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By The Call of The Cranes

I slip into my rain pants and reach for my hiking boots. The sleek and warm head of a Kelpie dog nudges me strongly. Gibson. Three other hopeful black and tan faces are right here, peering at me. Ears and eyebrows alert, eyes eager. I could just be stepping out but they know I’m heading out to the pasture instead. The anticipation speaks volumes about the uncanny intuitiveness of canines. How I long to tap into my own intuition with such depth and confidence. I’ll only be taking one dog with me. Gibson it is, just be way of making a fast choice. I open the drawer of dog collars and pull out a bright orange collar and fasten it on Gibson’s neck, aware of the disappointment in the others by way of making my choice.

It is cool and wet, the guardian dogs are anticipating a meal tonight. On warm days it’s hit or miss whether or not they eat but tonight five of the six guardians meet up with me near the edge of the flock.

I lean against the ranger while they eat. Gibson sits on the seat looking out at the sheep. Movement in the far distance, just above the marshy flats of this pasture space, catches my eye. Not sheep but low flying Sandhill Cranes. Birds are gathering now. Along the route out to pasture we stirred up Killdeer birds, 10-15 of them at once. Swarms of smaller black birds have been sweeping in aerobatic flights for a couple weeks. More recently, the cranes have been gathering.

I watch without much thought or concern. I can barely make them out in the dimming light of the evening but their calling is clear. Something falls into place.

The moment before I was thinking about social media – of all thoughts to bring to this sacred prairie place I am embarrassed to admit I brought concerns of social media along. Not very conscious or intentional of me at all. None of these animals, none of this land, this place, this nature, this way of being, exists on social media. I can look around as far as my eye can see and no other Being here is concerning itself with social media or who likes what. When did I get caught up in focusing so much on the rat race? I miss this blog. I miss the more frequent stints of writing for it and for my long-silent, Crooked Fences Newsletter which I used to send out monthly.

The guardian dogs are finished eating. Gibson and I head off in search of the sixth dog. The sheep have all gathered at one end of the pasture, there really isn’t much purpose to letting Gibson gather them up tonight, they have done so themselves. As we exit the pasture I let Gibson off the Ranger to run home. This boy lives to run and without missing a beat he stretches his long body out in full, effortless, ground eating stride.

When we return to the yard I collect the remaining Kelpies at the house and head out for a late evening walk. The light is fading fast and we are accompanied by the call of the cranes, the sound clear in the calm evening air. Their half birdsong, half purring trill is a soothing balm of sorts. The call of the cranes is a reminder to come back to nature’s pace and that all my answers are here, as they always have been. I know that I have to make a shift toward writing again. And to make a shift back into Nature’s psyche, both in the offline world and the online world. It’s no matter if the online world may not always support such tendencies, because those tendencies are what support me.

Friends Beyond Facebook. Series of five, each about 11 x 14 inches in size. Felted, made with wool. Awaiting framing.

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A Move With the Flock

We are receiving a fair share of swings in the weather. From brittle dry to rain received. from sizzling hot to breaking a weather record for cold in August. Overnight temperatures dipped below one degree but not quite to zero. A week later hot weather brought a thunderstorm that dropped two inches of rain in one stint.

The flock has been moved to the far south east pasture. The same pasture they were in when I wrote the second post of this Wool Stone & Prairie blog. I’m enamoured by the notion that sheep like particular places more than others. It leads into my thought that places have a purpose; that land creates intangible connections to animals and to humans.

It was a long move to get the flock to the new pasture spot. The Kelpies, who have not been worked nearly as often this year as in previous years, were keen to take on the work load. Their retained ability for the work is amazing and makes me feel deep gratitude that they are here. How would I get on without them?

Beginning of the move. Clearing out first back corner.

Black Jack prevents lambs from going back the way they came.

Moving the flock is pretty commonplace for me now. It used to be a task I approached with great anticipation. Now familiarity has brought on a slight sense of annoyance about the job. Blessedly, this always disappears when I get out there and it’s just me, the dogs, and the sheep, in this landscape of prairie with all its itchy grasses, birds and bugs. I do enjoy pasture moves with this flock, the ewes knowing the land better than I and sometimes challenging the notion that they should go where being sent to – until they get there – then they’re all eager for it.

Heading toward second gate, two Kelpies working the flock.

