Bad Shepherd/Good Shepherd

I committed the cardinal sin of shepherding this weekend: I left town during lambing season. It was our last opportunity to visit my wife's family in Michigan before gardening starts up, and I figured there couldn't be that many lambs born in just a few days. After all, our lambing usually stretches well into May or even June. We left Friday morning after chores, and planned to return by Monday early afternoon.

Thankfully, we left the farm in good hands. A sixteen year old home schooled neighbor, Matthew, who has the maturity of a 32 year old, agreed to handle the chores and keep an eye on the sheep. He has extensive experience managing his own family's farm and livestock, and plans to attend veterinary school some day.

This weekend, he got lots of material to use on his application.

He called Friday afternoon to let us know that Bianca had delivered twin lambs in the pasture shelter. This was a big surprise, as Bianca had just lambed in August; I hadn't been expecting her to lamb again so soon. It must have happened right after we'd left that morning, because they were dry and getting around nicely. Last year, she rejected one of her lambs. Matthew still remembered helping me hold Bianca so the rejected lamb could nurse, and said he'd keep close tabs on the situation this weekend.

Saturday morning, he called to tell us about two more new arrivals: Nera twinned out in the pasture. They looked okay, and Bianca's lambs seemed to be doing alright, and the weather seemed fine, so we didn't think any intervention was necessary. But by Saturday evening, Matthew was very concerned: the weather had turned miserable, and only one of Bianca's lambs was following her around. The other was huddling weakly in the shelter. Together, he and I talked it through and improvised a strategy (thank God for cell phones):

1) Move the the goat buck in with the two does and the kids in the barn.
2) Move Conundrum and her two well-established lambs from the super-enclosed barn stall out to the goat buck's good, but only semi-sheltered, fenced area.
3) Move Dot, who hasn't yet lambed but who "looks like she's swallowed a washtub," into the buck's area with Conundrum.
4) Move Bianca and her two lambs, and Nera and her two lambs, into the super-enclosed barn stall. Try to get Bianca's other lamb to nurse again. Let us know what happens. I told Matthew that if Bianca was rejecting this lamb, he and his little brothers could have the lamb for free if they wanted to bottle-feed her.

Some time later, I checked back. All the moves had been made, but Bianca's lamb seemed too weak and cold to really get nursing well. Matthew had taken her home, bedded her in a warm place, and managed to get some of our goat milk into her. He wasn't optimistic, but hoped she'd survive the night. Meanwhile, I was climbing the walls with frustration that all this was happening back home and there wasn't a thing I could do about it. If I was there, I'd have put the lamb under a heat lamp and spent hours in the stall getting her to nurse. Wouldn't have mattered how much or how little sleep I got. I should be there, and I wasn't. And couldn't be. Because I'd made a stupid choice about traveling during lambing season.

I was already well aware of Matthew's maturity, but this incident brought it out in spades. All of our conversations seemed like they were taking place between two adults. He suggested possible courses of action without hesitation. When I apologized for all the extra and unexpected work, he immediately interjected with "It's no problem. I told you I'd take care of everything while you were gone, and this is what we've got." I can't imagine another sixteen year old who would've stepped up to the plate and taken the kind of adult, personal responsibility for our farm that he did this weekend. Anyone curious as to the results of growing up in a large homeschooled family should sit down and talk with him and his siblings.

Bianca (so-named because she has a solid white fleece), had one white lamb and one black lamb. Interestingly, she neglected/rejected the black one. The white one was doing great. Even more interestingly, she'd done exactly the same thing last year: nurtured the white lamb, and rejected the black one. My wife and I joked that we should re-name her "BianKKKa."

Joking aside, we'd already agreed that we needed to cull at least one ewe this year. Bianca's second lamb rejection in as many years pretty much sealed her fate, regardless of the color of the rejected lamb.

That brings us to tonight. Matthew called again with an update: the rejected lamb is still holding her own with bottle feedings. The ewes/lambs in confinement are doing great. Dot hasn't delivered yet, but Licorice had twins out in the pasture shelter. That leaves only Dot who hasn't yet lambed. What should we do?

We agreed to move Conundrum and her lambs out to pasture, put Bianca and her white lamb in the goat buck area, and put Licorice in the nice barn stall with her sister Nera.

