Shearing day delight

As promised, a report on shearing day (s) 2013.

Well, so we really aren't done yet. The ewe lambs are still in full fleece, but with lambing beginning very soon, not for long. They get put down the list since they will lamb a little later.

 In full fleece, the girls filled the west half of the barn. And yes, it was time for shearing. As evidenced here, many of the covers were getting a bit too small.

I try to document things as they occur, and especially things like shearing day, since they only happen once a year. I got a couple of 'before' shots, and then got distracted with my duties as wool handler.

Don does the shearing. The bellies and tags are thrown into a separate pile at the beginning. Once sheared, I weigh and record the fleece, and throw out on a grated skirting table. I prefer to do out side up first, and pull off the really dirty edges, legs, and back of the neck - whatever was not protected by the cover. Character comments, staple, and other notes are put down, and the fleece is bagged tagged and  re-weighed for clean weight.  Uncovered fleeces are 'tanked' -  in this case meaning they are dumped into the lined 'tank' to be later bagged for commercial sale.

The experience of handling the still warm fleeces is always moving, especially as a spinner/wool enthusiast. Often, as recorded in past years blog report, its because of the warmth. This year, I sensed right away that there was something more. I noticed that after the few first fleeces that were uncovered, and thus 'tanked', and the first  lovely white warm clean fleece spread over the table. I judged. I took notes. And as each fleece passed through my hands and critique, it became my favorite. No, this one. Then this one. They are all different in minor ways - some dense with fine crimp, the next pencil locks with bold. One long and lustrous, the next incredibly soft. Like a mother of many children, in the end, I could name no favorite.

 After day 3 ( Admission of age - neither Don nor I were up to shearing all of them at once.) We cleaned off the shelves in the garage to make room for the new crop. (The last of the 2012 fleece was offered at bargain prices, and very little remains.)

 We loaded the truck with the bagged fleece for the trip to the garage. They didn't all fit.

We had noted that some very nice '12 fleeces got 'lost' on the shelves. This year, we tried a new system. The numbered fleece bags also have weight and a grade (my standards). They were they placed on the shelf according to their grade. Hopefully, I will be better able to locate them as they are called for according to use. I was pleased when Don kept running out of room for the 'A's' and A-'s.

 Meanwhile, back in the barn, the 'skirtings' pile was impressive. It always hurts to throw that much wool into the 'discard' pile, but the end product is well worth it. I will admit to my wool buyers that I found myself cheating just a little this year. Looking back at the fleeces as I list them for sale, I realize I didn't skirt as hard as I usually do. I just couldn't throw out all that wool that just needs a little more attention before processing. I will adjust price accordingly instead, and attribute it to being more sustainable.

After 'haircuts', the girls bask in the sunshine.  The colored ewes and a few other 'special' ones got covered right back up. They will probably go naked for a few weeks while their lambs are little - for safety - but no longer than necessary. Even Don is a believer in those covers, despite the frustration of keeping them on for months at a time.

 Then the commercial sale wool got bagged.

Yep, its a big bag.  Thats an 8 ft ladder.

 For those not experienced in the trade, this is how you get more than a hundred pounds of fluffy wool packed into the bag.

You stomp it in.





Meanwhile.......

Dolly was trying to help.


She brought us a bottle of water.

We declined, and went to the house for our drinks.


Thus ends the storyboard of shearing day. There are already several spaces on the shelves where fleeces have been sold. And a few have future owners names on them. And I sometimes wonder if I'm a fool for selling the best instead of keeping it for myself.  But that's the business. And I don't mind using the  lesser stuff - because its still quite nice.

So now we've moved on to the days ahead.  The lambing barn is partially set up. Today Don is off to fetch some better hay for the new mothers. The produce has been good, but not enough for both mother and lamb to supplement the poor hay. At least we found some, so we are trying to ignore the pain of a 5 digit purchase.

Now I need to go finish some plans for the girl scout class that will be here next weekend. They will be making felt dyed flowers for a group arrangement. Sure to be fun, and I hear they are excited to come see the baby lambs too.

