baby life

I For a long time in January, we kept saying "it just feels like spring is almost here!" The weather was mellow and warm, and even though the trees and shrubs were still spindly and naked, winter seemed to have lost its bite. I think half of it was that we were on the flip side of the winter solstice.

Now, in mid-February, there's no wondering or hoping. Spring is here, and everywhere new life is bursting out of what seems like nowhere. The cover crop in our garden, after huddling close to the ground for months, is leaping and leggy and brilliant green. The snowberry and salmonberry are leafing out along the trail; our side yard is full of unfolding bleeding heart. We even seeded things in our greenhouse the other day--enough onions for the world, or at least the town of Concrete, and spinach and peas. I'm ready to get the picnic table back out on the patio!

No, there's still a lot of rain yet to come. It's not picnic table season.

But my very favorite sign of spring this year is baby lambs! We found them in the barn Monday morning, wrinkly and awkward and almost alien-like in their long-leggedness. And just darn cute. These two are ahead of the curve; there are still four mamas yet to give birth. I have now become obsessed with baby lamb watching and eyeing those mamas for signs of labor, at least, the signs that Storey's Guide to Raising Sheep has told me about. Monday afternoon, I did a close read on the labor and delivery chapter, and took a bunch of notes. Luckily, most of the time labor goes fine and the mamas don't need any help. But I do have the page about labor assist, with all sorts of handy diagrams, flagged. Can you just imagine us with our Storey Guide and sanitized cooking-oiled hands, ready to reach in?

This morning, triplets appeared in the barnyard. All of them healthy, mama included, which is not necessarily expected when lambs come in threes. Monday's, 1601 and 1602, have already graduated to a bigger pen with access to outside, and you'd never know just a few days ago they were wobbling and weaving instead of leaping and prancing. 

Sunday, we expect chicks. Needless to say, it's super distracting. Who wants to be consulting Chicago Manual of Style when there is so much new life outside?