For the past ten years of my life, early Spring time has been about waiting. Waiting for the pastures to turn green again. Waiting for the mud to dry up. Waiting for shearing time.
But mostly waiting for lambs. I’ve probably spent a hundred nights or more waiting for ewes to give birth, sleeping in my truck or in the barn, or in my bed with a baby monitor propped up on my pillow. Year after year, I experienced the same excitement and anticipation waiting for the very first lamb or kid of the season to be born. Sometimes it felt like it was never going to happen and then, suddenly we were up to our elbows in knobbly knees and pink noses.
I am happy to say that lambing never lost it’s magic for me. No matter how many babies I saw born, no matter how many sleepless nights, no matter how many moments-old lambs I saw take their first wobbly steps, it never stopped being an amazing miracle.
Last year, we decided not to breed the ewes for lambs this spring. Mostly because our flock was at capacity and we didn’t want to have to make any tough decisions about any of the older ewes. When you have a no-kill flock, there is always a trade-off to be made between the old animals and the new.
We also held off lambing because I knew that this year, I would be awaiting a lamb of my very own during lambing season. I am 37 weeks pregnant today, eagerly anticipating the arrival of my very own knobby-kneed miracle.
I am feeling all the things you might expect a very pregnant first time mom to be feeling. Excitement. Anticipation. Trepidation. Discomfort (my empathy for the ewes has increased greatly!). I can honestly say that I have never been so happy– or so content– in my entire life as I am right now.
But in spite of that, I will miss the lambs this year. I just keep reminding myself how incredibly lucky I was to have that experience so many times.
No one in this world has ever been luckier than me, that’s for sure.
Another ram lamb, born to Georgia this afternoon. We’re calling this one Stauton, because Austin Val asked.
