A March Hour
Alexis Sandru

The beeping of the alarm, resembling that of a smoke detector, startled Demara out of her deep sleep. Realizing that the noise was just her alarm clock, she extended a long arm out from under her covers and silenced the nuisance. The blocky, irritating red numbers came into focus, radiating out to her that it was already two o’clock in the morning.

“Egh!” Demara’s head flopped back onto her pillow as she squirmed deeper into her flannel sheets and toasty warm covers. Her petite nose scrunched up and her dark eyes closed, pinched shut, fighting the need to awaken. Demara succumbed to her sense of duty; she flung back a corner of her bedding and stumbled to a corner of her room where she had left a convenient pile of clothes available for wear. Her whole body was stiff; her calves were solid blocks, her arms were heavy posts, and her back was as inflexible as a board, all from lifting weights the day before. She selected an old pair of sweats and a too-small sweatshirt from the mess, both of which she struggled to pull on over her pajamas. With arms outstretched in front of her, Demara navigated her way through the silent house in the dark, not wanting to wake anyone else up. Once she reached the porch, she smelled the familiar odor of manure and wet clothing, a smell that goes with March, a month in the middle of calving and lambing seasons. Demara flicked on the light switch, found her green Carhart work coat and rubber boots and finished dressing, not bothering to put on gloves.

Demara stepped out into the darkness, taking time to shut the door behind her with care. The chilling breeze of March, a breeze of lingering sharpness and hopeful mildness, stung her face. Lady, the family’s Border collie raised her head from her bed on the outer porch, eyes questioning what Demara was doing. Gravel crunched beneath Demara’s stiff rubber boots as she crossed the dark driveway, her only source of light coming from the distant porch which dully illuminated the outer buildings. Lady trotted behind Demara, following her to the weathered red and white barn door. Demara grasped the cold iron handle and pulled back, putting her whole body into it. She heard a wild barn cat inside scratch its way up a brace post to reach the hayloft above. The grating noise of the door and the fleeing cat had startled the sleeping ewes, causing them to jump up and flock to the far end of the barn.

“Stay here now girl,” Demara commanded as she slipped inside the humid, warm barn, closing the door behind her. Lady remained outside; her moist black nose pushed into the crack Demara had left. Once inside, Demara instinctively reached to her left to turn on the lights. The odor of ammonia from the sheep urine mixed with straw drowned out any other smell in the barn; its intensity caused Demara’s eyes to water, and brought her to her senses as she took in the scene. Alarmed black wooly faces blinked back at Demara who was standing in the doorway at the opposite end of the barn. Some of the calmer ewes had regained their composure and were chewing their cud, green drips falling from their mouths onto the yellow straw below, as they prepared once again to lie down and sleep. Others, more cautious, fixed their eyes on Demara, waiting for her approach and for their own getaway. Demara listened for sounds of new life, hoping not to find any so that she could return as soon as possible to her warm bed; however, her ears picked up on a small, shrill blat and husky murmuring in the back of the barn. With a sigh, Demara descended down the short ramp onto the straw covered floor, heals clopping on the hardwood then rustling through the bedding. She took care to walk against one wall which was covered in snags of wool, so that the nervous ewes could pass by. The ewes hustled past her in small groups, their movements muffled in the straw. Demara fixed her gaze on the single straggler. The ewe, her sides sunken in with hip bones protruding, occupied herself with licking her three wet lambs. Demara recognized the ewe as one of her old 4-H projects, to her relief, a ewe with a semi-calm disposition. All at once, she noticed Demara watching, and raised her head in contest, stomping her hoof in protection of her lambs.

“It’s alright mama, don’t step on your babies now.”

Demara saw that one of the lambs, maybe the eldest, had already made it to its feet and was searching its mother’s front legs, butting hungrily, for something to eat, without luck. The ewe, realizing that Demara did not pose an eminent threat, lowered her head to her lambs and continued to lick and nuzzle. The lambs, like little birds rising to be fed, raised their slimy black noses to their mother’s nose. Their ears drooped under the weight of the thick slime, and their small black frames shivered with cold, chilled from the drafts drifting in around the cracks in the barn. Demara crept over to the lambs, kneeled down beside them, and one by one, inserted her cold, red index finger into their mouths. She felt their warm tongues roll her finger around then clutch on and suck with a hungry ferocity; they hadn’t gotten too chilled and had strong appetites. Stepping back as she regarded the ewe, Demara contemplated whether to go inside and wake someone else to help her suckle the lambs or to attempt the task herself. She decided on the latter, even though the ewe was much bigger than her. Nervous with anticipation, her body tense, she sprung on the ewe. In seconds, she had wrapped her arms around the ewe’s neck, dug her numb fingers into the crinkly, warm wool, and pinned the ewe against the wall. Demara reached around and grabbed a bloody hind leg, tripped the sheep, and sat the ewe on end in the straw; a skill she had learned over the years from watching her Papa and Dad. Demara checked the ewe’s blood speckled udder for hardness, making sure both sides were healthy and soft. She then took the ewe’s swollen teats in her fingers, stripped out the waxy plugs, sending a stream of warm, thick, yellow colostrum onto the straw. Demara grasped the lambs around their thin necks-tight curls of black wool coarse and slimy to the touch-and pulled them toward her and took turns nursing each of them on their mother’s full udder, all the while holding the fighting ewe with her legs and back. Despite her athleticism and strength from years of sports and farmwork, she soon felt her hamstrings and back go numb with fatigue. Beads of sweat appeared on her nose and upper lip, and wisps of her frizzy brown hair stuck to her face, tickling it, but Demara’s hadn’t enough hands to brush the hair away. The lambs had caught on to the suckling, and milk began to foam around their mouths. The helpless ewe blatted to her lambs and kicked, attempting to free herself from Demara’s hold. Small smacking sounds from the suckling lambs and the occasional fart or cough from the saturated ewes circulated around the barn. Above, cats rustled about, sending flakes of straw and dust down through the cracks in the floorboards of the hayloft-barn fairy dust.

“Easy now, girl, we’re almost done,” she murmured as she continued to suckle the lambs until their mother’s teats were limp and milkless. She moved the lambs out of the way and let the ewe stand up. Demara straightened up and wiped the sweat from her face with a forearm. She clasped the front legs of the lambs and carried them, heads lolling backwards, to a pen out of the way of the other ewes; their mother followed close behind, blatting her concern. Demara nestled the lambs in fresh straw and left their care to their mother. She lingered at the gate of the pen, appreciating the scene of nurturing and new life before her. Demara walked to the front of the barn, disturbing the ewes once again, wiped her hands on an old tee shirt hanging from a nail, shut off the lights of the barn, and walked to the house fatigued, but also with a sense of accomplishment. Lady had waited the whole time outside the barn door, and she followed Demara to the house. Once inside, Demara thawed out her cold, chaffed hands, took off her boots and coat, and washed her hands in the sink. The slime of the lambs had gotten under her nails and deep in the cracks of her skin. She knew that the smell of it wouldn’t go away until her morning shower; she scrubbed with a brush for a long time using the rough lava soap and hot water. At last, Demara peeled off her soiled sweats, threw them into the hamper, and climbed back into her cool bed. One hour had passed, and she would have to be up for school in three more. Sighing, Demara snuggled in, her heavy lashes closed, and she settled back to sleep.