My Little Lamb

I pulled the barn door closed behind me, shutting out the bitter January cold and swirling snow. The ewe was on the floor of her stall, her head resting on a patch of straw. I stared at her swollen belly. What a time to give birth, I thought.

Her flanks heaved. Any time now. I saw the strain in her eyes and reached down to stroke her side. She snapped at my hand. I pulled back. Whatever made Henry and me think we could raise sheep? I wondered. Or do any of this—build a log house, grow our own food, keep livestock for milk and eggs?

but I’d always dreamed of moving to the country and living off the land. God’s land. After my kids