Tidal Pull

The other morning, I witnessed something I have never seen before; and, my neighbor Ed was there, too, and from the expression on his face, he had never seen anything like it before either. At the end of the lane, Turbat's Creek backs up and becomes a very small tidal inlet which runs deep into a marsh and around a sharp bend and up into what feels like the woods. In Maine, we have a decent tide and so the difference between low tide and high tide is significant. I've actually heard tourists say things like, "where did the water go?" when looking out at a harbor full of grounded boats and buoys. So, we stood there watching the dogs play and commenting on how it was another cool, damp morning for June when we both noticed it at the same time. A small wave came rolling into the tidal marsh, bringing with it the tide in full. It started slowly, making its way into the basin and around the bend, back to the woods. The initial wave held its shape the entire distance of the tidal inlet, which was spectacular to see. My words do not seem to give it the justice it deserves; but what we saw really impressed us both, and between us we have been gazing out to sea and across Turbat's Creek and other tidal rivers for over one hundred years; neither one of us had ever seen anything quite like it.

High Tide at the Creek

I was tempted to stand and wait for it to happen again the following morning. Silly me. The tide was an hour later, the moon was in a different position, and it would probably be a long, long time before I am lucky enough to see it happen again. Tonight's full moon will bring an astronomical high tide, and with luck I will be sleeping deeply, dreaming of long summer days and warm summer nights. The day job has ended for a spell and so the Salty Ewe can regroup and refocus on what is truly important in life: listening to the ebb and flow, taking it in and being thankful. Life is nothing but that, really. Happy Summer.

Fireflies and Lupine

The lilacs have come and gone so quickly this year - probably because of the wet and cool weather we had through all of April and most of May - and it's already time for the lupine to appear; fireflies are lighting up the field at night and the songbirds are in full chorus mode each morning. This morning, a pileated woodpecker was working away at a tree somewhere along the back creek, and the rat-tat-tat-tat echoed across the fields and made Henry and me both pause for a minute to listen. On our way back home, Bode scared up a huge porcupine in the woods and his owner, Ed, and I watched it scurry up a huge pine tree faster than one would think a big, old porcupine could move.

soft raw wool in the grease

Roger Junior and Roger Senior

How it got to be June 8 already is beyond me. It was almost a whole month ago that the sheep were shorn; the fleeces are still bundled in sheets and stored on the screened in porch; hopefully, I will be getting to them to skirt this weekend and finding a spot to have it all washed and carded.  I've decided that in order to get serious about all of this wool, I will need to invest in some longer staple fleece to spin with mine since the Babydoll wool is too short to have it spun on its own. It's all a process. The learning curve is sometimes frustrating for me but it's all part of understanding more deeply. Eventually, the Salty Ewe Farm will become a sustainable venture; I need to find patience. Watching the lightning bugs helps.

wool soaking in pot of dandelion

Apple Blossoms, Lilacs and Salty Air

Noon Sun at Low Tide by Kenneth Shopen, etching

The morning walks have been full of spring smells in recent weeks - from the fragrant apple blossoms that seem to be everywhere to sweet lilacs and salty, foggy air. The pace at the day job has reached its usual end-of-the-year frenzy and so my morning walks are recently more like zombie stomps, but maybe it's because I am moving a little more slowly in the morning (and the evening, too!) that I am smelling so much, so deeply. The light has been beautiful these past few mornings, coming across the water and hitting the east side of the little fish houses in Turbat's Creek. I think of my friend Carolyn often in the early mornings when I look across the inlet to the Blue Buoy and feel her presence at the creek; it's been 18 months since she passed, and the void she's left in the neighborhood is palpable. She is missed by many; it's a comfort to stand at the head of the Creek and look out to sea and sense her everywhere.

watercolor by carol jessen

The sheep are all doing well and keeping the field trimmed nicely. I am starting to actively look for new homes for some of the girls since wintering over ten was too much last year; plus, the field cannot really support that many mouths for too much longer. Finding myself feeding hay and grain still due to the numbers, and so I'm hoping that my idea of selling to vineyards and orchards will take off.
In the meantime, I'm enjoying watching my flock of fourteen move together and enjoy the good life they have at the little Salty Ewe Farmette.