Before I submitted my first column, before I ever even thought of publishing a book, back when the only writing I’d done was in private journals and song lyrics, I adopted two orphan lambs and named them Pearl and Theo. I was a single girl, new to the prairie and all its wonders, but also lonely and adrift. Those little lambs were an anchor. They became my family.
When I first started scribbling down their story, I had no conscious intention of ever publishing it. I planned to send it to my family and friends with young children, and even that idea stretched my comfort zone. Those first few chapters of “The Adventures of Pearl & Theo” were the most effortless writing I’ve ever done; I’m sure that’s what gave me the courage to continue not just writing their story, but other stories about my life on the prairie as well. I often say that falling in love with them is how I knew I’d found my home here, but it was also how I found myself — a mid-career musician — suddenly able to imagine a literary outlet for my creativity.
Today is the official release day (which will be a few days in the past by the time you read this) and, by complete coincidence, is almost exactly 13 years to the day I first brought Pearl and Theo home. Today is also the first day I need to start checking for lambs, so while I thought this book was going to come out months ago — and my goodness, there have been some gigantic frustrations along the way — this is perfect timing.
I’m going to share the opening paragraphs of “The Adventures of Pearl & Theo” below. I hope this story creates an ever-widening circle, the ripples of which offer hope and tenderness, because that’s what Pearl and Theo offered me when I needed it most, and I will remain forever grateful.
Chapter 1: A baby is born
Out on the open fields of the shortgrass prairie, spring is cold, and the wind blows and blows and never stops. It blows all day and all night. It howls through the bent, brown grasses, it howls along the dusty, rutted roads. It howls through old homesteads and the eaves of great, rickety barns. It blows the clouds across the domed, blue sky, and after the sun has set, it blows across the vast darkness, leaving only the bright shards of stars for light.
Spring is also the time when baby animals are born, though it is a hard time to come into the world. The rest of the year, the cattle and sheep roam freely on the open expanses of pasture, but in the spring the shepherd keeps a close eye on her flock, and brings in expectant mothers so they can give birth to their babies in the barn where it is safe and warm. Once the babies are a few days old, the shepherd lets the new families out into the pasture so another mother can use the stall. Little lambs are born tough, and their mama’s milk in their tummies keeps them warm, even in the bitter spring snow.
It was April, and though the winter had been mild, the spring was as harsh as ever. Often during lambing season, the shepherd spent her nights waiting with new mothers in the barn, but this particular April night, she had gone to her own cozy bed for a few hours of sleep before dawn. And so it was that no one saw how Pearl came into the world. She herself did not know. She did not know who she was, or where she was, just that she was alone and the world was very dark. She lay for a long time on the floor of the barn, her legs still too weak to hold her up, and she listened to the wind, whistling and singing through the cracks of the barn’s walls, singing, “All will be well, all will be well, hush, hush, hush,” until she finally fell asleep…
