As the old campsong went….”Here we sit like flies on the sugarbowl, waiting for_____”
In this case, “Ewes to lamb” is the fill-in.
The ewes are huge. HUGE. Like so many blimps, they are just waddling around at this point. Not to give excessive TMI, but I can see by the condition of their hind ends that lambing is imminent. Small amounts of goo, cervical mucus – just the expected warnings of lambing coming down the pike.
I’m ready for lambs. I am colostrum-substitute ready, lamb-puller on hand, lambing jugs build, books reviewed and re-read, camera in pocked READY for lambs to be born. Sadly for me, it’s Matt who will do the actual lambing work. He probably doesn’t feel as ready. And who really can be ready? The unknown is always possible. Only last year, I lost my dear Agnes to lambing mishap. She was the first adult sheep I’ve ever lost for any reason. I am really hoping things go better this year. I’m also very keen to see if there are triplets and how many we can handle.
I’ve been writing and un-writing a post about political matters. Every day feels evermore surreal, and other than donations, I haven’t managed to do as much as I’d like. That said, sheep and lambs are culturally important to a lot of the immigrant and refugee groups in this area. Refugees from Bhutan, evicted from their homes when all of the ethnic Nepalis were forcibly removed by the monarch of that country, traditionally eat goat and sheep meat. So, too, the Saudi students who came to my farm a few months ago to buy a lamb for a holiday celebration feast. Refugees are the new economic heart of previously dying communities in Burlington. Recent policy changes and the concurrent upwelling of anti-immigration sentiment affects real people that I know and care about. I’m angry, and I’m not going to let our government or our citizens scapegoat any minority groups for the economic situation we face.