In this scene of the felted flock recently shared on social media platforms it was the Magpie that caught all the attention. The bird resonated with sheep producers and stirred a common exclamation of familiarity and awe. And that has me wondering why.
One little magpie. A familiarity of the scene. One little magpie brings the relevance of this project to light, becomes the link that connects sheep producers to the real life aim of this project. One little magpie connects onlookers to the real life community of animals wool comes from.
Magpies gliding over herds of livestock, lighting on the back of ewes, watching for morsels of dog food, playing with fate as it tries to steal, lighting on a body after a death, picking at bones. For North Americans living a land and livestock life the magpie is the ever present travel companion, giving both annoyance and comfort. The magpie is every place, every season; the magpie sees all. The magpie knows what the shepherd sees day in and day out. We’ve all watched the magpies and we’ve all been watched by them. If the magpie shared our verbal language what stories would it tell us and tell others?
Magpie. A symbol of relevance and of familiarity and connection in a land and livestock life. A reminder to tread lightly and show respect, there is a Magpie watching.
The ewe flock is nestled in the low spot of a dry slough bottom, trees and light bush on three sides. Over the past week they have hardly moved. The only time they venture out is to get water. It’s cold enough that even the wool sheep are cold but they are doing fine nestled in here as they are. Each morning we weasel the tractor into their tidy grove and feed / bed them right where they are despite doing so on top of some of the previous days manure. It’s all frozen anyway and it’s too damn cold to feed in the open.
A spell of bitter cold weather is typical on the northern prairie and no doubt time has erased the sting of all past cold weather days. But every year this kind of cold makes me nervous no matter how many years I’ve lived in it. There is no way to prepare for the hidden dangers of bitter cold weather. The smallest molehill of a mishap becomes a mountain of distress, which seems a wee bit too reflective of the world situation right now and compounds the feeling of coldness seeping into my bones.
The side by side vehicle will not run – the battery is frozen. In the morning I have the use of the tractor to travel out with and feed with. In the evening I stack dishes of food into a pail with a handle and walk out to feed the guardian dogs.
The cessation of the wind when stepping into the grove where the sheep are bedding is a beautiful reprieve. On one particularly windy evening I stood in this slough bottom pocket with the ewes and watched the snow blowing across the landscape of hills, erasing any distinction between land and sky. It created the sensation that maybe there was no solid earth at my feet after all.
Song lyrics came to mind while I watched the blowing snow.
“I come from a land that is harsh and unforgiving, where the snows can kill you and the summer burn you dry.”
—- Canadian singer/songwriter Connie Kaldor
Cutting words, truthful and fitting. There is full understanding in these lyrics.
We are forecast to be moving out of the deep cold in the upcoming week. Today the temperatures rose a few degrees above – 30 Celsius and it felt positively hopeful outside. The Kelpies and I played a good game of fetch in the bright winter sunshine this morning. Any warm up will be a distinctive relief peppered with satisfaction of having navigated extremes.
The week rolled in with beautiful temperatures and bearable breezes. Two pluses for a prairie winter. By the calendar breeding time for the ewes could go another week but by the weather I called it over and decided to sort rams out. The downside was that the timing coincided with Allen being away which meant the work fell to me alone. Well, not quite alone – it fell to me and Kelpies, but since it wasn’t a huge task I tackled it. The Kelpies were pulled out of pseudo hibernation and into action.
Writing about how actual tasks get done is writing I like the least. To tell all that had to be done in order to get done makes for a long and dull post, but to boil it down to just sorting some rams out does no justice to the workload either.
But the point of this isn’t the work that was done it was how the work unfolded. And on this day it unfolded seamlessly just like a beautiful weather day. I had a phenomenal time of it. No real hardship to have an attitude about and yet all of it a hardship in the way that doing any complicated task with a multitude of animals is. Particularly when on your own and in a winter landscape. I worked four stock dogs because I could, and each one was so willing and at ease with the work. I take their eagerness and help, I need it.
The day was so thoroughly and completely good even the exhaustion at the end was gratitude making. I wish I could say it always goes like this but this kind of work day is more rare than that – far more rare than I like to admit.
By caparison the next day was just calm and simplistic and restful – which it needed to be. This morning the weather was turning, cold was coming on again. Some of the coldest cold of the winter is on its way. I was extra pleased to have done the sorting two days prior. There is no long complicated work at hand this day. Just the somewhat complicated morning routine of unrolling hay amidst a swarm of winter hungry woolies who have no regard for a moving tractor.
I ran over a ewe lamb. A favourite Corriedale ewe lamb. She didn’t suffer.
Feeling stunned, I placed dishes of food down for the guardian dogs who pay no mind to the dead sheep. I pulled the warm, wooly body over to the front end loader. While the dogs ate I stood watching the little Corriedale body and felt a brutal low moving in. I’m so utterly responsible but I feel so cheated. And angry that now I must deal with a dead body. A task that feels unbearably complicated to my spirit no matter if the physical task actually is or isn’t.
This week ticked along just like the weather, complete with beautiful highs and brutal lows.
A heavy body leans against my thigh. The senior guardian dog seeking attention after eating. A second dog approaches with head and tail low, and slips a white muzzle under my gloved hand. Canine reassurance. I take it, Lord knows I need it.
