Yesterday I woke early and got dressed before anyone else was awake. Pete had taken the late shift, so the early trip to the barn was mine, to see if Melissa was in labor. We knew her due date and had been watching her closely for days.

She wasn't in labor, but I checked her over and felt that she would begin soon. She was so big and her udder was so full she could scarcely walk. Her breathing was loud and buzzy, just like late pregnancy last year (when – as Pete described it – her "phone is set to vibrate" on every exhale).

It was nearly time.

And so when Lupine and I left for work (she likes to go with me on Tuesdays now and again) we told the boys to call us when active labor began. We didn't want to miss it. Lupine most of all.

The phone rang around 1 PM. It was time to come home. We packed our bags quickly and headed out the door, one part nerves two parts excitement.

Melissa began pushing shortly after we arrived. I mixed up a bucket of warm molasses water for her to drink and Pete, Lupine and I sat quietly in the straw, observing, while Sage drifted in and out at the edge of his comfort zone. Finally, it was time to check her progress.

Last year her first kid was breach and stuck and therefore stillborn. We called the vet but before he arrived Pete helped deliver her kid himself because of the pain Melissa was in with each contraction. The vet arrived moments later and helped deliver the next two kids because, he said, if the first is breech they often are all stillborn.

We knew that if we hadn't been there last year we would have lost all three babies and their mom as well.

So this year were going to keep a very close watch.

We checked her and – darn! – the first kid presenting was breech. Not again! Worry and disappointment rushed in. But this year we knew what to do, and I was so thankful when Pete grabbed his gloves and set to assist. I held her head in my hands and talked to her and Pete did his best to gently help her deliver this buckling. Our fast action made all the difference and he was alive. We were stunned and thrilled!

Pete checked her again and the second kid was also breech but Pete was able to straighten it's legs for a less traumatic delivery. And the third (captured on video here) was also breech, but presented beautifully feet-first on her own. (Thank goodness!)

In the end we had three strong, beautiful goat kids in the barn, and one attentive, patient (and likely relieved) mama seeing to their needs. We were elated that all three survived and that it was a much easier birth for sweet Melissa than last season.

We helped the babies latch and nurse, making sure all of them got that precious colostrum, and fell in love three times over in an instant.  Two boys and one girl. Happiness to the third!

We named them Pinecone, Pepperpot, and Tiptoes, after some of our favorite children's books.

Watching Melissa labor – watching any animal labor – is such a gift. I was amazed by her strength and her patience and determination. I can't imagine delivering one breech baby, much less three in one go. It was hard work but she did it. (I do think some arnica is in order this morning.)

This goat is my hero.

And just like that – with a dramatic triple finish – the farm baby season is officially over. Nine lambs and three goats, all alive, all strong, all thriving.

What a difference a year or two of experience can make.

I am grateful.

 

 

 

Last spring a friend was visiting just after our lambs were born. Watching the lambs leap and dance through the air it occurred to us that tutus were in order.

Because lambs in tutus sounded like the cutest thing we had ever imagined.

Sadly we had no tulle, so the plan was benched for the season.

With tulle for tutus in mind, Lupine and I took one very silly trip to the fabric store last month (during which we asked the hardworking woman at the cutting table how many yards of tulle it would take to sew a tutu for a lamb.) We all had a hard time holding it together, and I'm pretty sure we were here most memorable fabric cuts of the day.By the time we left with our yards and yards of ballerina pink and black tulle she made us promise to bring her photos after our project was complete.

This little number is only our test tutu. There will be more. (Many more.) There may also be fairy wings and gnome hats, but time will tell. If you'd like to see more lamb silliness I will share occasional photos on Instagram (I'm lusa_mama), and yes videos are involved.

You can also keep an eye on #lambsintutus, perhaps my favorite farm hashtag ever.

Love,
Rachel

 

*No lambs were harmed in the production of this ballet. (Honestly, it was a bit like when we put our dog in a harness. A moment of "What's this?" followed by "Let's eat!" They didn't mind a bit.)

