Polar Air and Prancing Lambs.

I’m sure I’m right in saying that this is the coldest Beltane Eve since I moved here in 2006. We had plenty of late afternoon and evening sunshine as the sky cleared – and a modest sunset on which to feast the eye while searching fruitlessly for the still-absent bats – but the north easterly wind was frigid enough to warrant the donning of my old winter coat while I was feasting, searching, and filling the bird tables for the early risers in the morning.

But I did get a good look at the new lambs this afternoon. I went through the small copse at the top of the lane and there they were in the field beyond, jinking and frolicking in true new lamb fashion. And then I heard one of the ewes bleat (did you know that every ewe has a distinctive voice? Contrary to popular belief, all the baas are most certainly not the same.) I noted that she was number 27, and then followed her gaze which was directed intensely towards the edge of the big wood on the far side of the field.

Sure enough, two little white woolly bundles came galloping as fast as their deceptively sturdy legs would allow. They were number 27s too, and soon they joined the summoning ewe in dutiful obedience. Once in position the group moved off slowly, the ewe leading and the babies walking side by side behind her like an attentive rearguard ready to protect their dear mama from any creature of ill intent which might venture from the wildwood. Surely, I thought, these little lambs must be fierce enough and strong enough to be a force to be reckoned with. At least they probably think they are.