Do you ever have one of those weeks where everything feels just a little… extra?
It’s been a wild ride around here. As I sit down to write this at 10 a.m. Friday morning, everything seems fine. Lambing is officially done as of just a few hours ago—the last ewe had a big, healthy single lamb overnight, all on her own. We ended up with 33 surviving lambs from 22 ewes over the past five days. Not quite the numbers we’d like (we always hope for closer to two lambs per ewe), but I’m grateful, relieved, and honestly just glad it’s over.
But let me tell you—it’s been a tough week.
Midweek brought cold, windy, rainy weather… just enough to make that sleep-deprived “woe is me” feeling really settle in. I’d been up at 2 a.m. bottle-feeding newborns in the orphan lamb pen, and all was fine when I crawled back into bed at 3. But before I even had my morning coffee, I headed back out… and sank into a puddle of despair.
Two of the first lambs born—premature little ones I’d been nursing along to health for over a week—were lying lifeless in the middle of the pen. It was a hard sight to take in. There were signs of injury, just enough to know a predator had gotten to them. That kind of thing had never happened before, and it hit me like a punch in the gut. I cleaned things up, said a quiet goodbye to those little lambs I’d worked so hard to keep going, and headed to the main barn for chores.
Things were in full swing—the peak of lambing chaos. But now I had to deal with a potential predator threat at the house, all while needing to be back in the lambing barn every few hours. I had a decision to make: either move the entire orphan pen and milk machine into the shop again (which I’ve done before—it works, but it stinks the place up for weeks)… or build a full enclosure right where the pen was.
Could I build a predator-proof lamb fortress in one day, while still assisting births every few hours? I checked with Anne to see if she could help in between her school bus runs. She said yes, so off to town I raced—feed store first for welded wire mesh, then to the lumber yard for wood and supplies.
I didn’t even bother using the driveway when I got home—just veered off the road, through the ditch, and across the yard to save a few seconds.
Then the real race began. Anne and I started building like a pair of caffeinated squirrels. No plan, no cleanup—just wood, screws, and a whole lot of stapling. No time to even move the lambs—we built around them. When they wandered into open areas, we just gently picked them up and set them back inside.
By the time Anne had to leave for her afternoon run, the main structure was done. I wrapped up the little details, and when she got home, we finished it off with a full mesh lid. We didn’t know exactly what we were trying to keep out, so we planned for everything.
All this while still running back and forth to the other barn to help with lambing.
Thursday morning came, and with it, beautiful sunshine. I walked out to the pen with some nerves… but there they were. All the lambs were snuggled under their heat lamp, safe and sound. Huge sigh of relief.
And an added bonus? If you’ve been following along, you’ll remember the ongoing battle with the cats chewing holes in the milk nipples. Well, they can’t get to them anymore either. Problem solved.
Now, I wish I could say the day just cruised along from there—but of course not. A few hours later, while working at the barn, I backed the skid steer right over one of my prized possessions: my wheelbarrow. Flattened it like a pancake. I do seem to have a knack for this sort of thing… longtime readers might recall the infamous tailgate incident. Let’s just say I’ve really mastered the fine art of backing into stuff with the skid steer.
Today’s mood? Lambing’s done, predators are evicted, and the wheelbarrow—well, it’s been somewhat resurrected to a resemblance of its former glory… just enough to roll. And now, looking forward to some down time with family for Easter weekend.
You have a good one too,
Farmer Rod
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