Tempus Fugit

Sometimes a year can go by, and it's difficult to pull anything notable from it. Then there are those other years. Add to it the phenomenon of blending; was that this year or last year? Three years ago now? The passage of time is one of those realities that feels so much like a blessing some days and then a curse on others. Whoever acknowledged that time passes more quickly the older we get was spot on as well.

A year ago, magical Mavis joined the brood at the Salty Ewe. Down thirteen sheep and up a pup. She has more energy than the whole flock combined, save the lambs in their early months. Their old pasture has become her romping ground for three of the four seasons, with the beach becoming summer's running ground. She has brought Henry's puppy spirit back and also pulled me along through some of the year's most challenging times. Her eyes are the most human I have ever seen in a dog, and her intelligence feels like it matches my own some days. Other days, she reminds me she is a puppy and has a lot of growing to do.

Don't we all.

That's really what this year has been about. Old dogs learning new tricks. Dusting off the mirrors and looking deep into the reflections, seeing life with a perspective and purpose that makes me want to slow down time. Since that's not possible, finding ways to move through the days and weeks and years with the positivity and playful ebullience that Mavis has brought to the farmette is all I can do.

It'll do, it'll do.

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.

Transformations

It's been a while. 

Just short of three years. Two weeks short just about.

Things have happened, and nothing at all

All at the same time.

It's weird. It's been a while.

The sheep left back in the Summer of 14. Or, was it the summer before that?

See, that's how it's been around here.

Losing track of days.

Years.

They left for much greener pastures, and more of them.

A barn fit for a King.

And, a staff to care for them.

They don't know me anymore when I visit with apples.

I visit less often now.

So the pasture became overgrown

It was beautiful in its own way, alive with birds and lightning bugs

Bees

And now it's become the romping ground for Henry and his new girl Mavis

I stand, quietly, and listen for the familiar sounds

They still echo and linger in the swails

I remember that first time I lost a lamb

Had no idea what I was doing, whether he was really gone

Running into the house with him cradled in my frozen arms

Trying to warm him back to life

When it hit me he was dead, I sat there shaking

This was a chapter in the raising sheep book I'd skipped over

Understanding that some things can never be brought back to life was not meant to be learned from books anyway.

waning days

Can days wane? These are the longest, darkest days and I'm counting down now to the 21st when things will slowly begin to turn around again. The reliable rhythm of the seasons again anchors the salty shepherd.

Henry blends into the night. He's still working out his puppy stuff, so sudden bursts of running in circles are not uncommon. Chasing after small animals that are out in the early morning is not uncommon, either, but I'm trying to break him of that. Instinct. It sounds crazy when it's written. But, the training of an eighty pound dog is required and hopefully his second year will bring more obedience and less puppy stubbornness.

This morning on our walk, he stayed close. We walked the perimeter of the field and the sky was just showing some signs of brightness, a lightening of the black. As I reached the top of the hill, a bright shooting star caught my eye and my breath. The stillness of the morning, the crispness of the air - and those unexpected moments that we're blessed enough to experience if awake. Literally and figuratively. As I saw the shooting star, a favorite line from an old song we sang rang in my mind: "stars are for those who lift their eyes." Wishing one and all a peaceful and healthy holiday season.

winter

beautiful baby lowy in her salty ewe lid

December's arrived with brutally cold temperatures and snow. The last few days of November were really cold as well, and even though we won't officially see winter for a few more weeks, it sure feels like it this weekend. But, as they say in Maine, if you don't like the weather then just wait a few minutes. Tomorrow, it's supposed to be in the fifties.

The ocean's been wild the past few days and I can hear it this morning in the house, with all the storm windows down. Granted, they're not the best windows, but still...to hear the waves and roar of the ocean from indoors says something. During Sandy, the dog and I walked down to the ocean and the sound of it was unlike anything I'd heard before. It scared Henry, and he was obviously upset and would not go down to the water; rather, he had his tail between his legs and wanted to head back - and did, with me behind him. It was a deep, deep hum almost. The waves were tremendous, as you'd expect; but, the deep, reverberant bass that the ocean made that day was unreal. An old neighbor of mine said she'd only heard it like that a few other times in her life - and reminded me that my hearing was a lot better than hers. The power of nature stops me sometimes. And, as a cold winter fog hangs in the field this morning, obscuring little wooly beasts that continue to forage through the thin layer of snow, I'm ready to hunker down for the winter.

Accidents

Sandy spared us along the coast of Maine, but many of us are very aware of the pain and devastation the storm caused to the south of us as we head into the season of giving thanks. Timing and luck. So much comes down to these two variables - neither of which we can control. Trying to be prepared for whatever comes our way is all we can do, really.

