Wreaths

One day last week, I was heading north on Route One and pulled over to watch the long caravan of Wreaths Across America inch its way south. It was quite something, really. I was overcome by emotion very unexpectedly and was glad to be sitting still - in a church parking lot. It just happened that way.
A few days later, I read a provocative post by a former student who suggested that we use the millions of dollars spent on wreaths to better care for our veterans. Housing, health care, job training.
While the pragmatism of such a thought might offend some people, admittedly he has a point. Wreaths are pretty but temporary.
Seasonal.

Yesterday, I made a huge wreath for the barn door. I gathered all kinds of greens from my property - mostly blue spruce, cedar, holly and boxwood. Threw in a few pinecones for good measure and may add some red berries. The simplicity of it is what makes it so pretty, and at four feet in diameter, it makes quite a statement on the simple little building.
As I worked on it, the calming smell of pine and cedar clung to me. The circular movement and layering of greens felt comforting as the low December sun sank. Working with my hands is something that brings rewards and pleasures that are so different from those that the day job brings, and the simplicity of it is enticing.

And, in keeping with the simple, circular nature of life, things will be shifting here at the Salty Ewe, and the dormancy of winter will be spent planning and preparing for the now sheepless farmette. Exciting times.

Friends

Henry and Mavis became friends immediately. I oddly had no reservations or concerns whatsoever about bringing her into the fold, so to speak; it never crossed my mind that Henry might not like her. He was gentle with her from the first moments and days, and as she has grown and become a more equal sparring partner, he has become less gentle; they play really rough sometimes.
It's something to watch. I have had to work hard at not intervening and just letting them work it out.
In the field, they run and spar for hours. Since we still have no snow in southern Maine, everything is swampy and wet - making for messy dogs.

Randall Jarrell's small but beautiful book The Animal Family has been a long time favorite of mine. I don't remember when I first read it - junior high maybe. I bought my own copy when I was in my twenties. Something about the story brought me great comfort and joy, and to this day it remains one of those books that can still bring me peace. The illustrations, so unlike his more popular images, are done masterfully by Maurice Sendak. Needless to say, his Max was another one of my childhood heroes.

Life's journey has brought (and taken) many good friends so far - both four legged and two; each one has added invaluable, beautiful lessons to my life, and when the rhythm of days allows enough time for deep contemplation and reflection, I am humbled by these experiences. Learning from friends and family, furry or not, continues to be one of the greatest joys of my life.  Tough lessons and all.

Running through the field getting muddy and wet is pretty much a great metaphor for living a life.

distance and perspective

Flying into Maine

It's odd that one could be so afraid of heights and still enjoy looking out of a plane's window. Similar to being prone to seasickness and yet loving the water and especially swimming in it.  Dichotomies that don't keep me up at night but rather intrigue me.
When the sheep first left, I couldn't go down to the barn - or the garden for that matter - for at least a week. Even though it had been my decision to let them go, it was deeply painful for a while. Then slowly, I began to accept the change and to settle in to the new rhythm of life here without them.
They were small changes but they felt really huge. And, pivotal somehow.

People still stop me in our little town and ask about them, share how much they miss them. I miss them, too, but they became too much for me; to care for 13 sheep and do it properly became an expensive venture. A fun, little hobby that began with three rescued Jacob sheep back in the day grew into a passion and commitment that lasted almost fifteen years. So, when the day finally came and a new home literally appeared on my doorstep, I knew it was the right time. Off they went, later that very same day - and my life changed. And, I adjusted.
One close neighbor, who I adore, gently reassured me that I would always be known as 'the sheep lady' by locals. An honor.
I'll take it.
With the perspective that time and distance allows, I continue to learn life's lessons from the sheep - long after they've left the farm.