New Year, new start

1-1-11. Nothing like starting (or starting over) with number one.

Heart felt apologies to those who may have noticed I have been absent. Sorry, but I can only claim the feeble excuse that life must have gotten in the way. So much has happened since my last post of over 6 months ago. There is no way I can fill in all the details and give them justice, so I'll cop out and just mention them. Probably a means of self justification.
In July, Don's father passed away at the age of 92.
Our first Grand daughter arrived 2 days later. Aurora Devin has been lighting up all of our lives and hearts since.
Aug was hot and busy. Since we dove into the business of Farmer's Marketing our extra garden produce this year, Thursdays were always full.
In Sept we packed up the van and headed west to Scottsbluff and the fiber festival. I taught a needle felting class while Don set up the booth. A full weekend of new friends and ideas.
Oct was the big adventure - travel to Idaho, cousins, canyons, mountains, plains, waterfalls, and the Trailing of the Sheep Festival. More new friends and ideas.
Nov was quickly filled with trips to Kansas and closing up the McClure farmhouse, as it has been sold. Note - it is not really recommended to leave 3-4 generations of life accumulation to be sorted through by the descendants. I've already started sorting what I can.
Dec of course was a rush of last minute orders and preparations for Christmas. First year for the little ones, so it was noteworthy. And, when family members started dropping with the 'Black Santa flu, it brought back memories of 2 years ago. Happy Anniversary to Rhett and Renee.

So - I guess thats the short list. Some of these subjects probably deserve to be brought up for pondering at a future time. One could hope for a 'slack' time when I would need a topic, but somehow I doubt that will happen.

2011 is already promising to be another year of great change in our lives. Another Grandchild. Business ventures. Classes to teach. More friends, both new and old, than we can hardly keep count of. Even living the simple shepherds life in these modern times seems to be slipping by at a faster pace. Shearing is just a few weeks away, lambs soon to follow. (And yes, I think Don is already getting excited.)

As for the blogging, I'm setting my goals just a little lower this year. I'll try to do better with keeping up, but the content may change a bit. A little more factual, and on a more regular basis would be prudent. But then, I do both enjoy and benefit from the more creative script.

So I'll see what develops. I do anticipate a good year.

Best wishes to all, on all the ' 1's.

Mulching and Mulberries

I can hardly believe its the middle of June. The summer is going by way to quickly. We were at the Sheep and Wool Festival in Iowa over the weekend. Met some new friends and made new contacts again this year. Its good to see others with the same interests and enthusiasm. A little reinforcement that we are not totally crazy at least. Then we came home to reports of flooding, and wet dirty sheep and more mud than we would like. So we decided it was getting to be time to cover them. So Don got the suits out, soaked them overnight, and then hung them on the fence and hosed them off. They came surprisingly clean!
The weather has been so crazy lately, we have gotten a bit behind on the garden. The poor melons were growing out the tops of their jugs, some by a foot. So, despite the humidity, the mud, and a long day of work, we dove into weeding to prepare for the mulch. Thanks to the 'horse' (Troy-built), it went pretty well, and we managed to get at least the melons done. Then as darkness fell, we quit. But I noticed the ewes in the pasture gathered beneath the trees to the north.















Recently, I have been drawn to the frequent glimpse of the blackish trees. for some reason, this year the sure fire outline of a Mulberry tree. For some reason, nostalgia has over taken me, and I am consumed with a longing for mulberries. The distinct memory of the unique sweet odor of cooking mulberry jam has risen from somewhere in my childhood. It has been at least 25 years, but it lingers and calls. I have been watching the trees, awaiting the change from red to black. Hearing my fathers voice from long ago. The screen door creak and slam, the bent soiled straw hat fan the air in gesture, and the announcement "The mulberries are ready."
In a time and place were fresh fruit was strictly seasonal, mulberries were a welcome addition to the table. My Dad's favorite was a simple bowl of berries and cream. I preferred them on ice cream. But they were probably best picked right off the tree.
Mulberry harvesting at our house was serious. Never mind the tedious picking one berry at a time. My Mother would bring out the sheets. With as many hands as could be rounded up, we would be assigned corners of the cloth - actually 2 sheets sewn together- and Dad would tap on the upper branches with a rake. The resulting hail of purple was sure to bring a round of squeals and giggles, as we dodged the stray berries while attempting to catch as many as possible. Of course, the mosqitoes were unbearable, and the tall grass scratched even through clothes (long pants required), and a thorough tick check was sure to follow. And the next day, the house would be filled with the aroma of mulberry jam.
I started off today by doing some weeding in the flower gardens. But the trees seemed to be calling me. It was hot, so I left off the weeds and took a break.
So after cooling off a bit, I grabbed my camera, and set off on a short adventure. Pleased that crossing the fence is no longer a problem now that the new panels are up, I picked my way across the pasture. Everything was still very wet, including the back of my neck. Sure enough, there were mulberries. And, thanks to the short sheep, on branches that could be reached. I tried a few, and was pleased to find they were much better flavor than the tree across the road. Within moments, my thoughts were flooded with childhood memories of hot, still, early days of summer. The sweet purple mulberry goodness mixed with horsey sweat, the welcome whisper of a slight breeze through the leaves to still the buzzing of mosquitoes, and the frantic slap that was sure to follow.
Mulberry madness had set in. As the plumpest, darkest berries were soon consumed from one branch, I moved to another. Then another. And then it occurred to me that there was not one tree, but many. And to think I had been missing them all these years... Wait. Oops. Was that an unripe one, or just a bite of reality. Truth is, they weren't here before. The trees that now overhang the fence line by 15 ft or more are probably close to thirty years old!
Time passes. Things change, and life changes things. Yet it seems, mulberries stay much the same. The ones hardest to get to are often the sweetest. The sweet purple taste of summer still leave a stain on your memory that does not fade even with time.
Now I'm off to look for some sheets.

