Life at the Epicenter

The meadowlarks tweeted and the creek rippled as I watched the sun rise over the east coulee.

My hiking boots shimmered with dew, but my feet were dry.

I glassed the coulee for coyotes.

Two days before, as I moved slowly and steadily from the south toward a ewe with new twins, I had watched a coyote sneak just as slowly and steadily from the west.

We were in a slow-motion race with opposing objectives.

Naturally, my rifle had been in a different truck at the time.

I won that race, but this morning I needed to turn young lambs into this pasture for the first time. I knew the lambs would nap as their mothers grazed.

Napping lambs sleep soundly. Once, I spotted a dead lamb on a hillside. I walked up and bent down to pick it up before it jolted awake and dashed away.

This sneaky coyote would have no problem finding breakfast.

Unless I found him first.

I leaned against a rock on the hill, then checked the chamber of my rifle. It was empty for safety, but a round was ready.

I smiled at the thought of my winter indoor shooting practice.

If I saw a coyote, I could hit a coyote.

The green grass was taller this morning than it had been yesterday.

A little band of antelope grazed just across the fence.

My exhausted 13-year-old daughter, Abby, was sleeping. She needed the sleep almost as much as she needs me.

My dog sat next to me. After three temporary homes, she has abandonment issues that annoy me, but I won’t give up on her.

She needs me.

The bum lambs in the barn slept under the heat lamp and ewes were lambing even as I sat on the hill.

They need me.

I had walked outside in the dark, leaving the bathroom sink still clogged and family members inconvenienced.

I felt bad about that because I need them.

As I leaned against that rock, binoculars scanning the beauty of the land I love, I realized that this is it.

I am at the epicenter of what I do, what I love and who I am.

I am completely surrounded by the consequences of my life.

I can do better – the fence has a few holes in it and I still need to spray the alfalfa – but I’m doing okay.

I make a toast to the world and sip my coffee, rejuvenated by a few minutes of reflection at dawn.

Eventually, I make my way down the hill, my coffee finished and my neurotic dog at my heels.

The coyote gets to live another day. I’ll depend on my guard dogs to protect the lambs.

I step into the sheep corral to learn just how many ewes were lambing as I sat on the hill – the highest number of the season.

Individually, each asks only to be fed and kept warm. Collectively, they create mass chaos.

I know the curve will flatten, but not for a couple of weeks.

Later, my cattle wander into my neighbor’s yard, so Abby and I saddle up to bring them home. I watch my mother give her very best effort to make my life a little easier. We postpone a trip to the local greenhouse so she can drive the horse trailer to the errant cows.

By the time we arrive, the neighbor has cooled off so we exchange pleasantries. On the ride home, Abby and I rejoice at the wild flowers blooming.

I fall into bed that night right before my eyes collapse, reliving the feeling of sitting at the epicenter of life.

I hope that feeling is contagious.