Calendar commands it.

I decided earlier today to forgo the pictures I previously planned to post, and include this happy Gal instead. a recent creation, I have grown rather fond of. One of those things I feel compelled to do without any planned use for; no real reason for 'being', yet here she be. She is know by the title of "Knit 'in Pearl". Guess I'm one of those old people still playing with dolls, or one so hard up they have to literally 'make their own friends.

This has always been one of my favorite days. Not a holiday, although it is my favorite (only)son-in-laws birthday - Happy Birthday Chris. It's not that likely to be noted for the weather (cloudy and cold wind today), any historical event (yet, anyway), or any other particular reason. I think i noticed that it was a commanding day when I was in about third grade. Probably part of a joke or something, and I just liked how it sounded - March forth! Very authoritarian. Matter of fact, not to be argued with. Not at all like later dates, like May, (rather questionable), or July, that makes you think of hot days, and lying around, but direct. And, as the years have past, I have come to think we should pay more attention to it.

After all, Spring is a mere 17 days away. We could have the first lamb in 15. What better sign than a new season is about to begin. And there is nothing more promising than spring. The days are already noticeably longer. A few reports have sprung up from the aware (or just anxious) that the crocus are about to emerge. And as fast as the days and weeks fall away, bigger and brighter blooms will soon follow.

So, it is fitting, I think, that we pause for a moment on this day, gather up our winter worn loins and take a symbolic step into a new growing season. I for one, have intentions of tilling and planting and tending new growth in several areas of my life. Some are given - like another grandchild, mileposts for the others. But some are more personal, just for me. I won't even name them, because that would make them more like resolutions, and those are for another time. And, growth is not always outward and seen. I hope I can summon up the persistence and energy it will take. At least I will try.

So I will go now, a scoff at the wind, and build a fire. And stare into the orange red glow of the embers as the daylight fades. And follow the un-intended command of the day, of March 4th.

Shear Delight

Last weekend was shearing day. I actually have a number of pictures, but blogger is not cooperating today. I have found it very frustrating that I cannot post and add pictures where I want them. The result is that I have to write the post backwards, so I can get the pictures by the text where I want them. If anyone knows a better way, I wish they would tell me. I know I am tech challenged, but I also know others who have done the same thing. Oh well, I guess words will have to do for now.

I have been attempting - not terribly successfully - to catch up on business and personal stuff the last couple weeks since I canceled my paint job. The big ladder tried to make an escape on my last job. I caught it, but in the process pulled something in my shoulder, and despite home therapy, its still not right. I'm taking that to be a sign I am supposed to be working at home. Only problem is for every thing I get done, I think of 2 or 3 new things to do. And that covers products as well as chores. I hope the notes will keep me on track while I do the things that need doing now.

Nope. Still won't let me add a picture.

Shearing was good this year. Nice clean fleece. some colored ones from the yearlings. Lovely long staple locks from the Coopworth. I dutifully ignored the comments from the shearing floor. I have learned over thee years that its therapeutic for the shearer. Ranting about the ewes genealogy seems to have an analgesic effect on the sore spots. The severity of the words used is directly proportional to the kicking and threshing of the ewe. Plus the occasional bite. And, this year there were words directed to the borrowed equipment (breakdown of our own) when it would occasionally shut itself off by wrapping the cord around the shaft. I'm not sure who was to blame for that set up, and I didn't ask. But overall it was a rather non-eventful harvest, which is good.

I got a good picture of an example of how much difference a cover makes on the fleece. This one must have been pretty clean when we put them on, because there wasn't even any dirt. Marketing would be so much easier if they were all like this. Especially for the colored ones.


We emptied the shelves of last years fleeces we didn't want to keep. Mostly the uncovered ones. Those we bagged for the commercial market. Lucky Alex will be getting some nice wool.

So another season is under way. Next step will be to set up the barn before the little ones arrive. Which, according to custom is March 19. Even if they are not due by math calculations until the 23rd. We'll see if they do it again this year.

Maybe the other pictures will get posted next time. For now, its in the bag.

Signs of ......

Over the last few days, the snow has receded. The cat has taken to night runs across the floor in pursuit of unseen prey, and a couple times has considered going out. Dolly has spent more time out than in, choosing sunshine on the driveway over the bark-o-lounger. All sure signs that winter is waning.

Braydon is a year old, and I a year older. His birthday was significant, mine not so much. Yet both of us continue on the adventure of life learning. I hope he is enjoying our shared time as much as I am, and is gaining as much. I don't think it will be long until Aurora will be ready to be let in on the secret, and then one day the new one. I never really knew a Grandmother, so I hope I'm doing it right.

So many things to do and take care of this time of year. Lots of clean up work to be sure, but its of the more rewarding kind. Its the making ready for the new. Don's preferred reading material are the seed catalogs. The last dyeing day results were decidedly hues of the coming spring, but by unconscious choice. And Saturday is on the calendar as the turning point of spring - shearing day.

As usual, the first real thaw came a week too early, and the muddy lots make me cringe, but I console myself with the knowledge that the covers at least will ensure that at least some of the wool will be clean. Most likely more than I can use or even sell. But then, you never know. I am excited to see the first colored fleeces from the yearlings. I wonder how many chocolate colored things I can think of to make.

The quilt is Braydons. I waited until I could make something especially to suit him. He loves his friends on the farm, and now he can have them with him all the time. Happy Birthday big boy Braydon.

21 days

Well, good intentions don't always turn out so well. I have blogged many times over the past 21 days, but only in my head. While lying in bed, trying to go back to sleep. I guess my age has caught up with me, and I have had sleep issues that have gotten much worse lately. I have often considered just getting up and doing something, but darn - its COLD at 2:00.

So while I'm procrastinating a walk to the mailbox (I did get my sales tax form done yesterday) I'll add a quick post. It's snowing, and about 9 degrees.

One of the big events recently was Dolly making it into the 'Happy Tails' book - 'Lost Souls: Found'. It turned out well. She got a prime placement right in the middle of the book. I opened it to her page the first time I picked it up. The other dogs stories are sweet, some poignant, some sad. Of course I'm as biased as a parent would be, but I am proud of the fact that Dolly's story is real. That she is at home in both place and role - as a dog. While she continues to root her cold wet nose into our hearts, and is securely established as a member of the family, she remains -by her preference - to be a dog. She prefers to lie on the little hill by the garage watching over her domain -when the weather allows - over any housebound activity. Her favorite time of day is chore time. And, the barn cats, squirrels, and birds are fun, but the sheep are still what holds her eye. And thats the way it should be.

Dolly is restless again this morning. The cold and snow has shortened her ventures outside. So instead, she is pacing the floor and wanting me to play, bringing her toys to lay at my feet and crunching her water bottle, while watching the squirrel outside the sun room window.

I should follow her example, and be just a little bit more like a Border Collie. And go do SOMETHING.

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.