Some moves are more challenging than others due to difficulties in terrain or fence lines. And on occasion the livestock guardian dogs provide a challenge as well. At a halfway point during this move Coyote Mic and BJ were moving the flock toward a second gate. I moved up ahead to control flow through the gate. The front of the flock was just approaching the gate when our young guardian dog ran in front of the sheep, alerting to something suspicious up ahead (it was Allen coming to see if I needed a hand). All movement at the front end of the flock stopped as the sheep slowed up to check in with the white dog.

Young guardian dog alerts and flow stops.

The stock dogs were still bringing sheep along, however, their job just got a whole lot harder as sheep began to stall. The young guardian realized the perceived threat was non-existent. Once he settled I was able to coax him through the gate and the flow of sheep resumed.

The flow resumes.

As a general rule, guardian dogs don’t show eye, or stalking presence. They don’t herd livestock like stock dogs do, they live with sheep. And by some intangible token of trust the guardian dogs are able to stop and resume the movement of a thousand animals. In this case stopping the flow was a minor hiccup but at other times stopping the flow of a large number of animals can cause great frustration for the shepherd.

But whether the moment is one of ease or of great frustration, of a win or a loss; whether in a moment of trust or a moment of wariness and danger, witnessing such linchpins of nature is a very fortunate experience indeed. Each time it taps into my own senses of intuition and natural intelligence. I feel very strongly that to witness this on such a frequent basis is to live a very rich life.

The remainder of the move was across a weedy patch with new growth alfalfa and I was glad Allen showed up to help. We seeded this area with alfalfa and the lack of moisture in the spring resulted in a flourish of opportunistic weeds but little else. The sheep love grazing this patch of weeds but when rain came mid June the seeded alfalfa began to grow. The ewes were eager to dine on the young legumes and it was an effort and a half to keep them moving across this piece to a safer one. Allen kept the ewes in the lead from dispersing in all directions and I put two fresh Kelpies onto the ground which provided the moment forward to the next gate and the final destination.

Ewes dispersing in final destination (Also one of my favorite places).

The ewes have ample space in this pasture. It’s open grassland with tame forage, slough bottoms and marshy flats with juicy weeds, mixed prairie scrubland, plus several areas of bush and an abandoned yard sight to camp out in. The ewes are not bored, something I think happens when they stay in same spaces for too long. One of the hidden blessings of even moderate rotational grazing is the natural stimulus of going to different places, for us and for them. It’s a rich life indeed.

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A Little Big Month

It has been a big month; I have missed being here, writing. It doesn’t help that we’ve had all sorts of internet service trouble while our service provider claims to be improving our internet service.

We received rain through late June and July and I am writing to the sound of raindrops on our tin roof. With the arrival of rain came an unfolding of sorts. An unfolding of tightly held concern, an unfolding of hope, an unfolding of the grass as the earth opened up and took a drink. On a morning walk with the Kelpies the place was utterly still and while I sat in the grass trying to match the stillness I thought for sure I could hear the land sipping water. The grazing land bounced back beautifully (forgiveness received, bless you Mother N) and having grass available for grazing means there is less urgency about selling animals and a little more wiggle room about where and when they go. For the hay land, the rain is too late. We might get a small crop of late hay although not nearly enough to feed our flock for the winter.

Another reason for the big month is that my dive into doing artwork and sharing it has become another type of unfolding. In July I attended a studio trail event and right after that a national sheep show hosted in our province. I’m just coming off of the buzz from the latter event. I was hopeful this show would be a good crowd and it was.

Setting up one’s artwork in a public display space and then standing there, cleanly dressed, answering the questions of a very curious public feels a world apart from day-to-day, solitary life on the ranch, fiddling with floats on water troughs, mending gates, and wearing guardian dog drool on your jeans. I feel foreign and out of sorts at every public trade show. But then the questions and comments begin and perhaps because my art is so closely tied to my daily scene, and to what I know, I become settled enough to get through the day. Never comfortable, but settled enough to let it unfold as it will. The reception and feedback to the artwork was very strong and once again I am amazed at the folks who popped by to say they love the photos and the art and are following it online.

Back at home I settle into the peace and quiet of sheep, dogs and prairie land, and merge into the familiarity of ordinary work for my hands once again. The buzz subsides but the creative juices are turning. The more I dive into artwork and into writing the more tightly interwoven the facets of me and this land and livestock life become. There is no piece separate from the other now. Land, animal, nature, artist, human, humanity – every piece within the self and the self within every piece.

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