Spring and lamb are a winning combination, but finding a local supply can be tough.

There are few more charming sights than tiny lambs gamboling — or "pronking," (the Australian term for that four-legs-off-the-ground-leaping) — in a field in spring. Back in the early 1800s, says Vermont historian and author Michael Sherman, that was a truly familiar sight, as Vermont was, literally, home to more sheep than people. Sheep farming was at its peak in the 1830s, as farmers worked to supply wool for voracious New England textile mills. But as the American West opened up, and rail and canal transportation became feasible, Vermont's sheep industry began to wane. According to Sherman, there was a brief revival during the Civil War, when the North could no longer buy the South's cotton, but well before the turn of the 20th century, Vermont was no longer as sheep-centric as it had been.

In the 1960s, however, the raising of sheep underwent a bit of a revival. Back-to-the-landers often kept a cow and a few sheep and goats for milk, wool and meat. More recently, artisan sheep milk cheeses have won acclaim. Demand for lamb is growing with the advent of the "localvore" movement, which involves not only consumers but also chefs who willingly pay (and charge) a premium for locally raised meats.

But the Vermont lamb industry, like any business, has challenges. There are, to begin with, the basic questions of breed and feed. To Lydia Ratcliff of Andover, founder of Fancy Meats From Vermont — an association of farmers who raise and sell meat animals — that means selecting a "meat" breed rather than a wool or milk breed of sheep. "You wouldn't raise a Jersey cow for meat, or a Hereford for milk," says Ratcliff. "Yet people fail to make distinctions between sheep breeds." As for feed, there is a lively debate over the merits of grass versus grain. Ratcliff and her association come down squarely in the grain camp. "There is a powerful receptivity to the idea of 'grass-fed' animals," says Ratcliff, noting that the term sounds so "natural" and "healthy." But grass-fed lamb, in her opinion, is stringy, tough and has a stronger flavor than grain fed.

The small (20- to 35-pound) "hot house" lambs that are the association's signature lamb product are fed almost entirely on their mother's milk and some hay and grain. Larger (and older) lambs are fed on grain and hay. Selling "hot house" lamb reduces costs, because they are young (and consume little grain) and command top dollar. To further maximize profits, the co-op sells only the whole carcass, which reduces both waste and labor for the farmer and gives chefs leeway to fabricate the cuts they want.

Ratcliff's group supplies some of the most acclaimed restaurants in Manhattan (Blue Hill, Chanterelle) and in Boston (L'Espalier, EVOO), but the whole-carcass rule can be an issue for Vermont chefs who lack the storage facilities of Manhattan restaurants and don't want to buy 12 whole lambs in order to serve 24 racks of lamb entrees on a given weekend.

"I love Vermont lamb," says Lee Duberman of Ariel's in Brookfield, "when I can get it."

Some farmers like Arthur Meade — who, with his wife Jean raises lamb and other meat animals on Winding Brook Farm in Morrisville — do manage to sell cuts of meat (rather than the whole carcass) to local restaurants, markets and food cooperatives. "Someone wants the legs and someone else wants the chops, and I can grind a lot of it and sell it to the markets," he says. "That way, I can move it all."

Barbara Rochat of Chelsea, a sheep farmer and member of Vermont Quality Meats says there is a "critical" lack of slaughterhouses in the state, while others says the problem is more one of staggering breeding times so as not to have every "backyarder" and larger producer butchering at once.

Either way, home cooks can often face the same problems as the restaurant chefs: Vermont lamb can be expensive and hard to find. Ratcliff suggests calling her association for sources, and either buying meat at slaughterhouses or asking there for likely sources. Farmers' markets and food co-ops are also good bets, and lambivores would do well to keep their eyes peeled for those "Freezer Lamb" signs posted in front of farmhouses on back roads. The freezer lamb trade is perfectly legal, says Jackson, as long as the lamb has been processed in an inspected facility.

The rewards of the search include the satisfaction of buying meat from an animal that has avoided the huge feedlots and slaughtering facilities of commercial factory farms. The bottom line, says Ratcliff, is that Vermonters can find healthier, higher quality lamb virtually in their own backyards.