Oh My Darling Clementine

I had unloaded half a ton of seed yesterday, stacked high on a pallet, then checked the forecast to make sure no rain was forecast overnight. I figured Phil would feel better and could help me cover the seeds with, well, something waterproof. No rain until Sunday.

So when, around 7 this morning, Jadon said, "It's raining!" I was not a happy camper. Phil yet asleep, my quiet time interrupted, half a ton of seeds about to sprout prematurely, and STILL no way to cover them.

I remembered the end of the greenhouse plastic, and pulled that over the seeds when Phil, who had gotten up to make sure his tools were covered, called, "We have a lamb!"

This was quite unexpected. I didn't notice any breeding activity until early November, and had not expected lambs for another month. (Our ram wasn't even born until April 1: I didn't think he would be potent at six months. How little we know as farmers yet!)

Phil, still not feeling well, was not thinking as usual: how to get this little baby out of the dirt and into a protected area for just her and her mommy? Initially, we stretched a tarp over two corners of the cattle panels, giving a bit of protection (with netting to block the other sheep from joining the two). Later, we moved the two hay bales we had (which I had suggested to Phil that we get "for no real reason" on Thursday: they came in handy!) to make a corner, and sloped the tarp over the top. We were really winging it, without a nice lambing jug already prepared, like last year!

I toweled off the yet-damp baby, gave HER (yay!) a mouthful of probiotics, and then, noting that she was showing no indication of nursing, I heated several ounces of frozen colostrum, frozen from Bethany's delivery in late September. How wonderful to be ready with supplements!

A bit later, the baby still shivered and wouldn't nurse, so I gave her half a cup of warm Bianca's milk from this morning, and a mouthful of electrolytes.

Until I saw her nurse, though, around noon, I knew there were no guarantees.

Unlike last year, though, I'm okay with no guarantees. Last year, I took an animal death as a symbol that we were unfaithful somehow, that the Lord would not bless us as he blessed Jacob, increasing flocks and herds. To lose half our lamb crop was like a vote of no confidence, and it tore me up.

There was also a small sense that, since we were doing what we believed God called us to do, the way should be smooth before us: healthy, happy, living animals, easy births.

But the perspective of a year shows me that there's no guarantee of easy anything. Sometimes the beginning of something is the hardest just because it's new, and sometimes the difficulty is compounded. We carry on, simply because we must.

And then the Lord shows up in surprising ways.

There was no real reason for 30 seconds of rain this morning, just enough to send both Phil and I out of bed. There was no real reason for Phil to glance into the sheep pen while checking on his tools: they had adequate food and water, and he could have not noticed the baby for hours.

Really, though, the miracle of this birth is that Thursday night was 22 degrees when I woke up. Saturday night is rainy, with rain predicted all day Sunday. So the one night of reasonably warm weather (low 40s), yet dry, was the night this baby came. The Lord was looking out for her, even though Phil and I were not.

She is such a cutie! And what better name for a cutie than Clementine?