Having extra fence posts in case the sheep knock down the fence, for example...

old Bill's eyeball...

Last week, I was talking on the phone with my mom and looking out the window - something I'm happy to say we do a lot. On several occasions, I have had to hang up quickly because the sheep were out or an errant dog was in the field with them; but, last week was a little bit different. I did not call her back right away. All but three sheep were out. This is not good.

The grass is greener on the other side of the fence this time of year. It's not just a cliche for them; it's reality. So, when more sheep are out than in, the challenge becomes herding them without a sheepdog. I know how to move around them like a herding dog would - and, sometimes they follow, but with the abundance of lush, green grass all around them, it was an impossible chore. After over an hour of walking in circles, they were in. I was tired and should have known better than to start throwing around sharp and heavy objects.

A concussion has kept me from doing much in recent days. The fence post hit ledge, and the fence pole driver backed up and nailed me in the head. Miraculously, I did not crack the skull or lose consciousness, and good samaritan builders who were working nearby came to my aid. To think I had been embarrassed about the show they'd had with me trying to corral all of the sheep for an hour or more...shepherding with ego is impossible.
All in all, the salty shepherd is mindfully thankful for more than ever this season.
Timing and luck.

Calm Before the Storm

Well, Frankenstorm is on her way. Admittedly, I'm a little anxious today and spending a good chunk of the day getting things put away here at the farmette and checking in on a couple of other properties that I help watch in the off-season. This morning's weather would never indicate such a beast of a storm is approaching; the fog is slowly burning off, it's warming up quickly and the light is exceptionally brilliant as it bounces off the thinning fog. The trees that still have leaves are all a deep, burnt orange now with the exception of a few red oaks that still hold on to their redness even after we've had a few frosts. The sheep are still finding some green to eat although I am having to supplement more and more with hay now; they'll start to get grain again soon, too. More signs of the changing season.

The shorter days make us all slow down some, and yet the things we need to get done in a given day don't change; maybe this is why it seems there are never enough hours in a day. Finding a balance between productivity and rest is sometimes elusive. When I watch Henry lounging around, which he does quite often and quite well, it reminds me to stop and take in the light and the view and all that is around me here. This is probably the real reason why they call them (wo)Man's Best Friend.

Henry.

Hat Season

We're gearing up for some sort of hit from Sandy here along the coast, and hopefully we won't have much damage or lose power for long if at all. Some day a generator would be nice, but until then the candles, lanterns and charged cell and computer will suffice. The sheep barn has two windows that face   southeast and have been open all summer, so I am deciding to board them up as I have in the past for winter months or put some plexiglass in them. Tomorrow will be the day I decide and do whatever needs to be done, as the weather is supposed to start in on Sunday. Weekends never seem long enough.

These are some nice shots of the hats - thanks Katie for taking them!

These are some much better photos of the hats that I delivered to the shop in town, and I've had a few requests for commissions since - so hat season is in full swing. Since the Sunday will be a wash and outside chores will be out of the question, the needles will be clicking away inside at the Salty Ewe.

knit lids!

I am so happy to have some hats in a really great shop in Dock Square called Daytrip Society (www.daytrip.com) again this year; I dropped them off this week and was thrilled to hear she'd displayed them on the front table the next morning!  Jessica also has a shop around the corner, Daytrip Jr. and am hoping to maybe have some small hats in that shop as well. We'll see. The excitement of having the hats out there gives my sheep a purpose which feels good after so many years of strictly hobby farming.

Letting Go

It was a big day here at the Salty Ewe, and even though I knew this day was coming, the reality of it didn't hit until after it was all over. Three sheep, including little Aztec the ram, were loaded into a truck this morning and then headed off for their new home in Northern Maine. A really great young couple is starting out with sheep, and they're adding a couple of other rescued crosses to their new starter flock. So, even though it is hard to see them go - but probably harder just letting go in general - knowing they will be well cared for and loved makes it all a lot easier.  Having some control when you have to let go seems to make it all a little easier. So, I am thankful to have had that this time around.

final pull from the garden yesterday

The cold came quickly, as promised. A hard frost on Friday night had me pulling up armloads of beans and peas in the dark - and the carrots and last bit of greens came up yesterday. The sun was out all day, but it took a good chunk of the morning for the frost to disappear from the lowest and most shady spots in the field. It was a full day of working in the gardens, reflecting on a summer that came and went with a blur. Summers can be that way sometimes.
The days are getting shorter now and many trees have lost their leaves completely, while others hang on with a tenacity that defies windy odds. I like those leaves the best; the strong ones. The sturdy and healthy stems will give way when they're ready. No sooner. And, then they will let go, too.

