The Night of Two Scared Mamas

Nine-year-old Sierra knew the truth: if I put the tube in the wrong place, this little lamb dies in her lap. If I do it right, the baby gets the food she needs. And we both knew I had never done this before. I watched my daughter dig deep. She kept repeating, “Stay calm for the lamb, stay calm for the mama.”

I wonder, did she realize there were two scared mamas she was helping that night?

We are rebuilding this wisdom together. Skills that used to be handed down from generation to generation. Somewhere along the way, we dropped it. As hard as it is, reclaiming that knowledge alongside my daughter feels like the right thing for a world I want to live in.

First times are hard. They are scary. But we aren't just raising livestock; we are stewarding lives. Lives that really matter to me. And in the process, we’re becoming the kind of people who dig deep and find our way through.

The good news? It worked.

All the mamas and lambs are healthy and thriving (even me). Now that emergency mode is over, we get to enjoy these spunky little ones as they discover the world.

Of course, “discovering the world" mostly means discovering that they can fit right through their enclosure fence. Between re-building the fence and my first attempt at milking a very skeptical, skittish ewe (I’m still working on that particular ancestral skill) the shelter is currently 10% stress and 90% joy.

I’d love to share some of that fun with you:

Walking only moments after birth.

Once they find their feet, they find their fuel (and I breathe a sigh of relief that they’re going to be okay).

Their sweet, curious faces make it all worth it.

Before long, the joy of being alive sets in and the frolics start.

…As well as the snuggles.

And we find some things are universal.