More time

I never could believe it - that line they kept telling us back when we were young that the older you get, the faster time goes. I guess maybe the clock moves at a different pace when you are dreading the social studies test you forgot to study for. Of course I know its not really true in the physics realm. And after all, time doesn't exist in the spiritual. Or maybe not at all if its only a matter of perception. But regardless, my perception of time seems to be changing.
I realized tht with Don gone to Kansas last weekend, my perception may be way off anyway. This is the 3rd weekend in a row that I have been left to my own devices and diversions. I have got a lot of little jobs done. I've mowed grass -3 times-, planted seeds, pulled weeds, painted walls and ceilings and silk scarves, needled on felt and nursery frills, and washed socks and sheets and fleece. Today, I'm dyeing again. But rest assured come 5:59, I will be settled in for the evening with home made pizza and a pile of handwork ( anyone out there know how many ties are on a set of bumper pads?) that probably wont get done, because I will be getting 'Lost' one last time.
Questions. Confusion. 'Lost' is probably a more true vision than any of us would like to admit. I know there are many days when I'm not sure where I am, or why. But I do know I am here for a purpose.
There is but a fine line between searching for the meaning of life, and the discovery that it's the searching that gives life meaning. Pretty deep stuff for an August-like day in May. It's that time of year. Last days of school. First days of summer. Memorial Day predictable storms. Time passes quickly. Outside my window, banks of white bow and bend in the wind. Spirea now. Seems like just last week it was snow.
Tomorrow is another 'signpost' day. Will post back with pictures when I can.

Things Done

It has been a busy week here. And thankfully, the end to a few projects. The big one was the mural. I realized it was nearing a year since it had been given the green light and I had physically started on it, and I like to never pass the year mark. So a date was set at the Library, and things started to move. Last Sat we borrowed a Uhaul truck, and took it to town. Still havent gotten used to walking into the shop and being able to see out the west window.

The big event was Wed. Official 'unveiling ceremony - complete with Librarian and I pulling down the black cloth, and the expected 'aooooooh' following. I've had gallery shows before, but that part was a first. Now waiting to see what the newspaper will have next week, and if I get many comments. The few who are still alive who remember the building seemed to be very impressed, so at least I got that part right. As an artist, I am very self critical, and it bothers me just a bit in knowing that there are parts that could have been better technically, but I was committed to painting it to be a depiction of the story, not as architecturally accurate. After all, all I had to go on was a postcard from 1920. So I'll stop beating myself up about that.

Another milestone passed - we now have more than 60 lambs, (I think its 65) and the last one is on the ground. They seemed to drag on forever this year, and we're not sure why. It has been mentioned that if the black ram lambs arent sold, one could end up being a teaser. That would be a double bonus - more lambs, synchronize the ewes, and I get the fleece too. Don is still enjoying the lambing season. He watches the lambs while the water runs (and lambs are always fun to watch play regardless), but he seems to be admiring the quality of the crop, especially some of the ewe lambs.

Now its on to garden season. The newly planted gooseberries, strawberries, and honeyberries are doing well. The apricot tree is covered with olive sized fruit, the potatoes and onions and peas and corn have added green to the garden plot. (Someone is eating the tops off the beets though.) I added a number of perennials to the back yard flower garden - just for me. It's my view on the world as I sit at the computer.

Now time to move on. There are things to be left and gotten in town this afternoon. I always seem to be one part short when working on my personal projects. I'm currently redoing a family high chair for Braydon. Will post pics when its done.

Happy Mothers Day to all mothers and to-be's. Back to haveing to share the limelight this year. But thats ok.