And that's where things stand as of now. I don't have any pictures yet, because there are six lambs I haven't even seen. Come to think of it, we have more lambs I haven't seen than lambs I have seen. And if Dot delivers tonight, lambing season will be all over before we even arrive home.

Coco Puff's Revenge

Yesterday morning, with considerable satisfaction, I took Coco Puff the Psychotic Ram off to the slaughterhouse. Actually, "satisfaction" isn't quite the right word. "Relief" is more like it. It's always a little poignant when we drag the sheep out of the back of the Bronco or the station wagon, and move them into the holding pen at Forrest Meats. Even when the animal is an obvious "cull," or has caused danger or damage to our farm, I can't help feeling a little sad.

Not so much for the lambs, when we take them in at the end of each year, because we never have them long enough to consider them long term residents of the farm. The rams are different. As much as I despised Coco Puff for the damage he wreaked on the fences and pasture shelters, and as many times as Coco Puff's sire, Buddy, injured and tried to kill me, they were still "part of the gang" in the pasture. A flock is an organic unity that goes beyond the sum of its parts. Seeing one member of that flock isolated and standing alone in the holding pen at Forrest Meats never fails to bring on an odd mix of emotions. Add to that the dreary, cold, rainy weather yesterday...and that only made the emotional mix more strange.

But that's all part of farm life, and I turned the Bronco for home. Later that day, the call came from Forrest Meats: Coco Puff dressed out to 62 pounds, and how would I like him prepared? I asked them to grind up everything they could, and to make soup bones out of everything else. Easy enough, they replied. I really like this place: they're a small operation in a small town, part of a dying breed of local custom slaughter operations. The building isn't much to look at, but they give wonderful service. I just wish there was something closer: Forrest is 34 miles from us. In years gone by, there were slaughterhouses closer to our town --- but with consolodation, they've been closing down everywhere. It's like everything else in rural America these days, it seems.

A storm came blowing in at about 4pm, with lightning and very strong wind gusts. As the kids and I watched from the window of my office building, the entire pasture shelter that Coco Puff had bashed the supports out of just plumb picked up, smashed, and blew over the northwest quadrant of the pasture. I muttered something under my breath about Coco Puff's revenge.

Once the winds died down, I went out to inspect the damage. It was a total loss: both the sides and roof were blown away and smashed. This left the flock with no remaining shelter from this nasty weather. And I couldn't bring them all into the barn. The one remaining shelter still had its roof, but no sides (thanks to Coco Puff). Fortunately, I'd managed to salvage those sides and stack them in a safe place, so in the spring I could repair them.

Guess what my project is for today? This morning, I got all the old manure and bedding shoveled out from the shelter area. The power drill is charging. A little later, my son and I will go out and see if we can get those sides refastened...and the flock a place to escape from the frigid wind. All I can say is: good thing no lambs were born last night.

They Keep Coming

We kept Maybelle and her lambs, and Enigma and her lamb, in the barn for one more night last night. With temps forecast to be in the high twenties, with frost, we figured it wouldn't hurt for them to stay another night in the lambing pen. The mothers had plenty of fresh water and good hay, and the lambs appeared to be thriving.

How did we decide it was time to turn them loose again? I came out to the pasture this morning to discover that Conundrum (Enigma's lamb from 2004) had given birth to twins overnight! Despite the cold, she had licked them off and they were standing up fine. These are Icelandic sheep after all. I picked up each one, determined that she had gotten each one nice and dry, and saw that we had one male and one female.

We figured that if the pasture was comfortable enough for delivering newborn lambs, it was plenty comfortable enough for the rest of the lambs. At milking time, I opened up their stall, picked up all three lambs, and the two mothers anxiously followed me all the way out to the pasture.

Maybelle's lambs have been tearing all over the pasture.

Enigma's lamb, though only a few days old, is moving around great as well. (The dog in the background is our neighbor's chocolate lab.)

Terrible Timing

Temps here are still in the thirties, and wind chills are making it feel much colder than that. It was so cold, they cancelled last night's Sox game. Anyway, it was with some trepidation that I noted this morning that one of the sheep, Enigma, was keeping to herself at feeding time. Not as much as Maybelle was the other day, but enough so I was suspicious that she might be preparing to lamb. I made a mental note to check on the flock frequently today, but because Maybelle and her lambs were still in the one stall, I didn't want to move Enigma in there with them unless absolutely necessary.

