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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Spring’s Thaw At Last

A week ago we were still delaying heading out for morning chores, waiting for that titch of extra warmth from the sun to help us get through the cold. Today I headed out first thing, wanting to do chores while there was still a titch of cold left on the earth’s surface to avoid mud and making tracks with the tractor. After feeding sheep, the kelpie dogs and I detoured off the grid road and made our first spring foray across pasture on our walk.

I can’t recall feeling so giddy about Spring as I do this year. It was a tough, tough winter – natures way of reminding us to take nothing for granted and always be grateful. I have not heard the first call of returning geese yet but surely they must be on their way. Those first honks will sound extra glorious this year.

The ewes are rubbing on fence posts and trees and looking that little bit more scraggly with a full years of wool growth on them still. We are set to shear on Friday, April 5. This is probably the most succinct time when my day job and my artwork merge into one another. Aside from the necessity of it, shearing is also my harvest of art supplies. From here forward I will process, share, trade and purchase fibre with others enthusiasts.

The daylight is growing and with it the pace of work is shifting as it must for farming in a northern climate. 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 when there is no other demands. The struggle to pursue creativity without letting every other type of ‘real’ work supersede it is very real. But the plan is to hit some trade shows this year and promote both fibre and art and through each, continue to share a little of this lifestyle.

“Where’s Your Momma”
15 x 12 inches, for sale

Stock Dog Silhouette
10 x 15 inches, for sale

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Of Being With Dogs

There are some moments you don’t want to come to an end. That was the case on this particular afternoon when I spotted Birdie sitting so stately on a hilltop (and I was nearby enough with the camera). She sat there for some time, glancing around, watching the horizon. When she was satisfied she rose and made her way back toward the sheep. Who knows at what particular point a guardian dog is satisfied but when they decide they are, they get on with it and go.

I think I could spend a lifetime moving from moment to moment of being with dogs but not influencing them. Of observing what they’re up to rather than interacting with them all the time. Birdie knew I was there, but having been raised with sheep and not with me she makes decisions on the level of interaction and most times wants none. The Kelpies of course are so vastly different. I can rarely get a moment of being with them without influencing them. As a result of living together and of their bred-for purpose, they are tuned into what I do, and I to what they do.

I used to feel poorly that the guardian dogs did not get loads of attention and interaction with us but now I recognize that attention and life with people is not automatically a superior life. They have a life with a pack they can understand, they carry out their purpose daily. I could argue that the Kelpies are worse off with having to navigate my inconsistencies and misunderstandings and while my Kelpies have a work load they were bred for, they still only fulfill that purpose when I need it.

Yet when it comes full circle I wouldn’t wish for it be that much different. So maybe it just boils down to how extremely fortunate we are to have this life with dogs of such varying purpose and function. And so maybe I’ll stick to feeling grateful for both types of dogs because even though it’s been aggravatingly frustrating and brutally painful at times, my life is certainly richer with them in it and all I can hope for is that the reverse holds true for them.

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