Showers welcome

It's spring planting time. So with new acres, we got in line, and managed to get the no-till planter to plant grass and temporary pasture. Don was already home on 'lambing vacation', and the weather was good, so there was a whole lot of seeding going on.

By planting into the corn stalks, the soil surface was undisturbed, and the stalks act as mulch. Just because we aren't organic, doesn't mean we don't aim to be sustainable.



I got to be the 'seed tender'. (Which means I drove the truck to the field).

After a good deal of research, we selected a mix of grasses and legumes for a well rounded pasture that can be hayed or grazed depending on the growth and season.

We couldn't help but note that there is very little information about sheep. Everything is based on cattle or horse forage needs and preferences. But I guess we expected that.



It may have been March 27th, but it was 80 degrees and sunny. Plums in full bloom, and the trees showing a hint of green.

In this patch, we sowed oats for temporary pasture. And then began the wait for rain.

The first chances didn't happen. Only a sprinkle.

The round green spots of the legumes began to show. Then the faint hair thin blades of grass began to emerge. Germination was good, but the hot dry days were making us nervous.


But maybe today, the spell is breaking. Only a nice shower so far, but anything is welcome, and the chance for rain is on the board for 3 more days. I think maybe this is why farmers turn gray.

Meanwhile, back at the barn, the lambs continue. The first run of twins ended abruptly, and mostly singles has become the norm.

I'm impressed every year by how the color markings on the lambs so closely resemble those on horses. This is 'Blaze'. At least for the time being.

As the next generation of lambs emerge, its always a surprise. This year is no exception. With the addition of a new bloodline into the flock this year, we thought we had the basic genetic pattern figured out. Wrong. Of course a black lamb born to a white mother is not new. In fact, it has happened about 50 % of the time if the sire is black. So we had thought it was a simple recessive gene at work, even though we have been told it is not. Some times the 'book' is right. This year, we have had black lambs that should have been white, and white ones that should have been black - 2 black parents. Ah, well, that's farm life.

More rain, please.

Happy grazing to ya.

Teacher day

Spring brings the new lambs, which in turn bring visitors to the farm. Yesterday a flock of them came. Allyn and Braydon, and a group of her fellow teachers and their kids came for an outing.

Of course, the newborn lambs were a big hit. There is no age limit on the grins and soft 'ahhhs' produced by a baby lamb.








Of course, when the crowd is here, (especially when they are teachers) the educational process doesn't stop in the barn.

The group got a brief wooly experience too.






Followed by mandatory hand washing before a picnic lunch.





















Which was followed by an Easter Egg hunt in the back yard. Already 85 degrees, fresh mowed grass, and apple trees, spirea, and phlox in full bloom on March 30. Appropriate, yes. Unusual, definitely. A little unsettling actually. No one knows what the season to come will bring.








Everyone had a great time. Especially the Coopworth ewe, who was successful in begging for tidbits of countless small handfuls of fresh plucked grass.

Later in the afternoon, I had 3 teachers from Bellevue come looking for some wool to use in a science project. Of course they had to have the lamb tour too - since they were here.


The lambs continue to arrive. There were 2 more new pens this morning that Don picked up early. The barn is now at capacity, as I penned a set of twins and a single by 10:00. If there is more, I may have to leave them be, or put them in the alley if I have to. Don will be moving some out, even though its a little soon.





Later today I'll be off to Grand Island to the closing reception of the art show, and to bring home the cranes - unless they are sold. Company would have been nice, but Don is at work, and someone needs to be home to pick up lambs. Everyone else is otherwise occupied. But thats okay. Some alone time to think is never wasted on me. There is always another project to be thought out.

And a Happy April Fools.

Season to grow

I have to admit I have held myself back, purposely not blogging for the last few weeks. There was big things happening, and I didn't want to jinx it. And of course, big things never happen on time. But with the first day of Spring, it finally happened. Ewe And Us just got 4 times bigger!

We have always had in mind that some day we would like to own more ground. Especially that to the north of us, where our well is. And now we do. An additional 17.2 acres brings our 'holdings' to 22.2, making us a 'real' farm (by zoning standards) for the first time. But more on that in a moment. Meanwhile, the flock has begun its seasonal growth in numbers.


They started last Friday. 4 sets of twins in a row, (and some of them black ewe lambs). Then 2 singles. The Coopworth gave us a very nice ewe lamb. I was very impressed with her full sisters fleeces (yeah, we sheared, and I missed blogging it), and welcome another into the flock.

Monday morning I had some errands in town. I checked the ewes before I left, and the two sets of twins born that morning were doing well. I returned just 2 hours later, and took the groceries in the house, checked the messages (someone had called about wanting bottle lambs), and thought about lunch, but had a sudden feeling that I needed to check the ewes first. Nothing was happening outside. I took a quick look at the new twins again, who were up and nursing. The ewes had gotten up and filed out the door. All but one. My heart sank. The remaining ewe was scrunched in a heap, and a VERY large glistening black pool behind her on the straw. We lost a nice black ewe lamb last year when the amniotic sac still covered her nose, and I feared the same fate for this lamb. My maternal instinct kicked in. Gentle prodding produced to response, but it was warm. I quickly cleared her nose, and thumped her side. There was a heartbeat, so I continued to thump and squeeze her ribs and rub her side. Finally, she took a breath. And as I continued to rough her up, I swear she looked up at me and smiled. The ewe was weak, her hind quarters trembling. I pulled the lamb, which I now knew was a ewe, over to where she could lick her off, and mother and daughter began the bonding.