Around 11:30, I went out to the pasture and counted only eight sheep. Sure enough, Enigma was the one missing. I checked the shelter, and she had afterbirth streaming from her rear end --- as frigid winds whipped in all around her.

I immediately called my wife, and we got a nice warm blanket. The lamb was soaking wet in amniotic fluid, as Enigma had only just begun to lick him dry. We wrapped him up snugly, much to Enigma's protests. I grabbed her horns, and together we all headed for the barn. It only took a minute or two, and we crashed Maybelle's lambing pad. She and her lambs didn't seem too upset by the unexpected company, but Enigma was clearly distressed by all the human intervention. Our children, in particular, wanted to crowd around and see the lamb --- and that seemed to be causing the most anxiety. I herded everyone out, and we left Enigma to take care of Lamb Chop One.

Once things had quieted down, I returned with a camera and managed to take some pictures. She still only had one lamb. I checked again on them a few minutes ago, and the lamb was up and moving around very nicely --- but there was still only one. It looks like Enigma will again be giving us only a single lamb. She's lambed four times now, and only had twins once. That's disappointing, because she herself was a triplet (and her sire came from a good line of multiples). But at this point, I'm just thankful this one didn't freeze to death. Forty pounds of lamb meat this fall, and a beautiful black fleece, is much better than none at all.

Waiting...For What?

I'd been thinking for some time about buying a handgun. A shotgun has been fine until now for both home defense and for taking out predators (and there's nothing like the sound of a pump-action shotgun to send an intruder fleeing). But shotguns are unwieldy, particularly in the middle of the night. When a dog is outside barking intently at something, the 12-gauge is a hassle to get down, load, and maneuver through the doors in a hurry. Besides, have you ever tried carrying a flashlight in one hand and a full-sized shotgun in the other?

Some time back, American Rifleman magazine ran a glowing review of Springfield Armory's new XD series handguns, and I was fascinated. They had high capacity magazines, and looked reliable, well-built, and affordable. Importantly, they also came with built-in accessory rails onto which one could mount, say, a tactical light to illuminate one's target at night. Months passed, and XDs started winning all kinds of awards. I wanted to get a closer look at them, particularly the .45 ACP --- but there was no Springfield Armory dealer anywhere near us.

And then, yesterday, I realized I'd be passing within a mile or two of The Gun Shop in Plainfield. I stopped in, and was immediately impressed with the staff's knowledge and professionalism. I admitted to the salesman that I'd never owned a handgun, but had read about the XD series, and wanted to know more. I explained about our needs for home and varmint defense, and how I wanted an alternative to the shotgun. He could've talked down to me like the ignorant newbie I was, but he did completely the opposite: he smiled and seemed genuinely interested in introducing me to a new kind of firearm. His matter-of-fact explanatory tone immediately put me at ease and made me feel less self-conscious. He had a number of XDs in stock, in a variety of calibers. I gravitated toward the .45 ACP, and he helped me make sure I preferred it to the .40 caliber. He pointed out that the longer barrel made the .45 easier to sight, and he gave tips for holding it securely to minimize kick. He also snapped a tactical light on the rails, and showed me how easy that was to operate. I was sold.

But, of course, I couldn't take delivery. Illinois has a three-day waiting period for handguns. During that time, the State Police do a background check. But with computer technology, the check doesn't take that long; as I understand it, a person could be approved or rejected almost instantly. After all, the waiting period for a rifle or shotgun is only one day. It seems the rationale behind the waiting period is to force a "cooling off period" on any hotheads who might rush out and do something rash with a newly-acquired firearm. This was immortalized by Homer Simpson's "Five DAYS? But I'm angry NOW!"

But in real life, this is preposterous. Particularly in Illinois, a person cannot simply decide on the spur of the moment even to buy ammunition --- let alone a firearm. Even to buy ammo, a person must present a F.O.I.D. (Firearm Owner Identification) card. To get one of those, a person must undergo a rigorous background check with the state police, be photographed, and wait weeks for the card to be sent out. At the gun shop, the salesman wouldn't even let me touch the merchandise until I'd shown him my FOID card (and he did the same with everyone else who came through the door). How many people, do you think, have the foresight to go through the FOID process...but then not buy a firearm until they're (1) as angry as Homer Simpson, or (2) on the verge of committing a crime, or (3) suicidal?

