Sheep

I shrug the small, lightweight, purple backpack over my shoulder onto my back and click the waist belt in place. I lift the shepherds crook from the box of the Ranger. Eyes looking down I begin a half circle around a ewe and her twin lambs, gently spiralling toward her. She gurgles to the lambs, urging them to their feet and then breaks off, trotting away. I make a dive forward, hooked the quickest lamb around the neck to check it up before hooking the second. Another reach for the first lamb again and I’ve got the two of them at my feet. The ewe turns back, alarm written all over her face. I present the lambs in front of me to let her know where they’re at. She comes in closer but stays well out of reach. She frets, rushes off, rushes back, does a fast circle around me. One of the lambs bleats and the ewe comes to a stand and answers. Her lambs are here; she talks, the lamb answers. I cradle the lambs in my lap, unsnap the backpack and dig out the elastrator and rings. I work as swift as I can, one band on the tail of each lamb, one band on the nuts of the male lamb, a paint mark on each and then a timely return to the ewe at a moment when she is looking toward us, searching for her lambs.

Lambing started with a single lamb, dead on arrival or shortly thereafter, the ewe nowhere to be found. The next day presented a dead pregnant ewe. Then a lovely set of twins, a single, … and five more lambs since.

I did not get excited about lambing time this year. Did not check the calendar or experience the usual amount of anticipation for it. I wasn’t dreading it either, I just did not think about it. Perhaps the flatline state is an emotional pre-screening of sorts, knowing the up’s and down’s that are ahead. I’m not sure. I do know some of my energy is tied up in worry over the grass which is nothing I can control but is something I have to consider and make decisions with. I’ve begun to chew on the thought that we may be parting with some of this flock.

I am eager to see more Corriedale lambs born and entering the flock this year. Once again I put the straight bred Corrie ram and two Corrie ram lambs with select ewes. I’m liking last years white face, female replacement lambs and am anticipating more high quality fleeces from this flock. Corriedale sheep were something we wanted when we began with sheep but ignored because it was difficult to find them. It still is. Funny how everything comes around one way or another.

Two days into lambing and I’m quickly re-establishing the annual routine for this busy time. No big reasons to make any big changes so I won’t. I used to ear tag female lambs but I’ve decided to stop with that and go with tagging them later when we know they’re staying on. Or else, not tagging at all, which is a thought percolating in the back of my head.

Otherwise, for the next month I’ll be spending a good deal of time on pasture, with sheep, with dogs, with ticks, and with any luck maybe even with a little bit of rain.

We came wickedly close to running out of feed this winter. We have ten bales left and we only have those ten left because we mixed the late hay being offered with straw.

When the cold weather broke, the weather warmed quickly. The snow receded and the ewes began to wander over the stockpiled vetch field. It’s all just old feed out there but they were skipping the hay and going to graze.

Yesterday night the weather cooled again and the wind picked up. The ewes are late in their pregnancy and we had not offered a bale in several days, maybe I should do so today. I did, and the ewes never even paused to sniff it as they walked on by to go grazing. Damn those things anyway, 1400 lbs of feed rolled out but untouched. Frustration rushes in. Down to nine bales if the weather turns ugly again or we need to feed after shearing. I really didn’t appreciate sheep this morning.

They’ll find it later I thought and they did, and they passed right by it again. A sharp reminder of how strong the urge is for livestock to move and graze feed off the land.

That evening I filled the mineral tubs with fresh mineral and salt, not a ewe in sight while I did so but before I finish filling the second tub, they’re on the move toward me. They wait for me to leave and the moment I do they swarm the tubs. Feed – nah – but salt/mineral – none of that goes unnoticed.

The days are beautifully warm after the hellish cold spell we came through at winters end. Feeling the stockpiled agitation at life that will not flow for me lately, I head to the shearing building. It needs to be cleaned before shearing which is end of next week.

We don’t house the flock but there is always a small group of animals who stay in this area through the winter. This year it was cows, horses and wether lambs for dog training. There is no shelter other than the building and some windbreak panels so when the weather gets particularly nasty I open the door of the building and let the small group of animals who stay in this paddock access it for shelter. This winter has a particularly long cold snap so those animals spent more than a few days and nights in there.

I pulled in a calf sleigh and picked up the shovel. I begin to scrape and scoop, collecting the bigger piles of cow and horse manure. Then scraped the sheep manure and dirt into a windrow before shovelling it into the calf sleigh. When the sleigh was full enough for me to haul I step into the looped rope and pull it a distance to the hilltop and dump it. I can taste the bitter tang of dust from the loose dirt of covered earth that has not seen direct moisture for years. Wary of filling the sleigh too full and giving myself grief at pulling it, I make several trips.

Every other farmer I know would do this work with a tractor but that option doesn’t even occur to me. This is a physical job I know I can get done and I needed that – I needed a job that could just get done – no analyzing, no loose ends, a job with direct, tangible result.
My agitation dropped a notch.
It is repetitive grunt work that has no carefulness or detail to it. In the doing of the work is smoothness and rhythm I haven’t felt for some time.
In some fashion I can’t articulate my mind writes while my body works. I sort out life’s misgivings of late and even though the relief only lasted for the duration of time I spent shovelling shit I know I’ve been nudged in a direction I needed to be nudged. This way of life has a way of doing that.