Yesterday, I was convinced it was spring. It was sunny, the kind of sunny where when the sun is full out, you want to take off your coat, but when it pops behind a cloud, you wish you had worn another layer outside.
The first lambs were born, too, a surprise! They were eleven days early, at least, by the calendar, so lambs had not been on my radar. When Tim called me to say one of the ewes was in labor, I ran out without a coat and left the garden gate open—later found all our chickens in there.
I was determined to see the second twin born. Our neighbor Christina dropped by to wait for a bit with me, and brought beers. Her six-month-old, Simon, played in the hay and laughed at the mama ewe. Finally, I did see it happen. It was sort of terrifying. I have been listening to James Herriot stories from the library recently, so I found myself thinking, James! What do I do?! I did nothing and the ewe did everything and it was fine. It was neat to hear her grunting with pleasure as she licked off the lamb, and to watch the lamb struggle up within minutes and start to head-bonk the mama's udder for milk—Herriot talks about both of those things as sights that never got old for him.
So what with the lambs, the slender green shoots of garlic in the garden, the myriad tulip stalks in the pots on the patio—it really did seem like spring.
But then today it was fifteen degrees colder and snowing for most of the morning. I guess that sounds like spring too.
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