The seed order came yesterday too. Maybe a project for the predicted (and sort of hoped for) rainy weekend.

And, yes, there are still the ewe lambs to shear.

Its spring on the farm.

Progress and produce in a frosty season

So it is now Feb 24th.  So much for Don's retirement.  In the past 3 weeks, much has happened. progress to be sure, but not so good for Don's plan for naps.

We attended the Agri-tourism Conference. Made some new friends, lots of contacts, answered a few questions, and shored up some confidence in our plans for the farm. Since then, there have been numerous meetings, and sign out papers. Still waiting on word about health insurance, but that's still a topic for another day.

Sheep got sheared, and all or near all are pregnant. That, too, is for another day.

Taxes are done, filed, and put away. That's a happy thought. so while we are on pleasantries, I will fill in the details of the produce story.

We have a rather unique local business that specializes in overstock, damaged, and other odd lots of various merchandise. We have been long time fans of the establishment, as it has provided many 'finds' over the years, varying from gallon cans of carrots, curtains, pet supplies, plastic kitchen ware, and so much more. Included is fresh produce retrieved from the distribution center. I have always tried to take advantage of the bargain prices, and happily changed the evening menu at the last minute to adjust for the daily deal at the Warehouse.

One day in mid January, amid a discussion of the current status of hay quality and nutritional needs, the Warehouse was mentioned. A short time later, the discussion came to mind as I placed my produce find of the day on the counter to pay. I looked behind me, and in a rare moment, there was no one. So I posed a question to the owner/cashier -  "What do you do with the leftover spoiled produce?"

The result - said produce is now consumed at Ewe And Us.

The first few hauls were crates of green beans.  A little moldy perhaps, but the girls didn't care.

 What a treat to have green goods in the bunk on a cold January day.

 Then one day, a special treat came in.  Watermelon! and cilantro, and collard and turnip greens. And berries, and bananas, apples and more.

 No, thats not a scene from a horror movie, its just watermelon lips on ewe.

 Here is a view of our 'produce' wagon while Don cuts the melons. Notice the waiting line behind him.

And then came the salad greens - cilantro.

Since then, we have lost track of how many hundreds of pounds of produce we have hauled home to the sheep. Last week it was potatoes. 1200 lbs of potatoes. Had to make 2 trips. They may not be in the form of fries, but it matters not. At 100 plus lbs/day, we still have some left.

I checked back in with the owner, to be sure they were aware and on board with the exchange. It's all good, for everyone. The crew doesnt need to haul everything back down the street. They don't have to pay to have it hauled away. It doesn't get put in the landfill. Its put to use - even if it's just sheep feed. And our pregnant ewes are getting an extra shot of nutrition.

Okay, so we have had a few days of grumbling. It does take time to empty all those berry containers, sort through the foul smelling bags of potatoes, and untie the bundles of greens and cilantro. The slimy cucumbers in shrink wrap were the worst for soaking through gloves and numbing fingers. Not to mention the loss of garage square footage to use as a walk in cooler. (an issue to be addressed before it warms too much).  But it seems to be worth it.

There is no predicting what or how much we will get. We just respond to 'the call'. But we do take notice when advised to 'bring a truck'.

And, for those of you may wonder, NO, even the food bank couldn't use this stuff. It's already been rejected once, maybe twice. But it does spark a little feeling of satisfaction that its one more item on our list of  'sustainable practices.'

So the next time you make some vegetable soup, you can raise a spoon,  think of Us, and say "Here's to Ewe".  Just don't use those rotten potatoes.

Its a new dawn.... Don...?

How embarrassing. I just missed an entire 3 months of blogging. So sorry readers.

Its not that nothing has been happening out here on the land. Quite the opposite. So if I may be permitted to claim and excuse for not keeping up, that would be it. Sometimes the actual living gets in the way of the documentation.

Nether have I not had intention. Nor ideas. Many posts have crossed my mind, and are tucked away in a brain crevasse, keeping company with the other 'could of's' and a number of 'should ofs'.

