LITTLE ROCK — Between hunting season and our heavy workloads, my husband and I haven’t seen much of each other lately. So when the weekend came, we headed to the farm. Time at the farm is our antidote to stress, and with the first lamb of the season only days old, farm life was about to get busier.
The next morning I woke first and headed to the barn. The sheep were waiting, bumping and jostling for position at the feeders. We know most by name, but we count daily at feeding time just to be sure. Stepping back, I took count and came up short. So I counted again, and then again. Someone was missing.
It has been nearly a year since we lost half our herd to nighttime predator attacks. Since sheep instinctively flock and avoid being alone at all costs, there could be only two reasons one was missing — injury or lambing. After checking the barn again, I headed out. There was no sign of her in the big pasture near the barn. Cresting the hill toward the far pasture, I spotted her — a lone white ewe curled up by the fence. Next to her was a small white ball, and not far away were Bessie and Boxer, two of our guard dogs, keeping an eye on things.
Ringed by the rolling peaks of the Boston Mountains, the far pasture is peaceful and safe. I approached slowly and the young ewe turned her head calmly and gazed at me. It was Lucy, a second-time mom. She continued to watch me steadily as I approached, not standing and not encouraging her lamb to stand. I took another step, still no response.
Now it became important to know that all was well, so I gradually moved closer. At 10 feet away, Lucy got to her feet and calmly nudged the baby. He raised his small head and then stood, wobbly, fresh and lovely. He couldn’t have been more than a few hours old. I was thrilled. It was my first time to discover a newborn lamb. Mama and baby seemed fine, so I left them in the dogs’ watchful care, backed slowly away and went to get Marc.
When we returned, Lucy reluctantly let us pick up her baby and carry him to the barn to a clean pen. She followed anxiously, calming as soon as we set the baby down. We stepped out, locked the pen and watched. Gently, Lucy nudged him in the right direction and he began to nurse, his little tail wagging happily. We went to check on the 4-day-old lamb in the next pen, and when we looked at my newborn again, he was sound asleep next to his mother.
This is the fragility, wonder and messiness of farm life, the side of raising animals most of us never see. For the proud mama, the hard part is over. For us, the work has just begun. Caring for and tending animals year-round is consistent, devoted work, and the most wonderful, wearying and rewarding part of all is lambing.
The trauma of last year threw the sheep off schedule, so this year our ewes are lambing out of season. For the first time, most of our lambs will arrive during December. In fact, our lambing season should peak at Christmas, and between now and then all our holiday plans are subject to Mother Nature’s schedule. That’s OK with us. Christmas is about the challenge of truly giving and receiving love, no matter the cost. This year, we’re grateful for simple blessings, including the joy of tending mothers and their newborn babes, carrying water and feed, and filling mangers with hay.
Write to Jennifer Hansen at Arkansas Democrat-Gazette P.O. Box 7, Springdale, Ark 72765. E-mail her at:
jhansen@arkansasonline.com
Family, Pages 34 on 12/12/2012