The Little Miracle
In 2011 I visited North Yorkshire for the first time. That 7th anniversary wedding trip ended up changing the course of my family’s life, and by 2014 we were living in the heart of James Herriot country, a fact that came home to me strongly one mid-April evening.
I was extremely expectant about my first spring in North Yorkshire because I couldn’t wait to take pictures of the lambs. I did not want to miss my chance of photographing gamboling lambs in England’s green fields. Since I’d mentioned my excitement about lambing season to a friend, she kindly arranged for my family and I to visit her neighbors’ farm after dinner one evening. We filed into the vast barn. I marveled at the snowy white newborns. I was over the moon when I got to hold one in my lap, but the night was about to get more exciting than simply holding a lamb for the first time.
Just as we were preparing to take our leave and walk home word came about a ewe having trouble giving birth in the field. Would we like to come along while they helped the struggling mother? This was an easy yes for me, and we walked into the field beyond the barn.
It was a long wait for the small clump of humans quietly watching the husband and wife team working patiently with the ewe. We were well rewarded, though, when we saw twin lambs finally make their wobbly way into the world. I was reminded of a story from All Creatures Great and Small* of a long night’s struggle spread out on cold cobblestones assisting the birth of a calf. Our setting was not nearly so miserable, watching the lowering sun in the sheep-strewn field, but the sentiment was the same.
“I grinned. This was the bit I liked. The little miracle. I felt it was something that would never grow stale no matter how often I saw it.”
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