Some of the 'Could ofs' would include:

Breeding season ended on a positive note. The clean up ram didn't seem to find much to finish up. And now further verification of that by the observation that a number of the ewes are starting to bag up.

A very mild early winter was easy on the wood pile, but the lack of moisture in the warm temps was not so easy on the grass. Not to mention that the temporary fall pasture never got enough growth to graze.

After a good deal of frustration, the new automatic water-er got installed and in use before the hard freeze set in. The rams are sharing a tub with a heater, and the big bunch of ewes have the tank at the hydrant. No more draining hose every night. May not seem like much, but progress is progress.

The fall/Christmas season meant 3 art shows, classes at the Lux, and seasonal sales. Hmm. Maybe thats what I was doing.

Thanks to my daughters directive, I now have an inventory of yarn, wool, and needle felting supplies with the pleasant folks at 'Yarn Charm', a new yarn store in north Lincoln. Oh - and teaching classes there too.

Should 'ofs include:

The arrival of Maxwell Simon McClure on Oct 2.  (I can't believe I missed that one - I must have intended to make it a special one)  Our fourth grandchild, second grandson, and first male child to carry on the McClure name for the generation. Not to mention a happy boy who is a born charmer.

And now for the big one - Today is Don's last day at work.  Yup, he actually did it.  Really, I'm not sure either of us is fully prepared. The paperwork and questions are still in the works. There are actually several blogs worth of material involved. Like the frustrations of my finding health insurance. How do we handle the retirement account. The usual things. The sure one being- things are going to change.

The truth is, I feel like I'm 18 again. Or 21. Or about to welcome a member to the household.  - Oh. I guess I am. Its another stage of life. I have taken in 3 babies, watching them grow,  then releasing them first off to school, then college. My house was full, and seldom silent until the last one left for good. And I confess to have easily grown to appreciate the time alone. Well, most of the time. For sometimes alone IS lonely. That was 11 years ago. Now, starting tomorrow, there will be another human in the house. That seems strange.......Exciting!.....comforting.......scary.....   all at the same time.  But this is a farm. Things change. Seasons come and go.  Spring will soon be here, the season when all awakes to  the call to grow. And, in order to grow, all things must change.

The shepherd is coming home. Just in time for shearing - a preparation of spring and the new crop of lambs which will soon begin to appear. 

I don't think either of us (heh- 'US') see any endings here. Only beginnings. Of what, we're not quite certain yet. Time will tell. The seeds of opportunity are already being sown. With the ground still frozen, it may be a while before we recognize which ones have taken root.

The sunrise this morning was spectacular.  I watched with hot coffee and cold feet as the first light emerged on the eastern horizon. A line of dark gray clouds reached up from the south, as if trying to veil the thin yellow glow. But the pink prevailed. It's power penetrated the gray and in moments only a pale orchid softness remained.  I took it as a sign, and despite the temperature outside and in, I felt strangely warmed.

Its a new day.  Bring on the Don.

And, I'll try to do better with the blog.

And then.......

So it's now late October. The golden sun and leaves of my last post are gone. Literally - in the 50 mph wind we had last week. But other colors paint the landscape.

We cleared off the garden. Then we cleaned out the garage. The last of the green was gone from the creek, and the garden as well. The ewes relished the last seasonal treats of the immature squash and gourds. The broccoli plants were crunched with great enthusiasm, and the red and green tomatoes eagerly gobbled. We sighed a bit, and unwrapped yet another of the precious few bales.

And then...... it rained.

With a soft distant rumble of thunder, it began with a gentle patter on the window. It continued for much of the morning, each drop disappearing as soon as it hit the ground. It didn't seem like much, so I was surprised when the telltale sign of the glistening puddle appeared at the end of the drive - had it really reached the half inch mark?  Yes, indeed.

By then, the faint rhythmic pulse of the rain was accompaniment to the chorus of the green. If you listened carefully, you could almost hear the turnips singing. Maybe it was just my imagination, but  I think the trees were humming along.

