Kidding Season

Sometimes the hard work of farming can make us feel a little burned out, wondering why it was we thought any of this was a good idea. Especially midwinter - it's cold, it's icy, if it's not icy it's muddy, we're second-guessing whether we bought enough hay last summer, and everything looks and feels gray.

A trip into town has us looking a bit longingly at a tiny house with a postage-stamp yard in a low-maintenance neighborhood with a grocery store in walking distance and then...just then...we get a glimpse of our goats. By February their bellies are round, not with hay (as usual), but on their right side, where the babies reside. Put a hand on that bulge and you'll feel kicks and little bodies squirming - sometimes you can even see them pushing outward! I, for one, feel a bit of a surge. This is why we did not choose a suburban neighborhood life. 

It is a romanticized notion that people who farm and homestead live close to the earth and in rhythm with the seasons, but it's not inaccurate. As winter ages and the thrill of snow ebbs, things are quiet and seemingly lifeless, and we begin to feel a bit old and gray ourselves. While it seems there's nothing but cold and quiet, life is pushing upward from secret places into the light. We can't see green shoots yet, but they are on the verge of breaking through. We can't see baby animals yet, but they are waiting to make themselves known at any moment. New life enlivens everything around it, and we are ready for a little life.