Each and Every Ewe
Lambing season exists in its own small but dominating sphere. The first possible due date triggers a sort of lock-down. Shearing is strategically scheduled so Colin and I are never both away from the farm for very long and our entire day, every day until the last lamb is born revolves around the flock. It wasn’t always this way. We’ve both spent past years performing the balancing act of lambing plus off-farm jobs plus school. To say I’m relieved that those days are gone would be an understatement. On the other hand, this spring begins the second year of farming full-time for us and to be honest…the fun has worn off. I don’t mean to imply that I don’t enjoy lambing at all anymore. But the routine is three-fold in quantities, rhythmic in procedure, and always with added financial pressure in the back of my mind. Every lamb born alive and kept healthy is a lamb that will help us keep our lights on. That is the reality of farming for a living.
Every day starts just after midnight with a barn check. No, we don’t have barn cameras and I don’t want them. If no labor is detected, then I’ll be back in bed until five when the normal day begins. Although, my most productive hours tend to be from two to six in the morning so I’ll often stay up (to write a blog for example). Then it’s back out to the barn once coffee is brewed. If ewes with lambs in jugs are ready to move out, it happens now with a quick tail docking and ID painted onto each lamb. If new lambs have arrived, they’re shuffled into a jug with their dam. Every ewe gets a warm bucket of molasses water after her delivery and lambs’ weights are recorded. Teats are stripped of their wax plug if not already done by the lambs. The newborns navels are dipped in iodine to prevent infection and bellies checked for fullness. Once I’m sure my interventions are no longer needed, the new mother gets a handful of hay which she’ll gobble up gratefully. The cadence of our system is protocol-like and a true strength of ours. Our spring season has been very successful. But even with all our practice and education, nothing about lambing is exactly textbook every day.
Fancy
Fancy is a three-year-old Finn ewe who Colin has a soft spot for. So of course, Colin was on his way to a big day of shearing when we could see her pelvic muscles had relaxed and she was in early labor. I was scheduled to be home but still had a full day of virtual meetings and an email inbox full of shearing clients waiting to hear back from me. So began my whiplash inducing turn around between my desk and the barn. Fancy is a good proven ewe who doesn’t need babysitting. But these would be the first lambs born from my new Finn ram coming all the way from Iowa. The anticipation for these lambs had built up! Fancy delivered the first lamb perfectly and went to work tending to it. Back to the house I went just in time for a meeting. Once that wrapped up I headed out to the barn again just as my phone started to ring. Knowing my voicemail was probably full (a common affliction for shearers), I answered it. I got over to the barn, concluded that conversation with a shearing client, and it rings again! While on the second call I found Fancy, this time struggling to push a breech lamb. I’m too polite to cut this conversation short so I summoned all my talents for multi-tasking and pulled the lamb mid-conversation without skipping a beat. That lamb and client were totally unaware of each other, but I think it’s safe to say both had satisfactory encounters with me.
Blimpy
The best lambing scenario happens without the shepherd. It’s discovered once lambs have found all four feet under them and are looking for their first drink of colostrum with an attentive ewe nearby. That was the case with Blimpy, a big white Border Leicester whose name reflects not just her stature but the size of her personality as well. I walked out to the barn one morning and found two alert and healthy lambs under her care. I couldn’t help but reflect back on a much different interaction last year. Blimpy was experiencing motherhood for the first time and went into labor one evening in March. After finishing feeding the rest of the flock I went back to where Blimpy had settled in and found her on her back, appearing to have become cast. A cast sheep is one stuck on their back unable to right themselves. As I began to kneel beside her, she suddenly had no trouble turning over and running away from me as fast as her very pregnant waddle could take her! As surprised as I was, I did notice the two little legs sticking out while she ran away. I made a judgement call and decided it was time to intervene. I got the crook, caught her, and moved her into the barn where we had light. Never has a ewe run away from me so eagerly while in active labor! But Blimpy was worked up over her first experience with labor and not cooperating one bit. I slipped a halter on her and tied her to the gate so both of my hands were free. I tried working with her contractions but Blimpy kept dancing about, swinging her rear side to side and flattening me at least once. With one good tug the lamb finally came followed quickly by a second one. The lambs began calling to their mother but were met by a confused stare from Blimpy. I set the three in a jug and gave them some time. Blimpy did catch on after a few minutes and within an hour was doing all the right things. This year, she did it all herself and didn’t need any extra time to figure things out.
Xena (pronounced Zeena)
For every single successful lambing I am grateful. Anyone who has raised livestock knows the thin divide between life and death during parturition. This season has gone all too smoothly so it was about time we took a hit. Xena, a gentle grey Border Leicester, had looked like she was ready to lamb for many days. Her sides were dramatically distended and she was clearly uncomfortable. The day finally came and she quietly delivered not one but four little black lambs. By the time we came upon them one was dead and another not doing much better. Later on we determined the one was born dead, probably as a result of spending too much time in the birth canal. We whisked away the smallest lamb to warm up in the house and moved Xena with the two remaining to a jug. Border Leicesters don’t often have more than two lambs at a time so two healthy lambs and one on the mend wasn’t so bad. But Xena’s body had taken a toll. It was clear now emptied of lambs that she had torn her prepubic tendon. We suspected this was the case in the days leading up to the delivery but hoped it only looked that way from the weight of full-term lambs. The fact that she delivered all four lambs without any assistance is a miracle. The torn tendon has left one side of her abdomen hanging down into her flank, covering one half of her udder slightly. Xena didn’t reveal any sign of pain until we began helping the young lambs onto the teat on that side and the lambs bumped into her. Her maternal instincts won out over any pain and eventually all three lambs were reunited and nursing as well as normal. Xena is proving her ability to raise these lambs but she won’t be able to carry lambs ever again. This injury is not totally uncommon, but it will not heal. Once her lambs are weaned, we will most likely put Xena down here on the farm. Losing a ewe who you’ve spent years caring for is painful but to be expected once in a while. There’s little time to linger on these losses with new life arriving daily.
I could write the stories of each ewe and their unique nature as it presents itself during lambing. But free time is not a feature of this time of year. Some of my favorite moments include Ivy’s triplet ewe lambs arriving in an expected flurry. Ivy never lambs with people near and will charge you if you come too close to her lambs. We forgive her since she milks like a Holstein cow and keeps as many lambs safe as she possibly can, including other ewe’s offspring. Another Finn ewe, called Pointy, screamed and screamed at other’s lambs during labor. But once her lambs were delivered she was the calmest, most quiet ewe in the barn. And Beatrice, my favorite Cheviot, had big twin ram lambs who are as solid as bricks. And it goes on. Lambing season is the culmination of all our work. Most of our ewes were born here themselves. Years and years of breeding decisions, some careful and some more like darts thrown with a blindfold on, careful care of nutrition, and planning for multiple months to be tethered to this farm losing sleep is only part of what we put into each lamb. The process is draining. It is also wonderful. And I certainly wouldn’t trade it for the world.
