I grew up on a farm, and as a child, I don’t recall paying much attention to the changing seasons. More focus was on the stop and start of the school year than on the seasons. Later on, during the dozen years living around the city the seasons were a phase of weather I adjusted to by way of clothing and driving conditions.
But living on the prairie and looking out for sheep and dogs has changed that a little bit. There is a pulse that resonates on a deeper level, almost like it wants to talk to you, perhaps guide you, and this feeling is always strongest for me in the Spring time. Spring to Summer, Summer to Fall, and even Fall to Winter blend into one another to some degree. But on this northern prairie Winter to Spring is less blend and more emergence. Winter and Spring seem to be in an arm wrestle and yesterday was the first day that Spring got the upper hand. Spring is leaning in hard now, that much can be felt, and slowly the long arm of this winter is being laid to the table.
The guardian dogs are acting chipper, the ewes sleep apart once again, they are up earlier and are a tiny bit restless. I’ve been able to shed one layer of winter gear and it is time for the Muck boots to come out. It will be mud-ugly as the snow melts but I think that will be short lived this year given the lack of snow.
Shearing the flock is fast approaching and we'll be throwing ourselves into full days of outdoor work before we know it. We shall adjust. Bring on Spring.