As I tried to figure out when I'd have a large enough block of time to drive back to Plainfield, another thought occurred to me: politically, the same people who imposed the waiting period laws tend to oppose even the slightest regulation or restriction on abortion --- even, notably, 24 hour waiting periods. Most states, including Illinois, have no waiting periods. No state has a waiting period longer than 24 hours. In Illinois, a woman could get a positive pregnancy test in the morning and have an abortion later the same day. But I have to wait three days to pick up my handgun? Regardless of what you believe about women's rights or the legal protections which ought to be accorded to unborn children, ask yourself this: Which is a bigger and more life-changing event? Buying a handgun or having an abortion? Which should require a longer period during which a person should "cool down" and "think it over"? Given the kinds of physical and emotional traumas reported by post-abortive women, and the organizations that have grown up to help them address these traumas, I wonder why this question even needs to be asked.

But I'll still be thinking about it next week, as I watch mile after mile roll by on my way back up to Plainfield.

Alternative Tacos

At yesterday evening's Knights of Columbus meeting, it was my turn to supply refreshments. I chose to make tacos, which are always a big hit. To save time, I bought everything---including the taco seasoning---in one trip to the grocery store.

Once the hamburger was browned, I stirred in the packets of taco seasoning and let it simmer for 15 minutes. As I went about grating cheese, slicing lettuce, and so forth, I couldn't help noticing that the simmering taco meat smelled a bit odd. Not spoiled or anything, but different from how taco meat smells when we typically cook it for the kids.

My wife buys organic spices in bulk from Frontier Herbs and keeps them in quart mason jars in the cupboard. It requires some foresight and planning, but they're outstanding seasonings---and, bought in quantity, always available when needed. When we make tacos, we typically brown three pounds of hamburger with some onion. We then add water and one tablespoon of each of the following: sea salt, cumin, chili powder, and paprika. It's incredibly simple, very cheap, and smells and tastes wonderful.

As last night's store-bought-seasoned taco meat smelled and tasted so different, I picked up a seasoning packet and took a closer look at the label:

Spices and color [whatever that means], corn masa, salt, dehydrated onion and garlic, cocoa powder (processed with alkali), hydrolyzed soy protein (caramel color), citric acid, autolyzed yeast extract, natural flavors [usually means MSG], disodium inosinate, disodium guanylate, maltodextrin.

Ugh. No wonder our kids have had such bad allergic reactions to this kind of store-bought stuff. My spell-checker didn't even recognize most of those ingredients as real words...makes me wonder why I ever thought any of those ingredients were real foods. Next year, I think I'm going to treat my brother Knights to our family's own Yeoman Farmer tacos. Will be interesting to see what kind of feedback we get.

What am I trying to say with this post? It really isn't hard to make your own taco seasonings --- or any of the other seasonings you might think you have to buy in a little packet at the grocery store. Do a little research. Buy a good variety of bulk herbs. And go for it.

Back Inside

We had glorious weather the last few days, with sunshine and temps in the upper 70s. Then, yesterday evening, just as the weatherman predicted, the bottom fell out. A cold front moved in at dinner time, accompanied by gale force winds out of the north, and by this morning it was in the low 30s. And still windy.

One of our family prayer intentions last night was that Maybelle's lambs be safe, and that no new lambs be born. Both of those prayers were answered; from the kitchen window this morning, I could see both lambs scampering around playfully. And there were no new ones.

But when I went out to feed the sheep, I discovered a problem: Maybelle, quite wisely, was choosing shelter over the hay feeder. As the rest of the flock feasted, Maybelle looked out from the pasture shelter where she was keeping her lambs out of the wind. And there was another problem: the water trough was starting to freeze. The rest of the flock would be fine for a couple of days with me breaking the ice from time to time, but Maybelle needs a good reliable water supply to keep her milk production up. Clearly, the pasture wasn't going to be a good place for her the rest of this week.

