We get the most out of our Christmas tree each year! We move it out of the house only when more needles are on the floor than are on the tree or when I need to use the space that it occupies for my tomato seedlings. Our outdoor lights, however, have no such deadline imposed on them, and I continue to enjoy them nightly, when I retire to the lounge chair with a good book and a bit of Irish Cream. Such prolonged enjoyment of festive winter lights seemed perfectly appropriate last week when snow blasted in on a north wind and formed small drifts. Yesterday, however, it struck me that our lights are not nearly so festive when viewed as a backdrop for daffodils aglow in lovely late afternoon sunshine. Here they are, barely visible and soon to be put into storage until winter 2017.     

Just when I began to back off the only supplemental bottle feeding I've done this spring, for twin lambs who share their mother's half-good udder, R-71 delivered triplets. She is our only remaining Border Leicester and has plenty of milk to raise three lambs; hopefully, she will continue to patiently allow all three time to nurse. I've been carting the camera with me on every trip to the barn, hoping to catch the three of them perched atop their mother whenever she tries to rest, contentedly rising and falling with her respirations and basking in her warmth. So far my timing has been off, so I'm sharing another photo.

In a similar vein, I'd been privately gloating about how trouble-free lambing has been this spring; I'm now being severely punished for such premature thoughts. A ewe lamb, not yet one year old, came down with coccidiosis two days after delivering her own lamb. Initially thinking that her hay was too rich, I switched her feed to grass hay, to no avail. After consulting Google and our vet, the ewe is being dosed with Albon, a sulfa bolus, and now, two days later, is starting to firm up and feel better. (As a testament to how scours-free our calves have been, it should be noted that 1993 is the expiration date on our container of Albon.) All my sources of information suggest that coccidiosis is resident in all sheep, that wet unsanitary conditions are triggers for disease outbreaks, and that eggs are totally resistant to all disinfectants. Because this ewe lambed in a dry, freshly-bedded jug that had not been occupied for nearly a month and then was moved with her lamb into a similarly dry, bedded, unused mixing pen, I am inclined to think that lambing stress can be a trigger. The ewe and her so far healthy lamb are now shifting back and forth between two isolated jugs that we are cleaning and liberally liming every twelve hours. Perhaps spreading lime is a futile gesture, but I'm sticking with it and hoping that colostrum will protect her lamb.

As for trips, I escaped for the better part of yesterday and joined my two sisters for a brief presentation at the quarterly MT Historical Society Board of Directors meeting in Helena. We shared the nature of the family collection that we donated to the MT Historical Society--diaries, letters, photo albums, etc.--the steps we took in making our donation, and our intention to provide funding for an intern to digitize the collection. Though I initially felt guilt or remorse at losing personal control of our family story, particularly Mom's 60+ years of diaries, I am now relieved to have our documents safely housed and eager to make them researchable and available to others.

It's time to upload the picture of our newest triplets into this lengthy blog post,  and then check the barn. My latest painting, a limited palette version of our matriarch tree with Square Butte as the backdrop, is calling to me on this wet cold afternoon. 

                     

Seasonal bliss colored my previous post about spring daffodils and migrating cranes. Silly me. I failed to mention the real sign of seasonal change at Prairie Island: SNAKES. Yes, last week, Jim side-stepped a five foot long bull snake oozing into one of our numerous gopher holes. He observed the tail carefully as it disappeared into the cavern. The score: Bulls - 1; Rattlers - 0. Yippee! Our team wins.

Last night, however, spring reverted to winter, and we awakened to snow. Despite our wet accumulation, we fed outside and trusted that the older lambs are adequately resilient, independent, and/or savvy enough to retreat into the old barn if needed. The later-born lambs in the upper barn have stayed inside, drawn to the heat lamp and dry straw within. The calves are old enough to weather this blip, though we will be vigilant about checking for scours within the next 48 hours.

It was a good day to tweak my latest painting, sign and photograph it, and take a picture of Weed in our spring snow.       

   

The bubbling chuckle of sand hill cranes put morning chores on pause until I finally spotted them flying north, low on the western horizon. Outside our kitchen window, one lovely crocus blossom cautiously maintains a low profile against our cold wind, while a single precocious daffodil stands at brave attention before it. Our first 50 lambs have recovered from the trauma of ear tagging, docking, vaccinating, and castrating; they tear at high tilt every morning when they are set free from the restrictive corral where they spend the night. The calves, also, fly around the pasture at top speed whenever the spirit moves them. Such joy we get from all of these spring messages. During the day, I made good progress on my painting, and thus far, I'm pleased with it, but I left the hardest part, a cottonwood tree in the foreground, for last, mostly because I am unsure how to proceed. Perhaps a brilliant idea will come to me tonight as I sleep.          

Tomatoes all have germinated and the sweet peppers, as well. Best of all, yesterday I heard two meadowlarks singing dueling spring melodies. That said, tomorrow's weather forecast calls for a 70% chance of snow. If that comes to pass, I shall hunker inside with my newest painting and a new pigment--luscious, warm, glowy Quinachridone Deep Gold.

PS: I added a trio of new paintings to this website's art gallery.