Sheep traffic has worn a muddy line along the pasture's upper edge. I follow in their hoof steps and walk the mud-slick path each morning, inspecting the flock.  Observation: the lambs have caught on to grazing – big time.   They beat the mother's to the pasture gate and practically jump over each other in impatience as I fumble with the gate latch.  In a wooly rush, they spring out into the field.  More  confident, less dependent of their mothers, they bunch together, a mini flock within the flock, shoulder to shoulder, heads to the ground.  Boosted by recent rains, 
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The month of May is a time when I could really use a clone- so one of me can keep tabs on the lively group of lambs and their ravenous mothers  at the farm – while the other me takes the farm on the road.  Each spring I become a fiber road warrior for the series of festivals that are circled on the  calendar from April through June. New Hampshire is always my first show of the season, and it's a special one for several reasons.  When my business was very much in the fledgling stage, NH  was my first
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It’s official.  Lambing’s done.  I have a severe case of  lamb-lag brought on by  five weeks of not sleeping through the night, heading to the barn at all hours, eating sporadically.    Our last lambs arrived during this past week.  Holly was alone in the barn to help the last set of twins into the world, while I was out of town.   She called to tell me they were on their way and then handled everything beautifully on her own – her first solo delivery.  I’m so proud of her. This year’s lambing spanned four weeks.  35 lambs, 9  ewes
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