I used to write a blog post every third or fourth day and I’m not sure I can pinpoint what pushed that out of the way but it is amazing at how quickly habits can be shed – and how tough they are to put back into place, even when your Self seeks them.
I’m possibly one of few people who still checks into blogs. For the most part I find blogs far more relaxing and a little more personal. Where social media interaction is like being on the Interstate highways blogs are taking the exit and having a break at a great rest stop location.
You can stay at this one as long as you like. I recently updated the artwork page if you’d like something to look at while you’re here.
The weather is nippy, I’m dressing in layers already and the steel camera body is cold on the fingers. No matter, I still take ten minutes and see what the ewes do. Which is typically not much – and yet they steal my attention anyway. How is it that it is so soothing to watch an animal travel? I never wish to join them really, just to watch. Maybe to follow if they are wild ones, just to see if I can.
The seasonal transition of diminishing daylight / encroaching darkness accompanies the movement of market lambs off the place and gives me a measure of comfort.
Morning and evening pasture checks are quiet now without the near constant calling between ewes and lambs as they travel about grazing. Only 15 replacement ewe lambs stayed here this year. The winter feed situation is not going to support more. I culled 45 ewes plus we had an unusual number of unexplained ewe deaths this summer which means the flock has shrunk in size, albeit not the way we intended it too by any stretch. A few more ewes will leave via private sale.
We have just come through an early winter storm that dropped several inches of wet snow. Usually untroubled by off weather the ewes took to shelter in the bush in the early evening and remained there throughout most of the next day before venturing out to dig for greens in the heavy, wet snow. Cold weather in the days that followed allowed for a slow melt and seepage of moisture into the soil. While the crop farmers in the area are ripe with stress over the situation, this is wonderful for the pastures as we head into the dormant season.
There have been a number of challenges this Summer and Fall beginning with guardian dogs and concluding with very poor market prices that will make the upcoming year a tight one. So I’m okay with the shortening daylight because even though we are not at the end of the linear calendar year the transition to fall seems to offer a sense of closure on a tough year with weather and flock. It is what it is and once again we shall adjust and find our way to go with the flow of life and livelihood.
When I sat down to write this post I randomly clicked on an older journal entry, the start of a blog post created on March 19 – near last winters end. These are the first few words of that entry.
“The daylight length is growing and with it the pace of work is shifting. Mornings are becoming shorter and with the earlier sunrise I find myself feeling slightly panicked at the thought of keeping up with artwork without a solid block of time first thing in the morning.”
I did commit to diving deeper into artwork and that commitment stayed on track. It has been a successful try of making a lot of artwork, and, taking first steps toward putting the artwork out into the world. As a result my current spare time is full with commission requests for the Christmas season. I still struggle to keep up to posting to online spaces because computers feel like the furthest thing from the nature out here I love. I still treat being at the computer as a low priority activity even though online spaces are increasingly necessary for continued sharing. I’m sure Mother Nature’s advice for this dilemma would be summed up with one word: balance. Lucky for me I live among this prairie land where balance is found in spades.
Commission work (made with wool by needle felting).
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.
