The Good Life of a Sheep on Cofflets Farm

A Ram's Life

At lovely Coffelt's Farm, the sheep have only one bad day. But for two stud rams, that's a long way off.

By Lucy Dahl | Monday, 01 March 2010 | 10:15

I have just spent a magical weekend at my home on Orcas Island, part of the San Juan Islands chain in Washington. Whenever I am on the island, I always go to Coffelt's Farm to buy locally raised, grass-fed meat at the little stand on the farm.

Coffelt's Farm is 180 beautiful acres of meadows and pastures, nestled among willow trees and ponds. The farm has been run, virtually single-handedly, by Sidney and Vern Coffelt for the past 40 years. Although sheep are their primary livestock, they also breed cows and chickens. All the animals are born, bred and slaughtered on the pretty little farm. The slaughter, I know, takes away the dreamy visual that I have just described, but I can assure you, it is the only bad day these animals have.

There are two animals, however, who have never had a bad day: Coopworth and Tex.

Coopworth and Tex are the ram studs. They were born on the farm with good looks and good fortune. A good ram, Sidney Coffelt tells me, "has a perfect length leg and a good robust rib cage." Looking at Coopworth and Tex, there is no doubt they have both attributes.

Both rams are very good-natured and the best of friends. From about November to August, the lucky rams roam about the farm's lovely pastures and meadows, or lie in the sun, or graze on the grass. They might wander over to children or visitors who happen to be hiking by their meadow and get a head rub.

Come summer, Tex, Coop and the other sheep are shorn. Their wool is either spun into yarn so Sidney can knit it into a hat, or sent off island to be made into a wonderful heavy organic comforter.

But eventually, as summer turns to early autumn, Tex and Coopworth have jobs to do.

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Credit: Lucy Dahl

The 60 or so ewes that have been born on Coffelt's Farm are randomly split between two pastures. Coopworth and Tex are each assigned a field and will remain on the clock, round-the-clock, for the next six weeks. This ensures enough time for the ewes to have had two cycles, doubling their chance of impregnation. What must go through the mind of a randy old ram when he is suddenly placed, after 10 quiet months of bachelor life, in a field of ewes in heat?

Sidney tells me, with a chuckle, "The first few days are a little chaotic."

I asked her whether the ewes get jealous of one another during the mating weeks. "Oh no," she replied. "They are happy to just stand still and wait for the ram to come."

"Right!" I thought.

I find myself wondering how the randy ram chooses which ewe to mount first. Could it be Sweet Pea, whose eyes are lined with a shadow that looks like mascara? Or would it be the most delicious smelling ewe? Or perhaps a fond memory from the previous year's mount? Either way, Coopworth and Tex work their way through the herd of pretty ewes that patiently wait their turn. It all sounds very polite and civilized.

Five months later, most of the ewes are now "ladies in waiting" -- the term Sidney Coffelt uses to refer to the sheep about to give birth. Lambing season changes things a bit on the farm. Usually, as you drive (abiding by the 5-mph limit) through the willows, down the windy lane past the pond, you pass pigs and chickens wandering around, but these days there are also baby lambs leaping about and suckling from their mothers.

Until my recent chat with Sidney, I believed that the lamb we eat at Easter were the lambs born in February. "Oh no!" she said with both horror and amusement. "These babies won't be butchered for at least 5 months."

I asked Sidney how long a sheep's life span was. A simple question with three answers:

"A good ewe will breed for about six years."

"The lambs are slaughtered at roughly 5-12 months." Unless you are born with the lucky karma of Coopworth or Tex!

"But Sweet Pea, our favorite runt, she was a triplet. Well, she'll live until she dies naturally, probably about 12 years."

Sidney pauses, feeling me out, trying to decide whether I can handle the truth.

I guess I passed the test, because she added, "And then, like the others, we'll probably eat her."

Editor's note: Corrections have been made to this story since it was originally posted clarifying that the lambs are slaughtered at 5 to 12 months of age rather than 18 months, as was originally reported.

Lucy Dahl is an author and screenwriter in Los Angeles. Her other articles about food, memory and family can be found here.

Photo: At top, a sheep in the pasture of Coffelt's Farm. Credit: Lucy Dahl

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