sharing sheep

Tomorrow, a woman will come to see the flock and decide how many she will take home. I'm gifting a small starter flock to someone who's come highly recommended and am looking forward to meeting her and having her meet the sheep. While losing some of these guys will be hard, it's the responsible thing to do and will benefit all of the sheep in the end - not to mention the pasture and mucking pieces.

ending another growing season

Today will be spent cleaning out some beds and preparing for the garlic planting, which may need to happen sooner than usual given the forecast. A cold, long winter's ahead -  snow is being forecast for  some places in Maine in coming days. But, here along the coast it is a perfect fall morning. Birds are active collecting berries and seeds and we've seen deer more than twice on morning walks in the past week. Henry usually sees them first, and someday he will not chase them. I am convinced. Almost two now, his puppy behavior is slow to subside.

The maples are vibrant and the oak trees are dropping acorns like mad, the metal roof of the barn sounding like a novice steel drum band some afternoons.
The changing rhythm, the shift in season pulls us along and the comfort of preparing for the coming winter adds to the richness of the season. Warm, foggy fall nights will subside to frost soon enough.

Changing Seasons

The first day of Fall has always been one of my favorite days. This year, I ventured to the Common Ground Fair on a Saturday and ushered in Autumn with familiar comfort. Being there with someone who had never experienced an agricultural fair before added to the day for sure and brought the reminder that the shift in seasons brings with it changes of all kinds for people, animals and plants alike. Sometimes embracing those changes is a struggle that seems insurmountable, but the natural flow of change and the rhythm of the seasons wins out in the end every time. Being still enough to find the truth is the trick.

The flock has grown to uncomfortable numbers, and letting go is hard but necessary; the winnowing process is never fun. More to come on new homes and autumnal occurrences as the salty shepherd finds the writing rhythm again.

Borrowed Images

He's such a charmer.

Hercules.

People often stop and take pictures of the sheep, and the other day a nice couple pulled up and admired them for quite a while; these images arrived yesterday - and, since my camera is still not working, it's great to be able to post a few images of the sheep after the shearing. Thanks to the photographer!

Callie is doing well - her cut seems healed and she's not showing any signs of fever or discomfort. And, the two ewes who were unsure on their newly pedicured hooves are just about back to their normal gaits.

Shearing and Wool

Shearing day can sometimes be stressful, and this year seemed especially so. With so many sheep and so few shearers in this area, the Links are in demand - no doubt because they are so good. The father and son team have close to 75 years' experience between them (or more) and they shear the majority of flocks, large and small, in southern Maine. With the wet weather and complications of scheduling so many people, it was a challenging spring for everyone in terms of shearing I think. The call came twelve hours before they were coming to my place, and I was out of town for eleven of those.

before shearing...

So, the power cord came out and tarps - everyone was in the barn from the night before - so gathering them was not a problem. All fourteen of them were done within two hours, and the barn felt twice as big last night when they were all in for the night. For the first time in ten or more years, we had a significant cut, though; Callie, my eldest ewe, apparently kicked and the angle was just right (or all wrong) and she lost a bit of blood. I was not as prepared as I should have been so we used corn starch to stop the bleeding; and, the lanolin acts as the best healing agent around. She was up and grazing within seconds and showed no signs of lethargy, but I'm going to need to keep a close eye on her for a while and may get some antibiotics to be sure she doesn't get an infection. Poor old girl. I did worse that she did, and the shearers were a little unnerved by my less-than-stoic-shepherdness, but oh well.  Her fleece will still be gorgeous after it's skirted and cleaned, and I will probably set it aside as an homage to her this year. I'm glad it's all over. And, so are they. Much more comfortable for them - and since we're finally having some warmer weather, it's great to have them sheared.

It's always good to see how they're looking underneath all that wool, and they are in excellent shape. The Poulin grains have made a difference in their fleeces, I think; in spite of a warm winter, the wool looks just fine - not much different length than other years. Hercules has a less springy, crimpy fleece - and it is gorgeous with those spots. His tail, all cut close, is absolutely beautiful. I will have to try to get some pictures to post. He's quite a specimen. And, a romeo, too. From the looks of those shaved bellies, we may have a few fall lambs here. Not at all what I'd planned...so, we'll see.

ultimately...this.  gorgeous naturally dyed,  hand spun yarn.

I'm looking at a new mill that may be able to spin this very fine, short fiber and am eager to see what they are able to do. The specialty yarn niche is something that intrigues me and looking into whether we could make a name for ourselves here at the Salty Ewe in that department. The gorgeous hanks of hand spun yarns that Lori (walkingwool.blogspot.com) has done up for me are incredible and a joy to knit my hats from - but with fourteen fleeces - something's got to give.
Stay tuned.

