of the time and labor he spent last year helping his neighbor clear land in exchange for having his cow bred by the neighbor’s bull; all for naught. And the potential received from selling a young heifer - all gone And the value of keeping the calf, and having it bred -all gone. And the worth of slaughtering a grown calf and smoking the meat for his family to eat - all gone. He looked at the miniature baby calf, maybe born two months early, and thought of all that was lost.
His wife showed up with the pail of milk and towel, with their three daughters close behind. He put the calf in his lap, saturated the towel with the milk, and squeezed a stream of the liquid in the calf s mouth, which he kept open with the fingers of his other hand. The calf could not swallow, and the milk came back out. Upon seeing this, his wife said, “You are wasting your time and my milk. The calf is a goner.” Upon hearing this, the three daughters burst into tears. His wife grabbed the milk pail and headed back to the house. Sometimes, he thought, I wish my wife were not so honest.
So he sat there in the mess of the pen as Molly licked her calf, on this beautiful, early spring, Texas day, with the sky as blue as could be, with the birds singing, his daughters crying, and a little baby calf dying in his arms.
And that is part of our history. The history of Gonzales. Gonzales Texas is the Birthplace of Your Texas Freedom.