This is the time of year when we get lots of phone calls from friends wanting to pop by for a visit. Of course! After all, we have a barn-full of babies!

Clover and Violet.

Dorothy.

Jupiter and Venus.

Pickle and Jewel.

Quinoa and Millet.

Nine lambs – four boys and five girls. Seven white, one black, and one, well, Holstein.

Pickle, the dairy cow look-alike, is rather hard to explain. Honestly, this little guy has the wildest markings we have ever seen! A white Merino father, white Corriedale mother, black and white polka-dot lamb. Um… I'm not sure what happened there, but I love it.

He hard not to fall in love with, silly guy.

And now the fun begins! Later this week we'll open up some fresh green pastures, and set these babies (and their mamas) out to romp, run, and enjoy the lushness of spring. I can hardly wait.

The first though I had upon waking on Friday morning was, "We have lambs." I hadn't been paying close attention to our farm calendar and didn't expect them for a few more weeks, but I couldn't shake the thought. 

Pete and I got dressed and went to check. We scanned the pasture and didn't see anything out of the ordinary. No one laboring, just goats, sheep, and one big dog lounging on the hay.

Then Pete counted, recounted, and counted again. One ewe was missing.

Buddy Bunchkins, born in our barn two years ago, was not with the rest of the flock. We found her in the barn, cleaning off her newborn lambs. 

Two little ramlings, one with horn buds (Violet) and one without (Clover). 

And so we're off! One goat and eleven ewes to go.

I love this season.

Happy Spring, friends. 

 We have these incredible neighbors who deserve a blog post (if not series) of their own.

Al and Shirley have been homesteading in our valley since I was in elementary school. Now in their 60's they heat their home largely with the sun, haul their water, and raise their own food. Add to this the fact that they spend much of their winters and nearly ever waking hour in spring hours battling invasive honeysuckle and garlic mustard and they're a pretty inspiring team on many levels. 

But that's a story for another day.

For today we'll stick to a post about their horse Pearl and the bobsled ride we enjoyed with them yesterday afternoon. 

Al called a couple of weeks ago to see if we were up for a ride, but the snow soon melted and we missed our chance (or so we thought). But then on Sunday night a few more inches fell and the phone rang again. Were we up for it? It was our last chance for this season, so we jumped. 

A quick schedule rearrange and we cleared our afternoon, made some hot cocoa, and headed a short mile up the road to meet Al, Shirley, and Pearl. 

The sun was shining, the weather was mild, and there was fresh snow on the trail. A perfect day for a bobsled ride through the woods if every there was.

Al and Shirley hooked Pearl up to the bobsled and we were off.

Within the first few minutes my teeth were dry from the huge smile that was plastered on my face. We rode through the woods and along the creek for miles, with only the sound of the runners on snow, crunching hooves, sleigh bells, and of course Al's stories. It was magical.

Pearl is getting older and hasn't done much pulling this season, so we paused halfway to give her a rest and enjoyed some hot cocoa beneath the trees.

And I thought to myself, 'What a perfect and unexpected homeschooling day!"

Because sure, we could have stayed around the table working on our spelling and math. That's what we had planned after all. Or we could toss the books aside and head out for one last adventure in the fleeting snow. 

I'm certain we made the right choice.

Thanks Al and Shirley.

And most of all, thank you, Pearl. 

Tomorrow we'll do math. 

Two weeks ago Pete was out feeding our flock and noticed coyote tracks. Inside of our fenced pasture.

The coyote had jumped our electric fence with one easy bound and exited over the other side, like it was nothing.

And while it didn't approach our animals it was a wake up call for us for the coming lambing season. We need to be more careful. And so for the first time ever we felt it was time for a livestock guard dog (LGD).

Enter Grandpa, stage right.

The fluffy guy is "Grandpa". He came named, and while we're considering renaming him it is pretty fun to say, "Did you give Grandpa his dog food?" Or, "Grandpa's not used to walking on a leash." Or, "Grandpa just peed all over the wood pile." 

Maybe we won't change his name after all. 