Aztec and Rue

Lambing season was quick and relatively uneventful, and we now have two new lambs here at the farmette! It took a while to settle on names, but they're going to be called Aztec and Rue.

The first born was Rue, and she was Rita's first lamb. She came early in the morning, quietly and just minutes before I got down to the barn to let everyone out for the day. I have never seen another lamb like this one; she is incredibly friendly and has a tremendous amount of strength and energy already. Hercules is probably a huge part of this lovely little disposition...and, while she does not have any spots, her fleece is already fluffing up and feeling soft.

Maya's little ram lamb, Aztec, arrived in the middle of the night on April 12 - a week after the first lamb (shepherd's nirvana again!). And, unlike Rita's easy lambing, the painful sounds coming up from the barn, from Maya, woke me and kept me up for a good part of the night. She had a difficult time and the ram lamb has been slow to gain strength and energy, so the past several days have been somewhat challenging as we deal with record breaking heat in Maine - new lambs can become dehydrated quickly, and while the worst seems to be over and little Aztec seems to be gaining weight, it's good to be home from the day job this week to keep a close eye on him.

Hercules and the wether have joined the girls in the big field, and things are starting to green up quickly. We are in desperate need of rain, and the forecast finally has some predicted for this weekend. Before we know it, the hay will start coming in and gardens will be planted. Even though it was a quick and easy winter here, the feeling of Spring is still intoxicating. Cheers to the season!

April!

Henry!

The first day of April always feels like Spring, even though last year we were having a blizzard and lost power for hours. It was my first full day with Henry, and I remember feeling thankful to have the day off from school to stay home with the new puppy. He's still so much a puppy a year later. Hopeful that the destructive side will wear off with age...

Maya and Rita, the two ewes who spent a couple of months with Hercules last fall, are looking round and getting closer to lambing. Both have good sized udders coming in and have started to lay around more than usual, often times in the barn alone while the rest of the sheep are outside (beginning to graze, which is crazy at this time of the year). It will be exciting to have spotted sheep here at the Salty Ewe again, after starting with the Jacobs over ten years ago now. And, if they're anywhere as adorable as the spotted babydoll lambs that I have seen from Kelly's Romney Ridge Farm, we're in for a treat here on the farmette. I can't wait. They are, after all, the real sign of spring.

A younger Hercules. He still relaxes in this position!

In Like a Lion

The Shepherdess from Salty Ewe apologizes for the lapse in entries since the New Year. Life on and off the farmette has been busy has fulfilling, beyond expectations in many ways. Hercules has brought all kinds of good energy to us - his quiet and calm disposition is a welcome addition to the barn - and, we are eagerly awaiting the arrival of lambs within the next six weeks or so.

The winter has been mild and with minimal snows. Our first real snow storm since winter, really, arrived this past week on March 1; we got over a foot here along the coast. The sheep stayed in all day, which is not ideal. Today, it's rainy and sleeting, with intermittent snow. A very grey day. Barn doors are open but they're choosing to stay in from what I can see so far.

Hercules as a lamb!

The anticipation of warmer days that will allow time in the garden, from early morning hours to late in the afternoon (until the mosquitos ascend) is building, and days like today add to that anxiousness. The garlic will pop first, and given the lack of cold temperatures and deep snow pack, I imagine that may happen sooner than later. Curious whether the mild winter will affect the harvest. Time will tell.

Such is the mantra of life. Time does tell. Stories unfold and life marches on, sometimes with unexpected twists that bring unspeakable joy - and sometimes deep pain. The delicate balance. Time telling truths. We wait for lambs and new life to grace our lives.

2012!

The Salty Ewe Shepherdess has been out of the writing mode of late and hopes that everyone has enjoyed the holiday season and that 2012 is off to a banner start. The sheep are all doing great and still able to 'graze' since we still have no snow in Maine. Unheard of.

Lori's great photography - Winter Sheep

Hercules has adjusted beautifully and brought all kinds of good energy to the farmette. He is gentle and inquisitive, and he's got a unique little personality that I get to see on occasion. The girls are all well and looking a little chubby, which I would rather have over bony. Their fleeces have started to thicken up, and tonight's forecast of zero degree temperatures will certainly aid in the production of more wool I think. It's been so nice not to have the heated water buckets plugged in for so long - and to be able to see the sheep moving freely aver their pasture instead of snow-locked into the areas that I clear for them in the deep snow. Having said that, we're ready for snow in New England.
Happy New Year to everyone. Wishing you the best in the coming year and thanks for reading the Salty Ewe's blog - even when weeks pass without a post.