After breakfast, I managed to catch both of the little lambs. Maybelle gave her guttural nickering noises in protest, but followed me anxiously all the way into the barn and back to her lambing pen. I had lots of nice hay and fresh drinking water waiting for her, but she didn't look really happy until I turned the lambs loose. They right got down to nursing, tails spinning contentedly as they did so.

And that's where they'll stay until either the weather warms up or it looks like another ewe is going into labor. But I suppose we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

Out to Pasture

We moved Maybelle and her twin ewe lambs (as yet unnamed) out to the pasture today. They had a nice long weekend to get established in the barn, but were clearly getting antsy in that small space.

As my son milked the goat early this morning, my daughter and I used a time-tested method for getting a sheep to move: take her lambs, start walking slowly, and wait for her to follow. I carried one lamb and my daughter took the other. Maybelle let out a long series of protest grunts (it's a sort of guttural nickering sound), but was soon chasing us through the barn, down the driveway, and out to the pasture gate. The rest of the flock crowded around to witness the spectacle, and we soon had Maybelle back in with them. The lambs began nursing, and all was well.

Below is a "family photo" of sorts. Maybelle is in the center, with her two new lambs (and Scooter Puppy still trying to herd them all). Peeking around her and sniffing one lamb is Dilemma, the sire of these two lambs. To the far right is Coco Puff (no, we still haven't gotten him butchered), the ram Maybelle gave birth to two years ago.The two lambs appear to be solid black, but they actually have some white spots in various places (not visible in this photo). It will be interesting to see how their colors and color patterns develop as they get older. Icelandic Sheep are fascinating that way.

Palm Sunday In Piper City

One of the most beautiful old churches we've found is St. Peter's in Piper City. As it's a 25 mile drive, and not our usual parish, we don't go there every week. But we make sure we get there for Palm Sunday, as they have a wonderful tradition we've never seen elsewhere: a horse-led procession to the church!

Piper City is a small town, and like so many down here, St. Peter's is one of three rural parishes served by a single priest. The parishioners gather in the social hall before Mass, where the pastor does the introductory gospel reading and blesses and distributes the palms. Outside, a parishioner on horseback --- dressed up in a purple cloak for the occasion --- leads everyone solemnly down the street to the church. (After everyone goes in for Mass, he hurriedly puts his horse in the trailer and takes off the cloak before joining us. There's no hitching post outside the church.)
This is the front of the procession, as it turned the corner to come to the church building. There were several dozen more people, all holding palm branches, behind these folks and out of view of the camera.

Earlier this year, the church reopened after extensive repairs from a fire caused by a lightning strike. The damage was mostly contained in the rear of the building; this church has among the most beautiful stained glass windows we've ever seen, and fortunately they all survived. A couple of them are visible in the photo to the right; someday I'll post pictures of the other windows. Note that there is only one altar: the old high altar, with the tabernacle still in place. When they reopened the church, they decided not to put the freestanding altar back in; the priest now says Mass "facing east," with the congregation. He'd been using that posture out of necessity for the many months when Mass was celebrated in the social hall (while repairs were being undertaken). Everyone grew to like and appreciate it, so they've kept it that way back in the church building.

Speaking for myself, I think it adds a real richness to the liturgy; it emphasizes the sacrificial nature of the Mass in a way that isn't always clear when the priest is facing the people. It's still the same novus ordo Mass, in English, that's celebrated everywhere --- just with a different posture. As you might expect, liturgies here are extremely reverent --- and the organ music only adds to that reverence. Among other hymns, we had "O Sacred Head Surrounded" during the offertory, and "To Jesus Christ Our Sovereign King" as the recessional.

This place is a real gem.

Great Movie

Last night, my wife and I rented "The Pursuit of Happyness." It was one of the best new films we've seen in quite some time. Will Smith plays a single father who's hit hard times, and finds himself out on the streets---while trying to care for his five year old son, and not letting his son know just how bad things are. He has a plan for digging himself out of this hole, but keeps running into obstacle after obstacle. How he manages to hold everything together, all the while growing closer to his son, is truly inspirational.

It was also thought-provoking. Smith's character is a good, hard-working guy who ends up on the skids despite all that effort. Made me think about how transient "success" in this world can be. Despite all our own hard work, sometimes God can have other plans for us. Things can all seem to fall apart, but we need to keep it in perspective and think about what may await us precisely as a result of these present difficulties.

I highly recommend this movie.