To witness and be moved by such a simple act of nature is a wonder-ous and humbling thing. It brought back memories. Of my Dad, leaning against the frame of the porch screen door, watching the water pouring out of the bent downspout, covering  the lawn in a miniature flood plain, his face almost aglow in a grin. My mother's retelling of a neighbors claim "'Makes me want to break out a chorus of the Doxology when it rains like this', according to  Edith Stone". Was that the refrain I heard?

The 3/4 in we got that day was welcome beyond words. And there were still showers predicted that night. Sleep came easily for the first time in weeks. Brief pelting of drops off and on during the night were but more music to my ears.

The ground seemed unusually wet the next morning when I fetched Dolly from the kennel. Even a hint of mud. But it wasn't until later that day I understood why. "Did you empty the gauge last night?" I asked when Don came home. He went out  to check it, neither of us not sure if we could believe it. An inch .6 total.

And it didn't stop then. Again, today, it rained. Another inch. We can't explain why we continue to get considerably more than our neighbors (well, except in Omaha). Not going to question it.

So the ewes got a few days grazing on the last grass on the west fork. The mixed greens patch is fluffing up, but still not enough to graze. If the weather holds up, and its above normal temps as predicted, there may be some greens of a different sort come Christmas.

Meanwhile, the days pass by, and the usual seasonal activity with them. The girls were sorted by  familial groups, and the bucks turned out. New lambs will be the next crop hoped for. The cycles and circles of life spiral on. I noticed the other day, that the colors of the landscape had shifted. Before, the trees provided a backdrop of dry green over the tanning of the grass. Today, the gray-brown bare branches reach up from pools of green. The world once more has been turned up-side-down. Or has it been righted by rain? It matters not, I suppose.

Oh - it rained all right. But the drought is far from over. There will be many nights spent pondering copeing methods of dry, hopeful minds  emotionally enlightened and physically warmed by the orange glow of a friendly fire. There's one burning now.

And I hear it calling. Or maybe its speaking softly to the still alive trees outside, joining them in the soft melody of an ancient song. I think I'll join them. I'm sorry you can't hear us via blog. I'm humming the old hymn along with them.  It goes "Praise God, from whom all blessings flow, Praise Him all creatures here below."

Rambling on the Island of Dry

So here we are. October is nearly half over, and the seasons have quietly shifted. The trees, stressed for much of the summer, were graying with age as the leaves dried out. So I couldn't help but be startled by the bright yellow glow on the ash tree outside the bathroom window.

I have been distracted, to be sure, these last few weeks. But not sorry. It's mostly been good. A Sunday afternoon art show, complete with modest sales and mystified lookers. Educational, both ways. I enjoy answering the questions (you have sheep!), and talking with the crowd gives me insight to the perspective of the non sheepish. And of course there is always much work to be done. Fencing and feed, fleece and seed.

I'm done with summer. The thin ice on the tank was almost welcome. A friendly fire for the evening and a warm wool blanket for the bed at night still comfort a modern shepherd. But, alas, something is still missing - the gently patter of rain.

Thats right. We are still stuck here in an island of dry. Oh, its rained all right.  Rained to the north. Showers to the South. Even a decent amount to the East, which only adds to a farmers frustrations. It would seem that our urban neighbors still just don't get it. An inch of rain on their lawns, and they believe hard times are over. Ha.  Maybe next year, when they got to the store, they will remember the warnings. But probably not.  Uh-oh, I'm already starting to sound a little cynical, and I really don't want to. Whining is still a waist of time and effort, and none of us have any to spare. After all, things will get better. It will rain again. Somewhere. Meanwhile, I finally broke down and watered the lawn, hoping for a brief return of green relief to ensure its survival of winter.

I suppose I was in a sort of mood like this when I went for a walk the other night. The leaves were in the first yellow blaze, and the sun was already beginning its set when I grabbed my camera and set out the back lane for the meadow.... pasture.... creek.   Gosh, I'm still not sure what to call it. The Grass, maybe.

