I never imagined when we kept Ma alive to give birth to her twins – it nearly killed her several times over – that she and Jake and Deb would be gone in several years, and that I would end up killing each one of them.

Ma was a special ewe, strong and sweet and frail, it nearly cost her  her life to give birth to those twins,  I literally had to reach in and pull both of them out. Deb and Jake and Ma were together for months, and then Ma got sick, and then a few months later, Jake, who was always a frail lamb, got sick as well.

There was a spiritual quality to these twins, they were joyous, playful and beautiful, I thought they were especially blessed. Life has its own ideas about that, of course, and it turns out they  were all sick in different ways, it just took awhile to see it.

The farm teaches us about life and death, they are not different things but the same things. Some friends read about Deb on my blog and sent me messages of sorrow and condolence.

“Are you are right?,” several asked. Of course I am. I am not speaking as a tough guy, I am no tough guy, I am missing the macho gene. I have no business lamenting my life, the life I love, the life I choose. On a farm, with donkeys and sheep and dogs and chickens and cats, death has his own place in the stable.

If you have life, you have death, and what do people expect? I think of Simon, Frieda, Izzy, Lenore, Rose, Ma, Deb and Jake. Am I to mourn each one, write woe-is-me stories about my life, ask the Gods why this is happening to us?

That is not my path. I give thanks for knowing these wonderful creatures, for the opportunity to care for them and love them, for the many lessons they teach me about acceptance, endurance and life. Before I shot Deb, all of the sheep were clustered around the stall gate, they seemed worried about her.

I did my mourning in the  barn. I will not turn my time with them into a lament. I will not remember the anniversary of their deaths. I will not even think about it in a day or so. I want to keep my cup full, not drink it empty.

When I put the rifle down a few seconds later, the animals were all out grazing just a few feet away. There you go.  Life goes on. We go on. We move on. Thanks Ma, and Deb and Jake. You enriched this place in every way. Thanks for the photos and the yarn. Thanks for  making Red shine and look so good. Thanks for the love you showed Maria and for the love you let her give.