Only Little Notes

For breakfast at the Bessettes this morning we had some of their incredible breakfast sausage from their own pig. Incredible. The children spent much of the day sledding. For children who like to be indoors, I’m so proud of them. Isaiah even cut his chin on the sled at one point, but after a little Neosporin, he headed right back to the slope.

For lunch, Michelle made tortillas out of spelt flour—delicious!

When we finally returned home about 4pm, Phil found one of the lambs stuck in the cattle panel across the entrance. Stuck as in, head through one metal square and legs through another. We have heard that sheep have suicidal tendencies, but I had no idea it could be so constant. First stuck in the pallet, then stuck in the cattle panel! Phil thought it was the ewe lamb, but looking at the two lambs a short time later, the ewe frisked about, while the ram stood with hunched back, a characteristic “chilled” sign. We’re guessing it was the ram lamb (again) who got himself stuck. (His mouth was still warm, though, so I think he’ll be fine.)

The ewe lamb cracked me up, though. Phil had finally let the chickens out of their entrapment in their house (with the snow covering their door, we figured they should just stay inside). One of the chickens had wandered into the jug, where the ewe lamb bounded up to it, curiously. The chicken left in haste.

This snowstorm is the deepest the Bessettes remember; I think the last deep snow like this in Virginia was in 1996. Butch said that the last time it took the county four days to plow our road. What a time for the lambs to be born!

I should mention the pigs. With the snow covering both electric lines, I had a small concern that they would either freeze or escape. Phil didn't even bother to check on them while the snow fell heavily. He figured they would be hunkered down in the hay. Sure enough—when he went to see them the second day, he brought food with him. A pile of hay exploded with pig flesh. I had a repeat performance today, as I approached them with the scraps of two days and two families. All I could see were little ears, until they bounded out, hay flying.