Dolly, of course, was close behind... out front... all over. She clearly loves having more room to roam. Come, walk with us.

                                       The sun was setting on the trees along the lane to the north.

                         The leaves hung limply in the still evening air, turning golden like ripening fruit.

 The shadows had already reached the trees by the time I approached the far hill. Too late for good pictures, but beautiful and refreshing all the same. I watched the darkness creep across the field, and noticed the darker green line in the grass. Don noticed it the next day, while we worked on the fence. "Why is the grass taller there, and there".... he pointed to along the tree line. I gave my answer, having pondered before. "It's the shade line. Morning..... afternoon..."  The difference was profound.

 The chill was noticeable, and with the light fading fast, I started back. I passed a milk weed just opening its pod. Frail fluffy white beauty in the moment, to be hated next spring.

 Golden green and orange brown drifts of leaves were collecting in the safe harbor of the gully under the cottonwood tree.  And then, if my soul had not yet been refreshed enough, I found this....

 It was weeks ago that we planted the fall pasture. Seeds of rye and rape and radish and turnip scattered into dust. The forecast of rain was forgone, and dust it remained. And yet, it grew. And weeks later, though it should have been thigh high and grazed short again by now, the tiny seedlings remain. The tenacity and resilience of nature continues to inspire me.

 I passed by the lambs, just to say, "Good evening".

With the summer we've had, the fall color may be short lived. But for now, at least it makes for pleasant,  peaceful chores.


Thanks for coming with me. I feel better again. The stress of coping with the drought has more than me a little short on patience and enthusiasm. I just keep reminding myself of those tiny little sprouts soaking up dew and waiting. Waiting for more.  While I, on the other hand, already have much.  Much more, this week.

Namely, little Maxwell Simon McClure, who joined the family on Oct. 2. A healthy little potential helper at 9 lb 12 oz, our 4th grandchild, and the first male of the generation born to carry the McClure family name.

So at least we are not alone on the isle of dry. And the wool and the radishes comfort me. I will wait a little longer for the rain. While I watch the oak trees take their turn with color. Already the ashes have dropped their leaves into pools of yellow at their feet.

Enough words for today. There is a fire glowing in the stove, its warmth softly calling. And a forecast with mention of rain come weekend. Only chances, but I will wait.

I'll believe it when I hear it. On the roof.

Leaves of green and the frugal (desperate) shepherd.

Vines of good intention still bear no fruit.


I can say that.  At the moment it's directed at politicians and those who so easily join their ill-informed chants and rants, (which I'm tempted to comment on, but I can only handle so much...) but it's not really judgmental, since I am just as guilty.  I have intended to blog several times, as things have been happening, but other things keep distracting me. I think I'm safe in blaming it on the heat.  Or because my brain is dehydrated. 

Although..... it did finally rain. We felt exceptionally blessed to get 1.3 in one damp Saturday.  Felt even better on Sunday  when we compared gauges with some neighbors, and found most got less.  And, even 10 days later, the thin layer of wet long gone, the effects are readily seen.  I'll get to that later.  First - a picture story of how a frugal shepherd deals with the drought.

Anything green here is getting hard to find. That includes feed for the sheep.  The creek patches have been picked clean, even the trees within 4 ft. of the ground. So we resorted to a trick from Brother Tim up at Camp Eat-a-lot-o-greens.  If the ewes can't reach the leaves on the trees, you reach for the chain saw. And the result-

                                       A truck load of greens.  Actually, 2 truck loads.  From where?

                          All those pesky volunteers in the fence line.  Been intending to cut them for years.

         So we hauled them into the lot, and decided while we were at it, we'd do a little taste test with the girls.  Tree branches( a variety of oak, elm, mulberry, and ash)  or corn. (very expensive corn, but they're worth it)

                                   And - they're off - looks like 50 -50 at first.....

                                  Or maybe not..... there's more coming for the corn....

                 And it's a clear choice.  Gold over green.  But the branches were stripped bare a  half  hour later.


