In a crisis on the farm, I learn ‘the wisdom of no escape’
Lambing season at the farm lasts about a month. I’d be in the barn a lot. Not that the ewes needed me: Birth was not some hysterical experience for them. There were no carefully orchestrated birth plans, no ice chips, no plush keepsake to use as a focal point. But I liked to hang out with them, just in case. The seven of us listened to Joni Mitchell on my phone. I’d sit quietly in the corner,
