Lambing season shows us HOW To respond with respect for a better start in life.
It begins when it’s ready — not when we are.
Have you heard about expectations being the thief of happiness?
When the sheep begin to have their lambs—as they did four weeks ago—I slip into the expectation trap.
Out here, calm isn’t passive. It’s ready.
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Making a midnight check in the barn. Then another. And another.
Exhaustion is real — interrupted sleep, carrying responsibility quietly (or not).
After days of pulling on snowpants and walking out into the cold, I get tired, a little hesitant, and, honestly, unwilling to go see that nothing is happening at all.
Until it does.
Our dog, Ashes, has a different opinion. He whines at night, nudging me awake to let me know it’s time to go.
Ashes’ enthusiasm doesn’t inspire me as I climb out of a warm bed, my mind still clearing.
You’re allowed to slow down here.
Life unfolds when it’s ready—and that can be trusted.
Shepherding my flock teaches me to trust showing up matters more than trying to control what happens.
Even though I’ve narrowed lambing season down to six weeks, the ewes remind me—night after night—new life arrives when it’s ready. Not when I expect it or when I’m ready for it.
This season is an opportunity to develop attention, patience, and restraint.
And to remember, new beginnings are one of my favorite parts of farming.
Life Moves When It’s Ready: Lambing, Rhythm, and Care on Our Vermont Farm
Princess was the first to lamb this year.
When I went out for morning chores, she was already cleaning her babies and letting them nurse.
It’s a wonder to witness. And a huge relief.
Lambs arrive alert, steady on their feet, quietly capable—almost from their very first breath.
Only three days overdue, I was rearing to go.
Instead, I had to settle back into the work — and the wonder — or miss it entirely.
Princess’s a familiar face around town, leaning in for cheek scratches on our Community Lamb Day and at events like Slate Valley Museum’s “Summer Barn Raising” and East Poultney Day.
With the softest fleece in the flock, her strong and steady twin ewe lambs are a gift for our future farm.
They’re called ‘Perfect’ and ‘Pleasure.’
How wonderful to have a strong, healthy flock—and a system that keeps ewes and lambs calm and safe together, with very little interference.
Stewardship is planning for good outcomes by designing for care long before the moment arrives.
Farming continues to humble me.
Earlier in my soil health journey, I caught myself slipping into what I jokingly call a “God-complex.” Learning about lactobacillus-based farm brews, I believed that because I was growing and applying them to the land, I was creating life.
It was egocentric.
These microscopic bacteria —Used to make miso, saurkraut, and yogurt— have been creating life far longer than I have.
I began to see my role differently — not as a creator, but as someone who prepares the conditions and then steps back.
That perspective carries straight into lambing.
In winter, the sheep barn is deeply bedded with straw and low-quality hay—high in carbon.
We mist the bedding pack with our lacto-brew, which reduces pathogen habitat, stabilizes nutrients during the dormant season for plant and soil life fertility later on once things start growing again.
None of this is about making life happen. It’s about witnessing and responding.
What Lambing Keeps Teaching Me
Lambing reminds me that life sometimes doesn’t respond to my pressure.
It begins when it’s ready. Not because I’m ready or I’ve planned the timing just right.
It’s watching closely without hovering. Knowing when to step in—and when to trust what’s unfolding beyond my sight.
I think about this mostly when I’m worrying, even though I know what to do.
When I feel capable and uncertain at the same time, nothing’s wrong, but it feels unsettled.
Do you know what I mean?
I trust myself to take action.
When it’s time to change plans, take charge, or act before others believe in you — the way lambing sometimes is.
Lambing teaches me that readiness requires self-trust.
I need to show up calm, with courage, and respect.
That same intention shapes the food I raise.
The meat you bring home from our farm comes from animals grounded in systems designed for care—long before the moment arrives.
Fewer interventions.
More trust.
Built in nourishment.
It’s food to take care of you at 5 o’clock — when you need dinner on the table without a lot of decisions.
When you’re tired, and there are still baths to give and stories to read.
Our farm’s here for you when you want something nourishing, reliable, and warm at the end of the day.
When Everything Happens at Once
You know what it’s like to be tested.
Recently it happened to me.
Our church’s annual meeting was the same weekend a ewe delivered triplets.
And, a major winter storm was forecast across the eastern U.S. so that schools preemptively closed two days before it was supposed to start.
Routines had to shift.
have you ever argued with reality?
The hard truth is you lose every time. Remember the adage: “It is what it is.”
And after years of practice, I still resist acceptance—because it’s human nature.
I let go of what no longer serves me.
What a blessing – everything steadily worked out.
The ewe delivered her triplet lambs without assistance.
With experience we know when to watch—and when to step back.
You have to trust the tension between tending to what’s happening and waiting for what’s coming
At the end of the day, our family was warmed by the fire, enjoying more of the big batch of homemade meatballs I prepared the day before.
Trusting the Rhythm When Life Feels Heavy
Next, production work ramped up.
Feed schedules required constant calculation. The triplets needed supplemental bottle feedings. Night checks now included a warm bottle tucked under my arm as I walked under the stars.
Bottle-feeding lambs takes patience. And their mother wasn’t too happy about me catching her lambs at all.
Then, ‘Momma’ of the triplets gave me a scare.
The energy demands of milk production triggered pregnancy toxemia—a dangerous condition if untreated. I knew what to do, acted quickly, and she made a full recovery. The bond with her lambs remained intact.
It’s no wonder I felt tired.
We’re Right Where We Should Be
Zooming out, I noticed something familiar: I kept telling myself I was behind—on writing, emails, housework, planning—despite doing exactly the work I had signed up to do.
I blamed myself for skipping a nap and working straight through instead. In my head, it sounded like:
It should be done.
It’s not done.
You’re doing it wrong.
The next morning, I asked myself:
What would have happened if I hadn’t shown up and did the opposite?
The answer was immediate and clear. The sheep and lambs needed care. Living beings come first. They count on me to lead.
I hadn’t failed.
I had shepherded well.
That realization softened everything. The exhaustion eased. I stopped beating myself up for arbitrary schedules.
click the video for a virtual lamb barn visit
I know many of the women who buy food from our farm are holding a lot — raising kids, supporting family, caring for community, and still trying to nourish everyone well.
Farming has taught me that trust grows through steady care, honest observation, and relationships that develop over time.
If choosing food ever feels overwhelming, you don’t have to figure it out alone. I’m always happy to help you choose cuts, share cooking ideas, or talk through what works best for your season of life.
This farm exists to make healthy meals that are comforting not complicated.
Our role — whether in farming, family, or community — is often less about control and more about building environments where good things are supported and allowed to grow.
Many of us are carrying responsibility quietly while hoping we’re doing enough.
From what I see every spring, careful observation and patience are what’s needed.
A Gentler Way Forward
What I learned is simple and hard-earned: during lambing,
I need micro-adjustments in self-care—and fewer expectations of myself elsewhere.
Disappointment is information — it shows the gap between what we hoped for and what actually happened.
I’m flooded with gratitude for ‘my past self’ who did her best to prepare me for this moment and ‘my present self’ who implemented what I’ve learned with self-worth and compassion in the forefront.
“I believe it can work for you, too.”
I help people decide what they need. Our relationship is part of the deal.
If this stirred something, reach out and text me at 518-260-7810.
design life so crisis is less likely
Good care is showing up consistently, observing, and letting life unfold.
It’s the same steady rhythm shaping the food raised here.