Early last week my husband got a text message. It read: “Does your wife want some bum lambs?” A fellow shepherd and rancher in the midst of lambing was being overrun by triplets and needed to find them homes. My husband read the text aloud to me with raised eyebrows. I paused to consider what that would mean… It’s been exactly 13 years since I brought home Pearl and Theo, my first bottle babies. I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I loaded them into a cardboard box in the back of my Subaru station wagon. It was early in my tenure here in South Dakota, back when I still thought living rurally was a temporary adventure. But I’d gone to visit a friend’s lambing barn and with one step inside I felt a subtle shift in my known universe. Something about the bright, fresh smell of straw, the gentle sounds of the ewes talking to their lambs, the warmth of the dusty air felt like home. I didn’t want to leave.

Winter snowfall turns to slush, an easy season is almost done Hard-packed roads will turn to mush and the springtime will have won Baby cows with big brown eyes with more arriving every day Lie in wonderment in grassy fields with moms not far away Perhaps this once the spring will hold…perhaps this once the winds back down Perhaps this once it will unfold…that winter won’t come back around But you know that we’ve been wrong before; stop preparing and let our guards down The clouds will churn and fill with ice, and cold and dark come back around The baby cows with the big brown eyes will feel the sting of the freezing rain And ask the question as they hunker down… “Is life short and full of pain?” But springtime snowfalls after heated days are gone as soon as they began Soon the baby cows rejoice in the warm spring grass again In troubled times we fear the worst as uncertainty and doubt kick in We fear the loss of what we think we have and the consequence of our sin Like the cows, we let darkness fall, and like the cows, we have no say But our souls will warm up with God’s son, and that light never goes away So relish the time you have on earth in the calm with your family and friends The storms of today will surely pass and your warm days will have no end

During our most recent family movie night, we watched one of my favorites: Encanto. At one point in the movie, a character who has been gifted supernatural strength confesses that she fears she will crumble under the weight of all that is expected from her. Although she accomplishes amazing things, it never feels like enough. She never feels like she, herself, is enough.

The Saturday evening before Easter Sunday a quiet, gentle snow began to fall. The flakes were fat and heavy. “That’s Minnesota snow,” my husband said, “Lots of moisture.” But it didn’t look like Minnesota snow to me, it looked like Hollywood snow, too big and soft to be real. Certainly not the tiny, gritty sand balls of ice we usually call snowflakes around here. And it was falling straight down, not sideways, another unusual circumstance.

I have to give myself permission because I’m a man, you know… and men are supposed to be strong Stay all buttoned up, don’t let the tears flow it’s not easy… when we’re told that it’s wrong But Jesus himself, as tough as they come no stronger man ever lived on this earth when faced with the death of his beloved friend He wept for all he was worth So I’ll take my signal about what’s right or wrong from He who just couldn’t lie when faced with a sadness and I just can’t move on I give myself full permission to cry View me as feeble, malign me as weak, judge me as a man who is flawed something or someone can matter so much it can bring tears to my eyes or to God’s Everyone goes, the young and the old be it family, neighbor, or friend God grant you the strength to have a good cry when something meaningful comes to an end

In the world of emergency response, where every second counts, the woeful wail of an ambulance on a rural road is a poignant reminder of the vital role Emergency Medical Technicians (EMTs) play in our everyday lives.

The annual sheep haircuts occurred this week, the earliest we’ve ever done them, and not a moment too soon. With the new miniature flock I brought home recently scheduled to start lambing in just under a month, it was either shear now, or wait until after lambing.

Last week I was fortunate to have the opportunity to be one of eight people from Cheyenne River Reservation who were invited to attend National Tribal Training Week in Anniston, AL. What started out as a week of training with FEMA at the Center for Domestic Preparedness turned into a week of enlightenment.

Transitioning to become a parent can be one of the most pivotal changes in a person’s life. Rarely are the hard moments of this change talked about enough. For example, did you know 1 in 5 women and 1 in 10 men suffer from postpartum depression? Parents of any culture, race, age, or income level can be affected. We commonly hear and get confused about postpartum depression being the “baby blues.” This is a common misconception. The baby blues are very common and happen to 80% of women in postpartum. This occurs within the first few days and lasts a few weeks. The baby blues will usually go away with rest and time.

When I first started getting serious about raising sheep, I knew I wanted a fiber flock. I’d been a knitter for years, and had spent enough time drooling over yarn in specialty yarn shops to know how surprisingly versatile and engaging different types of wool can be. More importantly, however, I’d realized after falling in love with my first bum lambs that raising sheep to be sold primarily for meat was not going to work for my very tender heart.