I guess 8 is enough

Well the lambing season is starting to wind down. Waiting for #50 to arrive, with mostly just the Ewe lambs left to go. We are pleased with the crop, especially the number of black lambs. I was hoping for at least one or 2 colored, and at least one ewe lamb, and we ended up with 4 ewes and 4 bucks. Only slightly disappointed that the mutant had a black buck, and the Coopworth a buck also, and snow white. Interesting that we had to pull both, as they have very large heads. Maybe a Coopworth trait? Everyone says the black ones are very cute though. Evening chores are made more enjoyable now that the lambs are old enough they have started playing sheep games. While their mothers are chowing down at the bunk, they run and jump like kids in the schoolyard let out for recess. With floppy ears and long stiff legs, they resemble a herd of rabbits circling the pen. Or maybe a woolly flock of birds. Must try to get it on video, but its difficult when they are camera shy, and easily distracted.

Don is back at work. At least we got some things done. Garden now is partially planted, and has 3 new raised beds. One is waiting for strawberry plants, which are ordered, as are the sweet potatoes. Yard is mostly cleaned up, and the porches had an annual washing. Now the painting business is picking up again, so my loyalties to projects are being tested.

Looks like I will be teaching needle felt classes at the Fiber Fair in Mitchell in Sept. Thats what you get when you ask questions. But we were wanting to go anyway, and now we have good reason. Hoping its a good venue for new people and market.

Now if I could just get this blog figured out - how to get the pics to go where I want them!

Down to keeping up

Okay, so its been awhile. Lots of stuff going on, getting done, and arriving - including lambs. Last weekend, I went shopping for nursery stuff with Ryan and Angie and her parents. Being creative is always a mind stretching experience, but coordinating thoughts with others is even harder. But we had fun. Then Sunday I finished up the wool order, and we took it to town. After the washing, dyeing and carding, I still have Jody in mind. Not that I mind the work, but it takes time I could be using for other work. And now the former paint clients are calling. Got to stay focused, and get down to keeping up.

Last Sunday was also an exciting day with 'flock development - we came home from town to find our first black lamb, and a ewe lamb at that! We named her Ruby, after the lady we bought the black ram from. Actually, Ruby was her maiden name, and is on his papers in the ranch name. She's a real cutie. Then Wed. we had another black lamb, a buck this time. We don't need a buck, but he is sure to be barter or saleable, or maybe we'll just keep him as a whether to raise fleece. And, we still have several potential black candidates, including the CVM and the Coopworth.

The full moon or the cold front inspired the ewes yesterday. We had 4 sets of twins and 3 singles in 24 hrs. Today, nothing so far. But I have my eye on a crossbred ewe that is miserably big, and bred to the black ram.

While on Ewe Watch, I have dyed 7 scarves. Am thinking of design use for the 5 sweaters I found at the thrift shop. Several were already felted for me. Some of the best ones are in the 'small' bin, even though the tag may read 'XLRG'. Even some Cashmere and angora. Thanks for the accidents.

I havent got used to the pink glow of the grow light which is now hanging over the flats of newly planted seeds in the sunroom. It was an unsettling back light all evening, and I noticed this morning as it wasn't quite light outside. But I hope the little seeds will appreciate the extra light. And the gardening has officially begun - Don planted potatoes too. I checked out the yard and beds for signs of life. Which there were many, but hours of cleanup are needed before they are very evident. We seldom have to rake much, but the early snow packed down the pin oak leaves before they could blow away this year. Since they dont make good compost, I can already smell the smoke.

Well, back to the scarves, which should be dry by now.

On birth and dyeing - its March 19th

It happened again this year. The first lamb of the season was born on March 19th. It has been the case for many years. Strangely, because while we intend to lamb about the same time every year, (hoping for better weather), it doesn't seem to matter what day we turn the Bucks out, because the first lamb always seems to be born on the 19th.

This year, we'll blame the spring snow. Hopefully, what will be the last of the season. The long awaited preview of spring was short lived - 2 days - and, as predicted, the sky turned gray late yesterday afternoon, the wind turned cold and damp this morning, and sleet and snow followed shortly after. The first lamb hit the ground about the same time.

A nice buck lamb. A single, but we'll keep him. Not one of the hoped for candidates to be colored. And not the predicted first birth either. There surely will be more soon. Several of the girls have had that miserable look about them the last few days. And maybe thats why we had to play a rousing game of 'Who's the Mama?'. the little guy appeared to have nursed, and there were at least 4 ewes playing midwife, and had him cleaned up nicely. One insisted he belonged to her, but I've been at this long enough to know better. It took a few rounds through the bellowing throng before I spotted her. The real mother had to be 782. I finally managed to sort her off, and she was mildly interested in the baby. But he had already taken to the ewe who had offered him lunch. This may take an adjustment.