A Weird Spring

It's the middle of May. We should be busy lambing.

We're not.

In a few weeks the pasture should be alive with baby lambs scampering everywhere.

It won't be.

Sigh. I know we made the right choice; I just didn't think I'd regret it so much.

Because Melissa had been scheduled for neck fusion surgery during the winter, with 4-6 months of recovery, we couldn't see her running around the pasture chasing sheep, a normal part of lambing. So we made the hard choice: December 17, our usual breeding date, was just another day on this farm.

In fact, we sold Erik, the ram, to a nice man who has been looking for Erik's specific breed mix.

So there was no sheep sex on the farm.

No sheep sex in December, of course, means no lambs in the spring.

Melissa didn't have the surgery, so we could have bred the sheep. But unless someone has a time machine handy, there's no going back. Instead, I'm working hard on a manuscript and starting a freelance writing job. Melissa is Census Crew Leader Extraordinaire, and Farmer in Charge of Baby Calves. The sheep are out on pasture, hopefully grateful for a year's rest.

Our friend Mary H., who helps every year with lambing, emailed yesterday, in the middle of a serious case of 'lambie doodle' withdrawal.

Melissa and I might be experiencing similar symptoms. And one thing that amazed me: When lambing comes, we stop all other activities. Life narrows down to nothing but the sheep. I never realized how important this 'time off' was until this year, when we don't have it. There's no break from the busy, no change in routine or focus. Who knew that could be so important?

So to help Mary, Melissa, and me get through this withdrawal period, here are some previous years' lambie doodles:


















So you'd think it'd be quiet out here on Rising Moon Farm without lambs, but the calves talk to us. The sheep baa as we walk by. Friends come every weekend to care for the vineyard and the air is full of their laughter.

My mom helps us in the garden and we talk about how she had no idea how to plant potatoes, yet when she dropped to her knees, she suddenly made a hill for five plants with a hole in the middle for water. It'd been at least sixty years since she'd planted potatoes, but her body remembered. My dad stops by with his bike and convinces us to take an hour off the farm to go biking. Kathy comes to tend the bees and entertain us with bee and bear and cat stories. The barn swallows chatter all day long, and it's a happy sound.

So while we don't have lambs, we're not lonely.

May your spring be filled with equally happy sounds.

This Farm's Secret


There are two members of this farm that few people have seen. They tend to hide in the grass, or run behind a building whenever anyone new approaches. Call them shy, elusive, anti-social. It's just very hard for visitors to see them. They'll show themselves to Melissa and me, and often make sweet little cooing sounds as they scoot through the grass ahead of us.

Years ago Melissa bought two Golden Pheasants. She named the female Trixie. Trixie is a mottled brown, and hard to see.

The male is glorious. Melissa named him Pharaoh. Many years ago Trixie and Pharaoh successfully raised babies. The male baby grew into a dramatic bright yellow, so Melissa named him Ra. We sold the offspring to another pheasant fan. Since then, the pair has been unable to successfully raise a brood, basically because over the years we ended up with too many pea fowl in the pen. The pheasant chicks disappeared, possibly killed by the pea fowl.

But now all the pea fowl are gone, even dear old Ben, who died this last winter. This leaves Trixie and Pharaoh with a huge pen to themselves. They're protected from predators, have plenty of food, water, and their choice of nesting spots. We're crossing our fingers and hope to see some Golden babies this summer.

I've never been able to get a photo of Pharaoh, but a few weeks ago Melissa took Aimee and Bryan into the pen, and there was Pharaoh, all photogenic.





His back is blue and purple and orange and a shimmering green. And note the orange and black striped feathers along the side of his head. When he's flirting with Trixie (which he does often) those feathers fan forward until his eyes are almost entirely covered.

Hopefully this will drive Trixie wild.

And as for why these guys are here, on this farm, Melissa might try to justify it by saying she could sell the feathers to people who tie their own fishing flies. But no---they're here because they're beautiful, even little brown Trixie, and Melissa adores them.

Please don't tell her, but I do too.