Grandpa is a maremma, one of several big, white, fluffy LGD breeds that are known to be hardy, protective, and good-natured guardian animals. He needed rehoming when some more dominant dogs at a friends' farm refused to accept him. They kindly offered him to us.

He's pretty shy and cautious but also very affectionate, and after only three days he's grown on all of us (me especially).

Well, he's grown on most of us.

There are still are a few skeptics among us.

Namely: all of the sheep and goats.

(Grandpa isn't sure what all the drama is about.)

So for the time being we've set him up in an adjoining pasture where he can keep watch over the flock without getting too close so they can get used to each other. Mostly the sheep and goats stand around and stare at him, daring him to come closer. (Poor guy.) Especially at mealtime. (I think they wonder why he's eating something that looks like their grain.)

Indeed, he's a bit nervous about their stares, their charges, and their and stomping hooves.

It turns out under all that fluff he's just a big baby.

Grandpa is already trained to protect goats and other livestock, so now it's more a matter of teaching the flock that he's friendly. (Right now if we let him in they'd likely give him quite a beating.) After they're better acquainted he will live with them, wherever they are on our farm.

And come lambing season, that means everyone will sleep a little easier.

 Welcome to the farm, Grandpa. We're so glad you're here. (Even if the girls are giving you a hard time about it.)

Any name suggestions?

 

 

Thank you M. And J. So very much. 

We first got sheep because I fell in love with the idea of knitting with yarn from my own flock. From there it spread outward into restoring our farm to something of what it was two generations ago, and putting homegrown meat on our table.

But mostly it was an emotional decision. Sheep! Lambs! Fluffy cuteness!

Yeah. I'm that person. (I suspect I'm not alone.)

But it turns out that keeping sheep is more than just the pastoral woolly dots on the hillside and a basket of fluffy fleece to spin by the fire. It's a big job. Or a collection of big jobs, spread out across each day and each season.

It's daily water bucket hauling in the summer and hay bale throwing in the winter. It's parasite management and pasture rotation. It's cutting and putting up hay until your arms itch and your lungs burn. It's mucking the barn and moving manure. It's heavy, hard work at times.

And sheep – being sheep – aren't normally cuddly sweetness and appreciation but are more often running the other way at your approach. (How's that for gratitude?) They're skittish and shy and aloof.

And yet truly, I can't imagine this farm without them.

We spent most of Sunday in the barn with the sheep and goats doing hoof care and looking over each animal to see how they're doing and check for signs of pregnancy. We have fourteen sheep and five goats, and it took us the better part of the day to care for them.

It's back breaking work I wonder how well Pete will be able to walk today after doing most of the heavy lifting. I'm thankful for sharing the flock with him, that's for certain. I'm not sure how I could manage this alone.

We don't get around to hoof trimming quite as often as we should. Without exception every time we do it we say to each other, "We need to get back to this again sooner." And then we don't.

But this year we're putting it on the calendar – devoting a full day to animal care every few months so we can stay on top of it. This is the year we get things done, and timely doses of herbal wormer and hoof trimming is on that list. It's a job to take seriously and so we are.

And while if you asked me yesterday morning if I'd rather spend the day knitting by the fire or wrestling sheep into a seated position for their seasonal mani-pedi I'd have certainly chosen the former. But at the end of the day I was so thankful that we got it all done and treated this flock to the care that it needs.

Pete and I shared some hard work, some serious belly laughs, and a day doing what needed to be done, down in the barn.

 

 

 

Today there was deep snow, cold toes, frozen hoses, and ample frustration. There was the needed expression of big emotions, then apologies, then forgiveness.

We think we're out here to care for the animals, but some days we're really here for the lessons in grace.

And sure, sometimes we question this path we're on. Days we wonder what life would be like without animals, garden, homestead.

Without so much work.

Surely there is an easier path out there that would satisfy us without so much effort.

Or is there?

Because The goal was never an "easy" life. But a juicy, vibrant, and messy life, brimming with real, hard work?

Yes. I'm pretty sure that was what we signed up for.

 

The magic of the first snow of the year.

Nothing compares to this.