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.