July 31, 2012

Coming off the county fair high

July 31, 2012/ molly balint

I'm not even sure where to begin with this post. I think we're all still recovering from last week's hot, exhausting but oh so fun week at the fair. There are still sheep blankets and halters on my mudroom, coolers in the corner of my kitchen, extension cords in my dining room.

From Tuesday on, it felt like we touched down at home long enough to change clothes, shower, collapse on the sofa for twenty minutes and then get back in the car and do it all over again.

But of course, the big highlight was our inaugural year of showing lambs.

I grew up in 4-H. Showing my sister's lambs before I was even "legal" 4-H age all the way until I became too old when I was 18. So going through this now, with my own children has been a pretty special experience.

On Friday, Emma stepped into the showring for the first time, in a novice Showmanship class. If it was ballet or tap, I think I might be labelled as one of those "dance moms". Sitting there on the bleachers watching her show it took every once of self-control for me to not blab frenzied, whispered advice from the sidelines. I will admit to giving her a few exaggerated reminders in sign-language form to keep her eyes on the judge when her sweet wandering eyes were paying more attention to what was going on outside the ring, than in.

But even without my frenzied coaching from the bleachers, my sweet Emma won her showmanship class. She was a pro out there. Cool and calm. Smiling. And working hard. I was proud. (And so was she.)

The hardest part of the fair, comes at the end. To clarify, the lambs Emma took to the fair, were not the girls from Sarah. These were two lambs that we got in May, raised specifically to be part of the 4-H Market Lamb project.

I tread lightly here as I tell the rest of this story. The end of the fair for a market lamb means just that, it is time for market. Saturday night, the animals are auctioned and sold. And they don't come home.

Emma and I had talked about this long before we made the decision to get the lambs. We talked about whether or not she could handle it. I explained to her that she was giving the lambs a wonderful home--with love, attention, care, green grass, fresh hay. A much better alternative to some generic feed lot type of existence. In the end, she decided she wanted to do it.

I admit, there were tears early on. But as summer progressed she seemed to settle in. Then the girls arrived and they soothed the concern even more. She'd always have May and Penny.

I was suprised Saturday night, as I sat in the front row of the auction how emotional the whole thing would be for me. I'm sure it was the long week of exhaustion as much as anything else. But I found myself fighting back tears for several moments. The sounds of the auctioneer. The 4-Hers walking their animals through the ring. Another mother taking pictures of her son, with his grand champion animal, getting teary-eyed behind her camera lens.

I'm sure for many people, from the outside, it seems like something too hard to handle. But I can tell you that these kids work hard and take good care of their animals. They know them. They've cared for them. If anything, it's more respectful and respectable. And the people there, the buyers, are there more for the kids and the community and the small farms than they are for the animals. Better prices can certainly be found other places. There's much more behind this sale.

I stood outside the showring Saturday night with Emma, waiting with her for her turn to go in. Everything seemed okay, until I suddenly felt the thump of her head into my chest. And then the tears began to flow. She didn't want to do this. Lily had been so good. She had won the blue ribbon for her. She didn't want to sell her. It wasn't fair.

Of course, being the strong, calm and collected mother that I am (not really) the tears began for me, too. I remembered all of this. I had done and felt and experienced all of this as well. We talked through it again and despite wanting to snatch up that lamb and take it home with me, I sent her into the ring. Through tears she put on her smile.

When she walked out, the lamb was sold. To our local Senator, active in our fair, our community and for our county's farmers. He was working at the auction and had been serving as a superintendent of the fair. He pulled Emma aside and told her he had a field of nine lambs, and one more would make it ten. He was taking Lily home to his farm.

I'm convinced it was a little gift from God to Emma. A sweet blessing.

I really can't imagine a better way for her first year to go. Her "what if I don't want to do this next year" has changed to "when we do this next year....". I'm not sure what form it will take--breeding sheep, market lambs, but we'll definitely be hanging our sign in the sheep barn again.

As always, thanks for sharing in these stories with me, friends.

More soon....xo.

(P.S. Thank you to my cousin Katie, for being chief photographer during the show, so I could, you know, sit on the sidelines and coach.)

July 12, 2012

choring

July 12, 2012/ molly balint

I've been covering for Emma while she's been away at camp this week. I have to admit, I've really enjoyed taking over her usual morning tasks. She often rises before anyone else in the house and heads outside to work her way around to all the animals. All is quiet outside until the animals hear the tell-tale slam of the mudroom door. Then the whinnying and maaing begins. The barn kittens swirl around feet as you scuffle your way to the shed for their food. The pony stomps in her stall and chews impatiently at the fence.

The 4-H lambs have learned my routine and wait at the gate to be let out for their grain, which they get outside the pen. They need to grow, my other sweet girls, need to watch their waistlines a bit.

Birdy has become my righthand man and before I can even give her direction she's picking up green feed pans and trying to hook them on fences. Walking to the stone barn for a slice of hay. Trying to pry open the can of chicken feed. Climbing the coop steps to throw out the eggs for me. Oh yes.

Tonight we'll pick Emma up from camp. She'll hug her baby sister and carry her around on her hip, showing her off to all her friends. She'll most likely be flippant about missing us. But tell me how much she missed her pony and how are her lambs doing? When we get home tonight, I'm pretty sure I can bank on the fact that she'll make the rounds just before bed.

Everyone will be happy she's home.

