Foster Mom

I am in the process of updating my resume to include Foster Mom. Yes, I am now an experienced !! ewe substitute with a living lamb as my credentials.

It all started on, literally, the coldest night of the year. So cold that we actually had a nice, crunchy frost the next morning. Anyway, that night ewe #9 yellow decided to give birth to twins. Since these weren't optimal conditions the 3 of us agonized over the kitchen table about what to do.(I suppose #9 yellow's agony was worse.) Should we bring in the lambs and risk having the mother reject them? Should I feed them in situ and hope for the best? Should we move them into the stalls, push the ewe in and pray? Or should we do nothing and let the Mom be in charge.

I was in favor of ceding authority to the Mom and that is what we did. Unfortunately, the Mom declined the baton and one of the twins was dead when I got to the paddock the next morning. The other (see above photo) was curled in a ball shivering violently. The mother had wandered some way away, obviously completely uninvolved in the proceedings. Another sympathetic ewe tried to approach the lamb but #9 yellow butted her away. The kid could die but no other ewe could have it. (Sorry, not kid, lamb).

I tried to get to the lamb but the ewe was ornery so I woke Dan and he got the lamb out of the paddock and into my shirt covered arms. I was very careful not to let any part of me get directly onto the lamb in case the mother would reject it for my scent. So there I was happily tucked up in my overstuffed chair warming a lamb. It was kind of nice! The girls played quietly nearby, coming frequently to see that the lamb was still alive. My cat, Smudge, sat on the bed nearby and gave it the prolonged cat stare. Hard to tell what she was thinking but I certainly didn't sense any hospitable approval.

Finally the lamb began stirring and bleating. The sun had warmed the paddock and we decided to risk reuniting mother and child. The lamb was eager, the mom standoffish but at long last she let herself be milked. She is still a lousy mother and this poor little lamb has to fight for everything but it is still alive. It runs around stealing a sip from other mothers and getting stronger daily but we still watch her closely and pray every morning that she is still alive. So far, so good. 

Yea! Lambing Season

The rains are here, the cold is here, and the lambs are here. Two, anyway and many, many more are expected in the new few weeks. As you can see from the picture above, the ewes are very nonchalant about the miracle of birth; I am not.

As the world becomes increasingly incomprehensible to me (as in "What are they thinking of?"), I turn from the latest bewildering news byte to the  rhythm of the farm. I firmly believe it is saving my sanity - or what's left of it.

There is something soothing about watching the flock amble its way to the sunny part of the paddock. It took me almost a year to figure out why. For those of you who don't know, it is because the sunny grass is drier and so easier to chew. And the dry grass doesn't irritate their eyes the way wet grass does.

 Anyway, the ewes don't rush; no train to catch for them, no rush hour madness. And then they settle in to the daily routine, of which they never tire. They eat, they rest, they eat, they snooze, they eat, and then they bed down for the night.

I have heard it said that farmers are Nature's philosophers. Well, they'd have to be, wouldn't they? They see the pace of nature up close and personal. Nothing is much more personal than pulling a sideways lamb out of the womb. Farmers take the long view on everything. Rains come when they shouldn't and don't when they should. But so far it has evened out - sort of. Farmers live that reality. 

They also live with the knowledge that nothing lasts and change always happens. They gave up optimism with puberty and know well that sometimes the farm floods, locusts savage the first ample wheat yield in 7 years, the bull they saved up to buy will be sterile, etc. etc. etc. And yet they get up each early, early morning and watch the ewes amble down to the sunny side of the street. And now I do too. I am very lucky.