Shorn

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.