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A Deeper Whole

We moved the ewes to a south pasture to pick at what greens come up there. The ewes stirred up dust as they travelled, a sign of how dry it is. Vaccinating the flock comes up next and shortly afterward the ewes will begin lambing. At the moment chores are light and we enjoy the lull by filling it with tasks that, for the most part, don’t directly involve sheep.

It looks like our entire wool clip will be distributed within province this year, a portion being used by myself, some sold to the new mill and some sold privately. In previous years the greater portion of our wool clip was delivered to a depot and then trucked eastward to the Canadian cooperative. From there wool is sold on the export market and makes its way to China and elsewhere. It’s a small accomplishment that our wool will be used within province this year and one I feel very, very satisfied with. I, of course, have many plans for the wool I will keep. Too many plans actually and I can recognize the need to pare down and focus or else I’ll lose my way.

Lately when I go out to pasture I notice there is an interesting shift in my gratitude for this flock. I have always admired the sheep and the prairie land they live off – admired them enough to relentlessly work toward staying away from the agriculture production trend of bigger and faster is better. Now there is a new level of gratitude whenever I look over the flock. Another level of admiration and wonder for the wool these animals grow. How that wool connects to a world of creativity, art, and artisans. Allen and I view this place as a whole, every part of it necessary for the other parts, and it seems the more we do that the deeper and more interwoven the whole becomes.

Winter Walkabout ~~ Josie (framed) ~~ and current work in progress. All made with wool, wet felted and needle felted.

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Shorn

shorn clun forest sheep

She is ovine
she is a grazer
she is wool
she is possibility
she is inspiration
she is the art and the art supply

…. and she is shorn

Nineteen canvas bags of bulk wool are stacked in the shearing shed. Numerous individual fleeces are bagged and temporarily piled on a tarp in the corner. The floor is littered with pieces of wool and manure tags, brooms lean where they were set down after the last fleece was collected. Disturbed earth and footprints are everywhere; signs that many animals have been through here. A left over glove, empty water bottles, and coffee time debris; signs of a full day spent with other helping hands.

Aside from being done with the monstrous task of shearing a larger flock the biggest relief comes from seeing that the ewes are in good condition. This past year was tough with drought conditions resulting in lack of feed and lack of feed quality, then a brutally long deep, deep cold spell during winter. It reaffirms what amazing creatures sheep are and what amazing properties lie in stockpiled grasses and native prairie. The ewes were eager to move and graze as soon as the snow receded and have ignored hay feed offered since causing me to fret a great deal about whether or not they were getting enough to eat. This is a beautiful reminder that the animals know and we can trust that knowledge.

The fleeces are beautiful this year, strong, soft, even crimp, bright and clean. The fibre enthusiasts (myself included) helping with skirting fleeces during shearing were eager to save and set aside.

Now we’ll begin to reassemble. Loosely planning where sheep will graze next, tidying up at the building, deciding which sacs of wool will go to the new mill in our province, which will stay with me and which will go to the commercial market. We’ll dive back into working on our home so that we can eventually get moved in, and in the midst of all of it I’ll dive back into artwork.

felted wool artwork of livestock guardian dog

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Grunt Labour Works Too

We came wickedly close to running out of feed this winter. We have ten bales left and we only have those ten left because we mixed the late hay being offered with straw.

When the cold weather broke, the weather warmed quickly. The snow receded and the ewes began to wander over the stockpiled vetch field. It’s all just old feed out there but they were skipping the hay and going to graze.

Yesterday night the weather cooled again and the wind picked up. The ewes are late in their pregnancy and we had not offered a bale in several days, maybe I should do so today. I did, and the ewes never even paused to sniff it as they walked on by to go grazing. Damn those things anyway, 1400 lbs of feed rolled out but untouched. Frustration rushes in. Down to nine bales if the weather turns ugly again or we need to feed after shearing. I really didn’t appreciate sheep this morning.

They’ll find it later I thought and they did, and they passed right by it again. A sharp reminder of how strong the urge is for livestock to move and graze feed off the land.

That evening I filled the mineral tubs with fresh mineral and salt, not a ewe in sight while I did so but before I finish filling the second tub, they’re on the move toward me. They wait for me to leave and the moment I do they swarm the tubs. Feed – nah – but salt/mineral – none of that goes unnoticed.

The days are beautifully warm after the hellish cold spell we came through at winters end. Feeling the stockpiled agitation at life that will not flow for me lately, I head to the shearing building. It needs to be cleaned before shearing which is end of next week.

We don’t house the flock but there is always a small group of animals who stay in this area through the winter. This year it was cows, horses and wether lambs for dog training. There is no shelter other than the building and some windbreak panels so when the weather gets particularly nasty I open the door of the building and let the small group of animals who stay in this paddock access it for shelter. This winter has a particularly long cold snap so those animals spent more than a few days and nights in there.

I pulled in a calf sleigh and picked up the shovel. I begin to scrape and scoop, collecting the bigger piles of cow and horse manure. Then scraped the sheep manure and dirt into a windrow before shovelling it into the calf sleigh. When the sleigh was full enough for me to haul I step into the looped rope and pull it a distance to the hilltop and dump it. I can taste the bitter tang of dust from the loose dirt of covered earth that has not seen direct moisture for years. Wary of filling the sleigh too full and giving myself grief at pulling it, I make several trips.

Every other farmer I know would do this work with a tractor but that option doesn’t even occur to me. This is a physical job I know I can get done and I needed that – I needed a job that could just get done – no analyzing, no loose ends, a job with direct, tangible result.
My agitation dropped a notch.
It is repetitive grunt work that has no carefulness or detail to it. In the doing of the work is smoothness and rhythm I haven’t felt for some time.
In some fashion I can’t articulate my mind writes while my body works. I sort out life’s misgivings of late and even though the relief only lasted for the duration of time I spent shovelling shit I know I’ve been nudged in a direction I needed to be nudged. This way of life has a way of doing that.

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