Grace, I named her
I rush too much. I do things too fast. Things like washing my hair in the shower, shaving my legs, and running a comb through wet locks are done too fast, borderline angry. Like I am in some sort of constant anxious rush. I am learning to see this, stop it, breathe.
Ground and Center. Ground and Center.
The first heads of lettuce seeds are poking up. The bedding that blanketed the garlic since last fall has been brushed away. Jasper spends all his time in the big pasture now, and all that room to run has him calmer and more willing to train. The new litter of kits seems robust and Grace (so I named the Cotswold who survived) has returned to the rest of the flock. I watched her run down the hill to the other sheep tonight, slightly amazed I did it. (Well, that me and Shelly VMD did it). Watching that big fluffy butt tromple* down the muddy hillside was quite the sight. Quite.
I'm getting ready for the weekend workshop and the upcoming laying hen workshop in a few weekends. I ordered 45 chicks for it, a combination of Golden Wyandottes, Road Island Reds, and Dark Brahmas. All of them are hardy Northeastern friendly birds who do well in backyards or small farms. I look forward to that class a lot. I still remember my first chicks in Idaho. I remember thinking "Here comes the rest of the story..." and smiling as I watched them for hours.
Things are good, busy, but good. I work with Merlin as often as possible. Gibson will start herding lesson and Sheep Doggin' Clinics again soon. Lambing might start in mid to late April, depending on if Atlas did the job or not. A lot of ifs and maybes, but all of it keeping me on my toes.
*I made up the word tromple right then, but people with sheep know what I mean. It's a jaunty but specific kind of sheep trot.