Suddenly there’s a new life

Lambing season has begun, and with it comes a time where natural wonders and tragedies alternate in Iceland's sheepfolds.

Almost unnoticed, a small bundle plops into the straw, smeared with reddish slime. One of the approximately 900 lambs expected to be born this year has smoothly seen the light of day in Austurhlíð in Biskupstungur. Two boxes away, a sheep dozes apathetically in the corner after losing its lamb during a difficult birth. Sometimes there is short between life and death on the farm of Kristín Sigríður Magnúsdóttir these days. The lambing season has begun.

"This time of the year is the best, even though it's a lot of work," says the young farmer, who grew up with sheep farming in Austurhlíð, and now continues the family tradition together with her husband Trausti Hjálmarsson. "The struggle between life and death – That’s what I love and hate most about it" says the 39-year-old, freeing the tiny nose of a new-born from slime.

Her gaze wanders attentively over the boxes with the animals. In some, little lambs make their first sounds and take steps, the older one even small, energetic jumps. Sheep that soon will be mother, bleat and chew with stoic calmness, while their plump bellies tremble with kicks from inside. Kristín watches for any lambs stuck or in the wrong position. She intervenes only very rarely, to prevent infections and not to interfere with the natural bonding process between mother and lamb. "Most of them don't need help while giving birth. But when they do, I have to be quick."

Only the day before, death had struck again. A lamb was too big for its delicate mother and was also born with its rump first. “I chose to let the mother live, rather than loose both of them.” The mother is now getting painkillers and antibiotics. Will she survive? Kristín can't say yet. "Yesterday, I saw the chances as 50:50, today maybe already 80:20."

Mother or lamb? Death or life? "I hate making such decisions," says Kristín, who has four children herself. And yet it is a part of her work on the farm. Most of the lambs are destined for meat production after they have grazed freely in the highlands for a summer. Only 15 to 20 percent have a future as breeding sheep.

"Deciding that is the difficult part," Kristín admits. She and Trausti make their choices based on breeding criteria, with the resistance gene against scrapie being particularly important to them at present. Kristín and Trausti have participated in a project to find out their sheep genotype, and some of them are likely to be immune to the disease. Whether this also applies to the newborn lambs is checked by a skin sample from the ear. "The lambs with the resistance gene will definitely live," she says.

Kristín and her family generally have no problem eating the animals they breeded themselves. "That's the circle of life," she says. But a too-close bond is formed with those lambs she has nursed with a bottle. Some lambs are simply lucky. "Some we immediately take to heart, and let live," she says.

There are also horses, dogs, and cats on the farm, but Kristín is particularly fond of the sheep. "They are incredibly strong," she says. "For example, if a mare foals and there is a problem, it is more likely to end badly, than with sheep. A lot has to happen before a sheep gives up. You can help them, I like that."

The lambs have also impressed Kristín many times. "Sometimes you think for an hour or longer that they won't make it. For example, if they almost suffocate during birth," she says. "And then suddenly there is life in them."

The six-member family cannot make a living solely from sheep farming. Therefore, Kristín also works in a hotel. But during lambing season, she is in demand on the farm every day. She and Trausti take turns on watch duty. "I have the day shift. That's great, because I'd rather be in the sheepfold than have to worry about cooking," she says, laughing. The children also help out on weekends, taking care of the dogs, laundry, or cleaning the house.

More helping hands are not far away: "The sheep bring many people to us," says Kristín. Friends come by to see the new life. Or to experience for the first time how a little, smudged bundle plops into the straw. And shortly after, it can already stand. A wonder of nature. Kristín takes another look at the sheep weakened by the miscarriage. A smile spreads across her face. "I think she will make it."