Expectations Fulfilled –Apr 1986

The early lambing season is now
istory. It’s something that’s always
preceded by tremendous expectation and
excitement … and usually followed by
relief and, if things go well, satisfaction.
Such was the case this year.
One of the things I have been striving
for in recent years has been to select and
manage my ewe flock to lamb quickly
when I want them to.
There was a time when my lambing
season lulled along over two sleepless
months. It didn’t take a genius to figure
out that management related losses
(which at lambing time means just about
all of them) shot up dramatically as the
season wore on … and the shepherd
wore out! Less apparent, but still signifi-
cant, was the fact that lambing percent-
ages always seemed to decline later in the
season. This seemed to be true whether
lambing began in January, March, or May.
Armed with this information and a
strong desire to maintain sanity and civili-
ty to those around me during lambing, I
began in 1978 a rather strict culling pro-
gram that eliminated mature ewes not
dropping within the prescribed time
frame. An abrupt switch wasn’t possible
without sacrificing too many ewes. But
since that time, we have gone from a two-
month lambing period to six weeks, to 34
days, to three weeks, and finally now, to
17 days-or one heat cycle.
Interestingly, the percentage of ewes
lambing within the allotted time limit
hasn’t changed much as the season has
been gradually compressed. Eight years
ago 85-90 percent of the flock was lamb-
ing within the two-month cutoff date. This
year 90 percent lambed in the 17 days
between February 19 and March 5.
Some have gone to artificial estrus syn-
chronization to accomplish a similar goal.
I have no argument with that, and in fact
have considered trying it. It is, however,
more costly, both in terms of cash ex-
pense “for supplies, and labor necessary
to implement the program.
The artificial way is, of course, quicker.
But some of that satisfaction I men-
tioned earlier comes from the knowledge
that if current management standards are
maintained, the change in my flock
should be permanent. And it was ac-

complished the way Mother Nature her-
self makes changes-through selection.
+++++++~++++
I’m sure farming seems like tedious
repetition and drudgery to some. But to
me much of that repetition belies subtle
beauty and valuable lessons if we can
only detach ourselves long enough from
chasing dollars to see.
Every fall after the crops are harvested
and most of the postponed odd jobs are
complete, I am content to retreat to the
barns and lots. It is time to forget the
fields, the bugs and the weeds and con-
centrate on the feed, the bedding and the
stock. On a winter day with a cold north-
east wind blasting snow pellets deep into
your face, a barn filled with contented
animals seems positively cheery!
Conversely, along about now as patoh-
es of dry, firm earth and brittle, brown
cornstalks replace winter’s snow cover, I
find myself pausing in the barn door after
the chores are done, gazing out across
the fields, anticipating, and wondering
when it will begin out there.
I can remember during college days
nearly being overcome in early spring by
the smell of freshly turned moist soil in a
field across the road from our dorm. And
how my roommate and I would sit in our
high-rise window surrounded by the
hustle and bustle of thousands of people,
gazing at plumes of diesel smoke rising
from the vast expanse of central Iowa
cropland-wishing we could be home on
one of the “iron horses” where the real
action was. Home where the season had
meaning that went beyond a golf cart, ten-
nis racket, or RV!
That was quite a few years ago, but the
tug and pull and challenge of the chang-
ing seasons hasn’t waned much for me:
Whether it’s winter’s first blanket of snow
that covers the accumulated imperfec-
tions of the previous nine months; the life
and death drama of a newborn lamb’s first
frantic efforts to stand and nurse; the early
morning sun glinting off those first pale
green corn spikes to emerge from seem-
ingly hard, inanimate seed, or the phea-
sant hen’s tenacious devotion to her
young as she hunkers down when danger
approaches her hayfield nest.

I’ve lived the predictability, and enjoyed
the security of the 9-5 life. I still envy it at
times. But I’ve never quite been able to
reconcile myself to nature from a book,
or nature on weekends, or nature as a
spectator sport.
I guess to live with nature you do it
strictly on Her terms. Sometimes it’s a
cold, wet slap in the face. Sometimes it’s
a warm, gentle caress. Always it’s a
challenge. And usually the rewards seem
consistent with the effort we put into it.

Originally published The Shepherd Magazine April 1986