Llamas are happy creatures, simple in their needs and wants. Some love, lots of pasture, daily feedings. Blue skies (my girls just do not like rain, although they will tolerate the light version, spoiled, aren't they). For a while, a dear friend has been tending them while I do battle with health issues now resolved, so I have really not been around them. I would love to think that their excitement to get to the barn was truly to see me, but these graceful creatures love to eat, so I guess it could be a bit of both. Whichever way you read it, I was thrilled to be up close and back to the barn again.
Signs of spring abound everywhere; some are comically delightful, like llamas deciding to travel--or not--to the pastures. I swear you can hear them deliberating. Or Mickey making his debut in the great outdoors, absolutely priceless. Then there's the growing green that with warm weather seems to coincide with the wearing of the Green and Irish annual celebrations. The daffodils are peeking up through thawed ground, and the hills are alive (not with the sound of music) with early bulbs budding. But the surest of the signs of spring for life on the farm is -- other people's trash.
I am not inclined to rant; there's simply no percentage in it and nothing to gain beyond venting. But here goes the big vent, one that has been escalating for years. What is it about people who think the country is the place for them to dump their garbage, to litter the landscape with their latest lunch or dinner refuse, or even breakfast for that matter. All forms of garbage litter our landscape, as if it is a national right to garbage dump whenever possible. Either help or I literally fill a garbage bin each week picking up roadway litter. I love exercise, but I hate garbage.
All of which leads me to speculate about what's wrong with America. True we have trillions of dollars of national debt, likely beyond repayment. Taxes escalate; gas prices rise; national health care looms in our near future at the expense of robbing Medicare. Eisenhower balanced the budget by depleting Social Security, setting a trend for presidents to follow. Yet what roils me most is the common man's disregard for property rights of others. Why is it that city folk long for the country and then, when finding it. litter it with abandon. Amen. End of rant.
This past week's weather was, I suspect, an early vernal tease. Surely the weather will turn colder again. I read Ryan's Weather Blog (what a delightful student) and he keeps all of us honest and on track with climate changes. So if he says we're dipping back to the 40s before spring sets in for good, I believe him. Still, this past week, fraught with challenges on a personal level, has been bucolic, restful, calming, and reassuring that as the blanketing of winter disappears, the promise of spring brings new life and new hope for a better tomorrow.
Abiding winter in this mountain has been difficult, especially these past two weeks. You could see it in the faces of the girls, the longing for snow-free pastures, the restlessness of self-imposed confinement, the shifting of herd alliances. In my small foursome, two of my llamas were born cria mates, so when I made my first purchase, I kept them together. Why separate best friends (Rev and Tess, l. to r.) . At that time, they traveled with a loaner llama, an older aunt who would teach them etiquette since they were young learning llamas. When I added a fourth, I selected a reserved sophisticated lady whom I love, like the three, to over-the-moon heights. But winter on this mountain has made some changes, or perhaps it was pregnancy, or both.
Two of my girls, Rev and Miss Ciera (to the left), are pregnant. Tess, the cria mate to Rev, did not take on two separate attempts. Et Cetera is the baby of the group, a yearling. Miss Ciara, the reigning queen of the paddock, is a guard llama, not exactly anti-social, but always wary, of everyone and everything. She never relaxes. Rev is her buddy, because both are quiet in their pregnancies. That made Tess and Et Cetera best friends, not to the exclusion of Rev, but in forays in the chute to the beckoning snow-laden pastures and mindless antics, these two cause sharp intakes of breath.
Today, after several consecutive fifty-degree days, the girls headed to the mountain. There they remain, on the highest plateau, munching all day, and I suspect, bedding down for their first winter night outdoors. They belabored the decision; you could almost see them thinking...to go or not to go.... Much could be learned from llamas; they never, unless frightened, precipitously rush lemming-like into the future. Rather, they seem deliberately rooted in the eternal now, living in the moment, with only a pea-sized eye toward the future. They ask little and give much joy in their own happiness. Feed them, love them, care for them, spend time with them. Aha, but life is very good indeed--winter reflections and vernal equinox longing.
And just in case you did not notice in my conflated title, I am again reading Jan Karon's In This Mountain, moving closer to Shepherds Abiding. Thank you, Jan, for the presence of Mitford in our lives.
Llamas are happy creatures, simple in their needs and wants. Some love, lots of pasture, daily feedings. Blue skies (my girls just do not like rain, although they will tolerate the light version, spoiled, aren't they). For a while, a dear friend has been tending them while I do battle with health issues now resolved, so I have really not been around them. I would love to think that their excitement to get to the barn was truly to see me, but these graceful creatures love to eat, so I guess it could be a bit of both. Whichever way you read it, I was thrilled to be up close and back to the barn again.![Reblog this post [with Zemanta]](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/blogger_img_proxy/AEn0k_tRJZ77s9kr7qylU_pmERErzUck1zFJq2kyplZKpiSiXB-7slR5w-97Q3LwTtp2L8HyI4CFXTkAdh-2dAjn2aZth9gjRVvPtwF9GVanxaxBRmCU7OymGzfhN1pQrwvULEJzKEdlQK7yhBWyRpPR_4U=s0-d)
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