As reported in a previous blog, the decision was made to cut the new grass to both remove the weeds and salvage as much hay as we could. We weren't sorry.

Weeks and a little rain later, I am amazed once more at the tenacity of grass. The mowing was almost painful for all of us, but short lived.  Within a few days, the field was showing green once more. New blades were cutting their way up through the tan stubble.

And the hay?  Well, there wasn't much. But the ewes are tearing through it.  Which led to the next problem.  There wasn't any to be found.

We called all the neighbors, but they had none. Some were concerned that they didn't have enough themselves. The price was going up almost daily.

So, in desperation, I went back to Craigs's list.
It wasn't pretty.  Obvious scams were going on. There was some hay out there, but the picking were slim. A couple promising leads, but it was already sold.
I started checking multiple site listings every couple hours. And after a few days of that, it wasn't much fun any more. Then, one last check for the night, and I found something - posted 30 minutes ago. It was late, but they got a call anyway. Arrangements were made to go look at it the next morning.  Finally, some better luck.

It wasn't exactly what we were hoping for, but it looked and smelled ok. And if delivered and affordable, the girls will just have to learn to like it. With a hefty check as deposit, we both have slept better since.

With a good start to the week, we hope the rain will fall along with the temperature by the weekend.  The 3.9 grand kids  will be here on Sunday.  Little feet will be trampling those tiny blades of green barely visible in the gray-brown lawn. Not worried about the grass though.

They say that stress of a dry spell makes the roots go deeper still.   Maybe that's what I've been feeling. My farm roots go deep alright.

Chance of showers tonight.  Hope some pass your way.

Listen closely

I woke suddenly this morning. The birds were already heralding the dawn. Don groaned briefly, and bolted out of bed. It was already after 5:00. That in itself was unusual, as was the short conversation that followed; options for getting rid of some of the abundance of cherry tomatoes left over from yesterdays market.  As he softly tread downstairs, I rolled over, and wondered what had woke me. And it hit me again - the breeze from the open north window beside me. I was COLD!  It was refreshing, to be sure, but I pulled up the blanket anyway, enjoying its comfort at long last. Oh blanket, how I have missed you.

It didn't last long. Not able to sleep any longer, I got up. The coolness had stirred brain cells gone dormant with the heat. While the coffee brewed, I flung open the windows. My cup was especially good this morning, with feet carefully tucked behind the couch cushion, with the only breaking of silence bird song. I love September mornings........  brrrrrrrrrpt. - wait a minute.... but its still early August! 

I've always been a believer that animals talk to us. Nonverbal language perhaps, but effective enough communication for a few wise enough to take time and care enough to listen. My favorite book from early childhood? "Charlotte's Web", but of course.

Many I've talked with recently have noticed the signs. The 'old wives tales' and Indian lore that supposedly fortels the coming seasons. I first noticed the morning fogs of May. Others have heard them too. The cicadas too early in June. Both indications of frost, and coinciding in early or mid September.

Still in the midst of unusual heat and drought of the summer, its hard to grasp. Until you look at the crops. And hear the talk of silage and early harvest. And there was the brome that headed out in early June, as if it knew the rains would soon cease. Maybe the earth has been whispering all the while.

"Hind sight is always 2020" the  old saying goes. But also "Mother Nature  always knows". Most had poor lamb crops this spring, the Ewes and Us included. The mild winter was blamed. Or did the flock know the grass would be short by the time the lambs were grown; that this was not a year more mouths would be as welcome.

I made good progress in the coolness this morning. Out door to-do's finally got done. And the forecast is even encouraging.  Maybe. Lows tomorrow in the 50's! More September mornings. Hmmm.

Outside chore list nearing the end, I finally went to tackle the kitchen. While washing the pile of pans from yesterdays baking, I noticed it. Back again. The pesky spiders have invaded. The webs brushed aside are replaced in hours.  They do this every fall. ....... it's as if it were September.  Charlotte speaks to us in a webby whisper....

Is anybody out there listening?