I am typing this up while warming up next to the wood stove
and drinking a cup of coffee. I have been out filling hay feeders up, making
sure all diesel engines are filled up and plugged in and that I have a plentiful
supply of feed in the barn. The weatherman is predicting “snowmegdan” and for
some reason I believe him. Time will tell if this is an act of futility or a
foreshadowing, but in any case two full days were spent preparing for the
upcoming storm.
I also suspect that we are going to have a storm because of
a couple of different indicators also. Yesterday the animals were very anxious,
even bordering on crazy. It seems to me that they were sensing something coming
and were a little nutty because of it. The other indicator, my knees, and one
that I have found to be the best at predicting big storm systems. They have
been aching and sore.
Fearing for the worst and hoping for the best I began my
preparations and I admit that it is a good feeling to see the hay piled up in
rows by the house, a large stack of firewood within arm’s reach of the back
door, a large pile of feed sacks in the feed room and freshly scattered straw
in the lambing barn. However, I still have that gnawing worry in my gut that 1)
there is more I could do, 2) something will go wrong, and 3) there is nothing I
can do about it. Over the years I have gotten quite good at worrying about
things I have no control over.
I have to admit that I have spent some sleepless nights the
past couple of days worrying about the forecast and the blizzard. We are
getting calves fast and furious and we have many new babies on the ground and
many will only be days or hours old when the snow arrives. I have tried to make
warm (or warmer) places for them but there is only so much I can do. I know,
tomorrow I will stand helplessly looking out the window, wondering how they are
faring. I also know that it would be foolish to go check them and risk getting
them up from the warm places their mothers have found for them.
The sheep will cause a different kind of worry. I have
plenty of barn space for the ewes with lambs and the ewes who are about to
lamb. They will be inside and protected from the blowing snow. My worry with
them is that the electricity will go out and I will not have the heat lamps we
depend on to keep the newborns warm. Again, I am not sure the worry is warranted
because I am sure many ewes have lambed in the past without the benefit of heat
lamps.
The wind will wake me up tonight, I will go look out to see
what is happening and the worry will start. Chores will be a difficult
proposition in the morning and the rest of the day will be spent watching the
weather, looking at the radar and staring out the window at the barn and the
pasture, I know I will have done as much as I possibly can to keep them safe,
comfortable and healthy, but the gnawing wonder if I could have done more will
be there.
The words of my wise old Dad will also be in my head
(actually they will be pretty fresh because I will probably call him on the
phone three or four times). “Do what you can and don’t worry about what you
don’t have any control over.” Good advice, if I would follow it. I would also
bet he will be doing the same thing and worrying. That is just what we do.
I guess that is just part of being a good steward of the
livestock we are entrusted with. We do all we can to insure their well-being,
even risking our own at times. We know that our livelihood and life’s work are
wrapped up in those animals and we do all we can do to protect them. The bottom
line is that there are times we just don’t have much control, and that is when
the worry comes in.
I guess we need to focus on the good things that will come
about with the impending storm. I will most likely get to spend quality time
with my family, be able to drink my coffee by the woodstove and most
importantly (at least to them) Killer, the cow dog and Jack, the bird dog will
spend time inside. I know they are really excited about that. So put a second
pot on, wait for the snow and we will see each other on the other side of “snowmegdan”.