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.