It is just that you cannot control when it will come. When I went out to the horse lot yesterday morning I found that my Scottish Highland cow had a little calf standing beside her. I did not know that she was bred.
Three of our adult program members have mares that will foal this year. I understand the excitement and anticiption of the births. Everyone wants to know when the foals will be born.
And they really want to know when this will happen. I understand, perhaps on a much deepr level than the kids do, that the antidote to death is birth.
It is uplifting to have a new foal born.
I know about getation periods for horses. That still does not give me an answer. The only thing that I have learned for certain regarding dates of birth is that cussing does not speed up the process.
The past year has been the wettest and ugliest of my lifetime. I have been steadily reminding myself that spring was coming. As we rolled into February I started thinking hard about when the pastures would become vibrant and filled with all manner of vegetation. I searched my memory as to when the beech trees leaf out with broad, tender leaves that take on a yellowish tint when the morning sun shines through them.
As best I could remember, the date of the rejuventation of life in the woods and in the horse lot, and in my mind, would be the first week of April, just before turkey season came in.
I was wrong. Dead wrong. Looks like it will be a few more weeks, but it will happen. You can bank on it.
Next year I will be more patient.
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