When we first started farming, we went to an educational lecture at which the speaker joked that "March" should be renamed "Mud." We didn't really get the joke.
Now, most unfortunately, we do.
Thanks to the recent spate of snow-sleet-driving rain-snow-sleet again, we are blessed with a vast expanse of boot-sucking mire. No place is dry, with the exception of the barn and the interiors of the run-in sheds. Thank goodness for small mercies.
Since we are so close to lambing, it's time to bring the ewes in every night. The ewes are thrilled to see the boys come out for this chore. They line up at the gate, waiting to stampede into the dry coziness of the barn. Heaven help the small boy standing in their way! Sure beats herding them in, though Dusty misses his job, as he misses all free range privileges on the farm. But it's too dang muddy to let him loose unless you have a spare half hour to bathe him afterwards.
Today was the first official due date. No sign of lambs yet. Maybe Jenny is waiting for the first day of spring, just like the rest of us.