M...udderhood

As with last year, Penny, our most reclusive watchful, nonsocial sheep, decided to give birth when we had a farmfull of friends and children. We'd finished dinner, looked out the window, and there she was, a dainty black spotted lamb at her feet.

The audience made her a bit nervous, as did the flurry of doggy excitement at the fence and the kids, who, after a quick look, were playing tag in the orchard. We waited to see if another lamb was forthcoming but there was no sign of one. Now, Penny was HUH-UUUGE during this pregnancy. I couldn't believe that that absolutely average-sized little guy was the only lamb in there.

Just a week ago, we were thinking triplets. But Penny wasn't interested in having any spectators. She stared and licked and stomped, but not so much as a waterbag appeared. After the excitement died down, we put Penny in a nice quiet stall. And, before too long, Penny got to work birthing her second little lamb.

Now, I have three young children of my own and so know a bit about the struggles and sacrifices of motherhood, but watching Penny birth her second lamb brought these into clear focus. As she labored and grit her teeth through massive contractions, her firstborn skipped around nudging and nuzzling, sniffing and distracting. Penny bore all this with amazing grace. She nursed and nurtured her way through the strain of labor. Pushed out the second babe's hoof and nose while guiding her wobbly first into position on the udder.

And this, folks, is motherhood in a nutshell-- or at least mudderhood. What an incredible lot of energy and care and shear tolerance mothers have, even sheepy mothers.

It's not yet Mother's Day, but, wow!

A Lamb Named Disappointment

Lambing season is sort of in full swing here on Maggie's Farm. There's Acorn's ram lamb, Dodge, who remains humongous, bold and lovely, and now Leela has followed suit and had herself a big ol' single ram lamb as well, a cute moorit badgerfaced boy.

I was at work during the birth (I'm 0 for 2 this year) and Dan helped out a bit, along with our oldest daughter. Micah has been waiting all spring for a ewe lamb of her very own and was beside herself with excitement as Leela licked the adorable lamb dry, even called me at work to tell me about "her" lamb.

But alas, her lamb turned out to be a "him", and we are not keen on taming ram lambs, also not keen on any extra wethers to feed come fall. She's waiting on the next mama to be: Penny, due any day (hour!) now.

Micah's consolation was that she got to name the little guy-- any D name that she wanted. (The "D" is to demarcate our fourth year of lambing.) I suggested "Disappointment", but she decided on "Dracula".

So here he is: Dracula, Maggie's Farm's second lamb of the 2009 season!

Lamb Sunday

This is Dodge, Acorn's humongous ram lamb. He was a whopping 12 pounds at birth.

Poor Acorn! Those horn buds made for a hard labor.

Dodge was sired by Charlie:

We'd hoped for horned lambs from this pairing (LambS being optimal of course...) and it appears that Dodge will have them in spades! He is moorit gray and, have I mentioned, HUMONGOUS?

If this trend continues, we'll have to re-examine our feeding program. We've fed the ewes nothing but hay for the last month or two, but I'm wondering if perhaps our hay is too rich for these thrifty Icelandics.

Anyway, mom and babe are doing great. And there's no better way to celebrate spring, rebirth, and just plain "birth-birth" than with four new hoofs on the ground?

Happy holidays everyone!

Spring Shearing Day!

Shearer Andy Rice stopped by today, and the sheep are looking sleek in their new spring non-coats. They seem so puny after you get used to bulk, wooly puff-balls wandering about.

The spring fleeces are never terrific-- but shearing in Spring helps the new lambs locate their Mamas' most important features and it also helps the fall fleeces keep from becoming matted overlong messes.

Shearing day is always an event of sorts-- this one involved five kids running around (Ours and the neighbors) an extra dog or two (Andy's extremely well- trained BC and the Chihuahua next door) a lot of excited (annoying) yipping from Luka who had to be locked in the house so as not to further freak out the sheep with her assertive little self and a great and rambling sheep related conversation.

The girls look quite gigantic now. Acorn, Penny, Copper and Leela have nice big udders already.

Goodbye Mr. B.

Bombadil, our dapper if slightly boneheaded polled ram, has gone on to a new home at Stone Ridge Sheep Farm in New York State. There he will preside as the one and only ram around. Should make the big guy very happy-- especially after this four ram winter. (Yes, I know our is waaaayyyy to many rams. It just sort of happened that way. Circumstances converged.)

At times, I think I am too much of a softie to be a shepherd. It was harder than expected to say goodbye to Mr. B.

But, we still have two rams too many around here, and so we may be saying a few more goodbyes before spring is over.

Happy Chicks

When I first started teaching high school, my students somehow managed to stick me with the unfortunate nickname "Happy Chick". I WAS happy; that was a wonderful, challenging year. But I had a lot to learn, and perhaps I was smiling because much of the time, smiling was about all I could think of to do.

Anyway, the old nickname came to mind when I noticed these truly happy chicks out in the yard. Spring has definitely visited New England, and there is no-- hear me, weather gods!-- no more miserable winter weather afoot.

Our chickens are feeling it. For the first time in months they have grass under their cold little toes (Okay, it's dead dried up yucky grass, but it IS grass!) and leaf litter to scratch through, which is basically chicken nirvana. On Maggie's Farm, the whole poultry kingdom has undergone a radical shift towards the sublime. You can feel the giddy vibes in the air. Really.

Here's Otto Longlegs out for a solitary stroll

Being irrationally exuberant, the hens have been gifting us with crazy amounts of eggs. We collected 25 on Tuesday, 12 on Wednesday and 18 on Thursday. Guess they're just letting us know that chickens-- happy chickens-- must have a home on the freerange.

Chicken Rescue!

Spring happened here on Maggie's Farm. It happened for one day, a georgeous, robin's egg blue day so drippy and melty and overall wet that our road turned into a marsh of sorts and spring runoff poured down the hill like no tomorrow.

The next day, it snowed again. Hard. Ah, New England.

In other news, the cute little hatchlings of late summer have grown into fine young chickens. Unfortunately, four of them turned out to be roosters. This, in addition to Stellar, our gi-normous head honcho and "Otto Longlegs" a buff laced cornish.

We weren't up for eating these boys, and the hens were not up for six roosters in the coop. On snowy days, when they had to stay in, the hens kept up high, making mad dashes through "rooster territory" for food and water. On the nice days, when we left the coop open for free ranging, snow pecking and other chickenly pursuits, the older, wise group of hens would make a break for it. En masse, these weary old veterans, streamed out of the coop, crunched through the snow (No mean feat as chickens do NOT like snow...) and re-homed themselves under our porch.

We thought this was a reasonable protest on their part. The roosters WERE obnoxious, neither gentlemanly or even roosterly in their behavior.

We Craigslisted them. Which turned out quite well. The coop is quieter, with only the subdued (so far) Otto Longlegs, the georgeous Little Jaguar, three guinea fowl, and twenty something hens. Peaceful, right?

Um, no.... Our glut of roosters has caused an unforseen consequence, our oldest, wisest and most beloved hens have taken a liking to the porch. I can't even count the nights I've dug them out from the shrubbery, tucked them under an arm and "airlifted" them back to the safety of the coop. You don't account for how much you care about all these animals. It's one of those hidden givens of farming.

Here is Java on her way back home with Joe.