“If one advances confidently in the direction of one's dreams, and endeavors to live the life which one has imagined, one will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.” Henry David Thoreau
Say yes, then figure it out. This is our family mantra. It has been our family mantra for many years and if you have read my earlier blog posts, will also know it was a motivating factor in bringing us 300 miles from Suffolk to Cumbria. From the centre of a busy town and full time jobs to our new life in rural Cumbria.
I recently had cause to apply this mantra in the heat of the moment, a moment I had never in my life found myself in before; delivering a lamb with my own bare hands.
It was Sunday evening and the end of a busy weekend. Daughter was recovering from a second bout of covid and following a negative test, we had taken her into the heart of the Yorkshire Dales for some fresh air and food to prepare for her return to school. A few hours in Herriott country had served us all well and we had returned home to the usual jobs that a Sunday tasks us with, tired but restored. It was supper time when I decided to walk down to our neighbours' farm to collect some eggs and make a general nuisance of myself, Husband asking “where are you going?” as I stood peeling potatoes in my hat, coat and slippers.
“I’m just going to see Ros and collect our eggs.”
If there is anything I have learned during the process of this move, it is that one should never say ‘just.’ JUST is the preface to the real story, the story about to unfold. The story that YOU don’t know anything about…yet. Exempli gratia:
“I’m just going to construct this piece of flat pack furniture.”
“I’m just going to put this adhesive hook on the back of the door which has a 25 year guarantee. Of course it won’t fall off, wedge under the door and temporarily incarcerate a child in their bedroom.”
“I’m just going to pop into the garden and turn over that corner of earth. Of course it’s not landfill!” (Cue rotavator, heavy duty rake, strimmer, skip and all hands on deck).
Like I say, “just” is simply the preface to your ignorance. The keyword that tempts the universe to roll up its sleeves and start writing. So, I was 'just' popping to the farm to collect some fresh eggs.
By the time I was standing in the barn at Ros’ farm it was early evening, quiet and mild. Walking in, I was met by Ros’ daughter and her boyfriend who immediately pointed to a sheep and said “she’s about to lamb.” Ros appeared seconds later and jumped over the low gate into the pen. The three of us moved in for a better view and Ros looked up with affirmation, the ewe lying in her lap. “You want to do it?” She asked me directly.
I had just walked onto the farm to collect the eggs and within seconds was presented with the opportunity to play midwife. I was momentarily speechless, I thought perhaps there was someone standing behind me. A competent vet for example. I think I said “Are you serious?” If it wasn’t that, it was something close. Like, “Are you f*cking mad?” Ros was serious. With a beaming smile that invited me into the pen with a “get in here now!” I climbed over and knelt next to the contracting ewe. I pulled my hat off and stuffed it into my coat pocket, rolling up my sleeves as far as they would go, over my elbows. Curtain up. Showtime.
As Ros talked me through the process of placing my hand inside the sheep and feeling for each part of the unborn lamb, I remember being profoundly focused on two things. The first, was touch. Paying absolute attention to every word that was spoken to me, I followed Ros’ careful instructions and was aware of each hoof, each tiny leg, the face, neck and head. The placement and movement of my hands and the mechanism needed to help bring the baby into the world safely and easily. Everything was warm and so intensely soft, and I could feel the baby inside the amniotic sac. The second thing upon which I was intently focused was how quiet everything around us was; all I could hear was Ros’ voice and the sound of the sheep breathing. The evening was so still, as if everything had stopped for that moment to exist in majestic isolation.
As my right hand sat neatly around the back of the unborn lamb’s had, my left hand held firmly onto its front legs. With one final contraction, I helped the mother bring her lamb into the world, and as its whole body slipped out, it landed on my left thigh. I was completely in awe; of life, birth, the whole event. The friendship that had been extended to me and the baby that lay on the ground in front of me. I looked up at Ros’ daughter and her boyfriend standing next to me and we all just smiled at one another. What else could you do in that situation, but smile.
The next task was not as endearing as I checked inside the new mother to confirm there were no more lambs. This is established on an ultrasound during pregnancy and the ewes are marked accordingly as to how many passengers they have on board, but it has to be manually confirmed. I am happy to say that not only did I do the cute bit, but I did the “up to my elbow and beyond in sheep” bit too. I can verify that Baby Kate the Lamb (a boy) was in fact, a lone rider.
I barely slept that night. I kept going over and over the whole thing in my head. Everything about it was perfect. The quietness, the calmness of the evening, the gentleness of the mother, the good health of the baby and the kind encouragement and patient instruction of friends. Holding the unborn, unbreathing lamb’s head in my hand still tucked inside its mother, and then looking down at it, completely brand new as it lay there taking its first breath, covered in sticky slime, helplessly slumped across my leg was an image I could not stop replaying. It was nothing short of a miracle and I wanted to do it again and again. I wanted to do it forever.
I went back the next day to visit Kate the Sheep and her baby Kate (I am dining out on this FOREVER) and there were two stillborn lambs in the pen that had just arrived. Ros picked them up and showed me as I reflected on the tiny, motionless forms with deep sadness. I had felt such elation the previous day, why would I not then feel equal sadness? It balances the books of being human and our interaction with animals, I think.
I asked Husband if we could adopt Kate, but for now it’s a no. Something boring about level-headed pragmatism. I usually enter into animal acquisition conversations with a solid counter-argument and robust planning but I forgot about that and showed him photographs of a lamb instead. However, we’re surrounded by sheep so he told me to look out of the window.
So! Plan B. I think I’ll “just pop baby Kate in the woodshed…”
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