After five years in farming, Jameson Morrow has learned some things in farming don't always go right or end well.
"Sometimes, no matter what you do, your best isn't good enough," Morrow said last week as he looked out over a pasture on his Cole County farm at a fairly new birthing barn.
A Jefferson City native with no family farming background, Morrow, 35, took up cattle farming because cattle interested him as a child, and he knew friends with cattle in college. Starting a farm, though, presented him with challenges unlike starting any other business. Ultimately, as he manages the herd in this gritty business, he's learned life can be rewarding, but can also be cruel.
One late night several months ago, Morrow faced a dilemma while delivering a calf stuck inside its mother. Morrow could tell the calf was dead and stuck on the cow's pelvis. Scrambling to save the mother, he placed a jack on her back to pull the baby out, but the jack broke. Eventually, he got the calf out, but paralyzed the mother in the process.
He tried to treat the animal for days, and it even walked again. Soon, the cow got sick and needed to be euthanized.
Children raised on cattle farms can grow up with skin thicker than bull leather. They learn not to grieve the loss of an animal and to move on to caring for the rest of the herd. After just a half-decade in the business, Morrow hasn't quite learned that lesson yet.
In October Morrow's wife, Loni, gave birth to their first daughter. Of course, Morrow doesn't love his animals like he loves his daughter. He does feel a responsibility, though, to protect and provide for them so they, in turn, can provide for for him.
"You did everything you could to save her, then you have to shoot her," Morrow said. "To me, it's really hard to do that."
As a child in Jefferson City, Morrow never knew what he wanted to be. His uncle farms a handful of acres just south of Jefferson City, and he loved seeing the tractors there. After high school, Morrow bounced around working on a fishing boat in Alaska fresh out of high school and later taking agriculture classes at Columbia College and the University of Missouri.
While in college at age 20, Morrow had friends with farming backgrounds whose families had cattle. So, he convinced his dad to help him buy four small cattle. It proved to be a learning experience for him, but he didn't have the money to buy more cattle.
"I liked cows, but I didn't really know anything about them," Morrow said.
Unable to get a bank loan, Morrow found himself once again working in Alaska on fishing boats. There he met Nick Delaney, who owned Alaskan Leader Fisheries. Delaney loved helping people "with drive," Morrow said, so he loaned Morrow $100,000 to start his cattle-farming business in Mid-Missouri.
A startup farm requires tractors that cost tens of thousands of dollars. Calves can cost hundreds of dollars each before buying feed and medicines. Since 2012, Morrow has put about $3 million into his farm.
"You don't see a lot of farmers starting out anymore," Morrow said. "You see people taking over somebody's farm, but it takes a long time to accumulate all the stuff you need."
Without a family of farmers to lean on, Morrow grew to lean on mentors like Delaney, other farmers he's met and even by watching YouTube videos to learn how to farm. He's one of the youngest new farmers in the area, but he's also quick to question old-school farming wisdom.
"I do everything the way I do it because that's the way I think is best," Morrow said.
Five years into his venture, Morrow feels he's starting to build something special. A herd of about 350 head of cattle graze on about 2,400 acres, all of which he leases beside this pasture just outside of Jefferson City. Now Morrow likes to experiment by crossbreeding Angus and Gelbvieh cows to create a better-tasting steak.
Right now Morrow fills the first stage in the cycle of beef production. He breeds calves and raises them until they're about 2-3 years old. He sells his cattle to other farmers who raise them for a few months and sell them to the butcher.
Eventually he'd like to raise cattle until they're old enough for slaughter and sell vacuum-packed steaks, fillets and beef.
In a large barn that houses tractors and other farm equipment, office space sits under construction so the Morrows can run the business side of the farm. The farm's razor-thin profit margins make it hard to support the family, so Loni's job as an attorney supports the family, Morrow said. She spends about one week each month in San Diego for work. Still, he said, she also does a lot for the business.
Morrow sat in an all-terrain vehicle at the top of a hill overlooking much of his grazing land, including the birthing barn. The green grazing land in the valley below, beside the large red barn, sparkled like a field of emeralds, the tips of grass wettened by morning rain shining under the golden sky. Sitting there, he could see all of that in front of him, so close, but also years away.
He's content raising calves for now, but still allows himself to escape to the quiet cow patty-covered hillside and let himself dream.
"There's money to be made in what I'm doing," Morrow said. "But it's all the little stuff that adds up."