I could see her in the darkness at the far end of the outer corral, 50 yards from the barn. She was vigorously licking a small white something wriggling at her feet. It was 22 degrees that morning as I approached to inspect the newly born lamb, which even as I covered the distance stood up. The mother nudged her baby back to the business end, and it immediately began to nurse. The ewe clearly still had more lambs to come (and hopefully just one more) before I could coax her to the barn and into a lambing pen. I flashed my light across the other ewes in the heavily pregnant flock. None showed any signs of labor, so I headed back to the house for a first cup of coffee.

An hour later, around 6 a.m., I found the ewe still at the far edge of the outer corral, with two healthy ram lambs on their feet and nursing. I picked them both up and began the backward-crouch-and-walk familiar to all who have raised sheep. Both were covered in ice crystals in the cold predawn. I continued to hold the lambs in view of their mother, and she followed ever so slowly, chuckling to her babies softly, afraid she was leaving one or both behind. Eventually I made it to the barn door, managed to get it open with one hand while holding the two 8-pounders in the other, and ushered all three inside.

Already in the barn were 10 ewes and their 21 lambs. (All ewes so far this year have twinned, except one mother who had triplets.) The last few steps to the lambing pen were especially chaotic. If a ewe has trouble out in the open keeping track of her newborns, then a barn full of lambs running about, each calling loudly for its mom, is nothing if not sheer cacophonous confusion. With a little wrangling, though, the four of us managed the short trek and I closed the gate to the 24-hour maternity ward. A bucket of water, a block of fresh hay, and a small scoop of feed left with her, I returned to the house for my second coffee and the start of the day.

In the afternoon, Cindy headed the hour-plus to the processor’s to pick up packages of lamb. The previous week I had delivered 13 yearlings to be butchered. Four customers were coming to the farm for their meat, and one lamb was earmarked for our own freezer.

When she returned, I pulled a small shoulder roast from our packages and set it in the fridge to thaw for dinner the next night. I then checked on the sheep once again — a multiple-times-per-day activity in lambing season — making sure they had water and feed and that the lambs were doing well, before moving onto other tasks.

Late in the day, Cindy and I sat on a windy hill, enjoying the last of the sunshine and our newborn charges cavorting on the grass.

Those of you who farm or are longtime readers of this journal will see no contradiction in the joy we experience in raising lambs and the meals we create from the harvest. There is a beginning and there is an end to everything. What always matters, what only matters, is how we treat those in our care while they live … and after.

Braised Lamb Shoulder in Citrus

In a Dutch oven (ceramic-coated or stainless steel pot), sweat 3-4 carrots and celery and an onion in a bit of butter or olive oil until soft.

Braised lamb in citrus (first steps).

Add a cup of canned tomatoes, minus most of the juice, the zest and juice from a lemon, 4-5 cloves of minced garlic, some dried oregano, a cup of stock (I use beef), and half a bottle of white wine or dry mead. Bring to a boil, and reduce to simmer.

Meanwhile, salt and pepper the lamb shoulder. Then, in a cast iron skillet, brown both sides in a little oil on medium high heat. Nestle the lamb in the broth mixture and cover.

Place the pot in the oven for 2.5 hours at 250°. Salt and pepper to taste along the way. Shred the tender meat in a separate dish. Ladle the juice and veggies over mashed potatoes, rice, or couscous, and top with the shredded lamb.

Enjoy.

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Reading this weekend: The Holy Earth (Liberty Hyde Bailey). This is a reread of the short classic.

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