Footprints on the Web

After lambing and docking season, starts the haying season. This is where we cut grass, rake them and make bales out of them on 800 acres of land. We use large tractors that do these specific tasks. Raking is the easiest of them and what I got to do in a tractor that was not all that big. These tractors come with a Maserati price tag so important not to screw them up. All tasks can be very therapeutic because it involves sitting alone on a tractor for hours on end just listening to music or being lost in your ow thoughts. Once the bales have been made we load them up in the upper barn. There is an “elevator” we connect from the trailer full of the bales inclining upto the upper barn. I with the help of a farmer loaded the bales onto the elevator that had these prongs to hold the bales down as it moved up the elevator upto the upper barn. There we stacked them up in rows and columns as high as possible. Halfway through the process I climbed up the ladder and helped with the stacking. It was so hot up there that I was dripping in sweat. We all were but kept going. Once we were done loading all the bales in the trailer, I climbed down the elevator, once it had been switched off ofcourse, and managed to get some big bad bruises.

One of the farmers had encouraged me to get my fishing license before we went fishing. So I did. It was a nice and easy process by simply completing an online application. She also signed me up for a hunting and rifle class before I got my rifle license. Some weekends were so busy that I did not go home to see my parents. I would go during the week. One thing I had been warned about by most on the farm was learning the ability to say no. You will constantly be asked to help out by everyone. And you will very soon be worn out if you don’t set some boundaries and take care of your health. It had taken me awhile but I had said my first no on the farm. It was between tasks and I just wanted a minute to sit in my yurt. I was congratulated later by the farmer I said no to for saying so and knowing my limits. The matriarch on the farm was constantly after me to eat and use the vegetable garden more frequently. Somedays I welcomed it but somedays when I was swamped, food was the last thing on my mind.

We had gotten a very tiny lamb during lambing. We called her Mini. She fit into a farmer boot that’s how tiny she was. We gave her shots of electrolytes twice a day to help boost up her intake. I remember forgetting her electrolytes one time and feeling like a complete failure. She weighed like a pound! We were going to take her with us to one of the Tuesday Ladies nights but she had started to show signs of contracting flystrike ( maggots around the tail). Her condition got worse and she didn’t make it. I never saw her dead. My last memory of her was her meek, weak bleating.

By far my worst week on the farm has passed. The parasites took 6 of my 40 lambs that I had been caring for over 2 months in 1 week. They were dropping like flies. I walked in every morning to find a dead, rigid body. As I picked up one of them in rigor mortis stage, I heard its neck muscles crack. One morning I walked in to find little Mark and Sam lethargic and immobile. I messaged the shepherd right away. I fed Sam but Mark simply wouldn’t feed. So unlike him. I went to the feed the foster pen lambs and come back to the outside pen as I waited for the shepherd. The situation had worsened.  They didn’t make it. I lost it. The only person up at that hour is the matriarch of the family. The woman in her 70s consoled me as I continued to ugly cry. And then I carried the 2 bodies out of the pen. Mark was someone who had come into the pen rather weak with his head hanging low. It took him 2 weeks to perk up and then he became one of our favorites. He would be one of the first ones to make it on the parade from the foster pen to the outside pen. We took him with us on Tuesday Ladies night. He was loving life and attention with the humans after a long fight. He didn’t deserve to go.

Later that evening was the Canada day parade. The matriarch got me to go with her and we had a good time. I came back for the evening feeding only to find Umby in rigor mortis. He was someone who had issues with his umbilical cord and (hence we named him Umby) we had  been treating him with biodine. It took him awhile but he was thriving. In recent days, there was quite a bit of puss coming out of his navel. But he still enjoyed being with the flock. Often at times, if the lambs have an underlying medical condition the parasites make it worse and debilitating. Up until then, they find the strength somehow to keep fighting.

The tough ones to watch are the ones who are at the brink of death as I walk in the pen on mornings. I feel damn helpless. There is nothing I am able to do for them. I want to give them a shot, CPR, something to bring them back to life. Even though my head says it is useless seeing their state, my heart wants to do something. Sitting there watching a living thing breathing its few last breaths and not being able to do anything about it has got to be one of the most traumatic events in one’s life. You can see the soul leave the body. Hard to describe but you feel it. Their little bodies struggle to breath. You can see their stomach expand and contract lethargically. Then it stops and the weak pulsing around their neck still sustains for a little while and then that stops as well.

The morning I sat there watching little Gary (the runt amongst the foster lambs)breath his last few breaths, I felt like life is pointless. I wanted to pack up my bags and leave. Run. Like I always do. When things get tough, I run. Start fresh. Because that is the easy thing to do. Atleast for me. But this time I decided to take little Gary with one of the farm workers to the dead pile and see him assimilate into the earth. As I wrapped his little body in the grave we had dug for him, his eyes were wide open staring at me. I will never forget that.

The shepherd apologized to me. He knew it had been a rough week for me. I told him he didn’t have to apologize to me. But that was just him. He apologized to dead lambs and sheep when they didn’t make it. I had gotten in the habit of apologizing to the foster lambs in my heart as well. If you think about it, these are ones their moms abandoned. We take them on saying we will take care of you. When they die I feel like I have let them down somehow.

The next few mornings I had PTSD. I would peer out from my yurt as soon I woke up or while having my breakfast to see if I saw flies swarming around the pen. I would tread very carefully to the pens with the feeding bucket. I did not want to see another one. One of the farmers who I had talked to about my tough week, asked me what my relationship with prayer is. She told me in those moments of helplessness, while watching them breath their last breaths I might try praying for me. I had never thought about it. While feeding them in the morning, I listened to and made them listen to Christian Rock. I think they enjoyed it as long the milk kept coming. I began to get down on my knees and praying every night. Praying to keep them safe and healthy. Praying to look over them. They don’t tend to show pain or cry. They were all still so little and dependent on us. My prayers were all about them and nothing about me. Have you tried that? Have you ever tried praying for someone or anyone but yourself? Yes, we all have troubles, situation, people, health and things we struggle with. There will never come a time in your life when everything is going to be absolutely perfect. But even during those trying times, I encourage you to pray for someone else other than yourself and your problems. I promise you, you will not loose a penny and sleep a lot better.