June 20, 2012

hello, girls

June 20, 2012/ molly balint

There's an old VHS video clip I have of my grandmother, walking out to her sheep in the pasture, "Hello, girls." she calls to them in that voice I miss hearing. Immediately, they respond--a mix of warbled baa's from lambs who have their lips pressed to the earth ripping out clumps of grass and others strong and clear who already noticed her coming. Deep throaty baa's of mama ewes who know her voice so well.

My first lamb, when I was eight years old, came from my Grandmother's flock of Hampshires, Dorsets and Southdowns. I remember well, picking out Buttons that day. I picked him not because he was going to win blue ribbons in my first county fair, but because he came up to me and started nibbling and tugging at the hem of my sweater. He had been one of her bottle-fed projects. Now he would ride home with me purely for the fact that we'd become immediate friends. Standing in that barn while sheep and lambs swirled around us and a border collie crouched anxiously outside the gate.

For the next ten years I would show lambs in 4-H and state fairs. We'd win some years. Other years we'd learn lessons the hard way--like never tie your lambs to Japanese Ewe bushes while they wait in line to be sheared. All will be lost.

When I would graduate and go off to college, my mother would still keep a few lambs on the farm. She loved them as much as we did. She was the sheep lady whenever she'd speak at churches, garden clubs, and women's groups.

But eventually, the farm would be sold. I'd get married. And have children of my own.

But somewhere in the back of my mind, maybe the back of my heart, I'd dream and hope for the day, when things would fall in to place again. When the time would come again, when my children would get their first lambs.

Once we moved to Thomas Run, I'd try to figure out ways to make it work. Ways to afford the fencing we didn't have anywhere. The buildings we'd need, that didn't seem to exist.

Then a pony would come in to the picture and horse fence would go up. Fence that wouldn't work for lambs. And I thought maybe we'll end up being horse people. Maybe lambs won't be their thing. The pony was definitely meant to be.

My husband, who likes to remind me of how I should just trust him on this, has always said that I need to just sit back and wait. That the right things, at the right time, will fall into our laps. The doors will open when we're ready. When the time is right. We needent force anything.

So I sat back. And waited. Sometimes I let it go. Other times a sight or sound or memory would make me want to work and work to make lambs happen again.

But then, in a matter of weeks, the door would open. Out of nowhere. I'd look at a building on our farm in a completely different way and suddenly see potential. I'd get drawn into a conversation at a 4-H meeting that would get me thinking. I'd make one mention of it out loud, that I almost didn't say, because it just seemed too impossible to admit.

Then, there'd be an email.

And here we are a few months later.

I waited. Not always patiently, I admit. But now it's here. It's happening. And it couldn't have arrived in any better of a package. At any more perfect of a moment.

I am in love. We all are.

Hello, girls. Hello.

June 13, 2012

an end and a beginning

June 13, 2012/ molly balint

I was planning to sit down at my computer this morning and write a post about all our goings on...

But instead I find myself sitting down at this screen with tear stained cheeks.

Emma lost her cat Henry this morning. We found him on the road in front of our house just a few hours ago. He was the cat that came with us from Wisconsin, to live in the apartment on my grandparent's farm when we moved to Maryland, and finally here to Thomas Run. He was the first of what has grown into many pets and animals and cats for our family. But he was always there. Showing up at every morning round of chores. We are so heart-broken.

But with every end their is a new beginning.

There is a story that I have been waiting to tell all of you. Anxiously holding the news close to my heart for the last two months as details have been worked out. But I also knew that it wasn't my story to tell first.

I hope you'll take a moment to read Sarah's words, and learn of the new and the good for our family. And what brings tears of gratitude to my eyes this morning as well.

Sorrow and wonder, all in the same breath.

(We are heading to the ocean...Dan is caring for the animals, and diving into some variety of house projects while we are away. More from me next week.)

xo, my friends.

Molly

April 23, 2012

The second, and final, installment

April 23, 2012/ molly balint

The last goat kidded this week. I know that sounds like a really big goat farm, but we only have two breeding age goats. The second, and last goat, LuLu, went into labor like clock work. I read somewhere that goats tend to kid at the same time of day each year. Remembering that she had birthed in the evening last year, I wasn't surprised to see the tell-tale signs start at about 6 pm. We were all excited to see what she would have. LuLu is what they call a "paint" Nubian. Like the horse, she has a lot of white. And last year she had triplets. This year, she had gotten really big, but then seemed to shrink a bit towards the end, but was still obviously pregnant.

We gave her some privacy as labored progressed, but hustled to the barn when we heard the sounds of her really pushing, sounds just like one might hear in the halls of the hospital maternity ward. Out popped one small little girl, and we were in business.

Because the first was small, I wasn't surprised to see Lu lay back down for another go 'round. But something seemed different now. Sadly, she popped out two small and very much dead twins. My girls, brave and inquisitive ones that they are, and not at all queasy, analyzed the still, lifeless forms. Pictures were taken. Seems as though the survivor, little Molly, was all that was meant to be. And thankfully, she survived. And the fact that Lu seemed to get smaller at the end, now made sense.

So today, little Molly and LuLu got some time out in the fresh green lawn and some special attention. She may be small, but she is a little firecracker. And for us, although the usually joyous experience of kidding season has ended with a tinge of sadness, the promise of a new batch of babies and the anticipation of watching them grow, training them, and showing them at the fair, has outweighed any sadness.