I checked on them several times, as the ewe was still having trouble standing (Large lambs sometimes pinch nerves) but they both continued to improve.

Here is the little 'Whopper' later in the day.


The lambs just keep coming, as they should. we have had more twins, many black, and one more single. So far, even though the singles have been large, we haven't had problems like many have reported this year. Supposedly the mild winter has resulted in larger lambs this year.


So the older lambs have already been put out together in their family groups.

Now, back to the bigger addition, where our thoughts and dreams are beginning to manifest.

The flock numbers have been increasing over the last year. Feed cost has been a concern, but now the girls should have little to fear.

Plans are already coming together.

The machine shed in the top picture is soon to become a shed for ewes and lambs.

The foreground will be temporary pasture for early summer. The hill to the northwest will be planted to a grass and legume mix for hay and grazing.

We only had 3 acres of pasture. An additional 17 means a lot of potential.









We also squared off the building site on the west side, so the bucks will have an additional paddock as soon as it gets fenced.

The line runs from the pink stake to just right of the little white grain bin.








Okay, so we realize we just bought ourselves work for the rest of our lives. Much of the ground is cut through by creek, both running and dry. Fifty years or so of neglect means down trees everywhere. At least we won't have to go to the neighbors for wood to burn next winter.

Other plans are already in motion too. The garden plot will double in size, and with it produce for the Farmers Market, including corn for the first time. The potatoes, onions, peas and more are already in the old plot, and the new ground has been plowed in time to soak up the gentle rain falling today.

It will take some time, but the vision is clear. Our intentions are becoming reality. I am already spending more time at home with the wool business, and Don hopes to retire next year. Our new/old careers already await.

I found this tree clinging to the creek bank, and I identify. Graphic image of how I have been feeling the last few weeks. But now its time to move on. I am consoled by the knowledge that this is not a recent development; this half naked rooting. Most likely the tree is merely growing where it was planted. Notice that the roots turn into the bank as they have grown, not exposed at all. In a precarious position for life to be sure. But then, aren't we all. But our roots run deep.

Stay tuned for more spring news to come.

Success and Epiphany

So the new year is off to a roaring start. So much is happening all at the same time, I have given up trying to stay ahead - I'll settle for barely keeping up.

My first success of the year is the Wings Over the Platte Art show at Stuhr Museum. I entered 2 pieces, and they both won 'Merit Awards' in their respective categories. This is a needle felted picture on hand dyed wool fabric. It was quite impressive in the gallery with the lighting - although a bit deceiving, as it looked like it was back lit. (Pardon the picture, my mate was kind of in a hurry to get the picture, as we thought the batteries were dying in the camera).



This is the 3-D piece - a 12" sculpture of Sandhill cranes.

The opening reception was fun also - chocolate fountain, flvored hot chocolate, and cousin Carla too.

That over, I'm now back at work. Three paint jobs lined up. Income taxes waiting for Kansas papers to arrive. Classes for girl scouts and 4-Hers lined up for March. One special order filled, another on the slate.

Meanwhile, in the sheep fold, Don is hoping to start shearing tomorrow. That is, if they are dry. The recent snow, mud, and more rain has made us postpone a couple of days already. Time to get with it, as lambing is fast approaching. Of course I'm anxious to get a look at this years larger crop of covered fleeces and get some on the market.

So today I finished up a special order for 12 pairs of sock yarns. Customer specified what color combinations she wanted, and I had no qualms about being about to produce them. So yesterday, while I began the first round, I was a little surprised to realize I was unusually irritated with the process I normally find much pleasure in. On the third batch, I stood there in the shop with turkey baster in purple gloved hands, and had an epiphany. I am an artist - not a chemist!

I realized that the tedious process of keeping 'recipies' of the dyes I was using, trying to keep careful records of it all so I could 'match' it again if desired, was pushing all my buttons. The wrong ones. I realized it had to be the artist in me. If I am not free to 'paint' as I choose, and feel in the moment, its just no fun. And call me selfish if you like, but I have worked too long not to claim my fought for freedom of expression. I shall not be held captive by a color code!

Life is too short not to live it vibrantly. Paint your own reality. Gray is the color of fog. I prefer to surround myself with the colors of life. Saint Teresa of Avila had it right. Let me live green.

And green life soon will be again. The receding snow on brown grass is already showing hints of green. The other day, I heard birds sing. And even by the calendar, Spring is only a few weeks away.

But first, we must shear sheep. And I will live to dye again.

January - Where did it go?

So its January 29, 2012. But you would never know it here. It's a little hard to comprehend on several levels.

The most obvious would be the weather. It's been crazy here in the midwest. Today its supposed to top out in the 40's. The talk is about January thaws, and whether the lack of snow is indication of the drought moving northward in the coming year. For me its a little unsettling. Not because its extreme - I've seen it like this before. And while it could be a harbinger of global warming, my more immediate fear is that winter will get real about 2 weeks from now. That after our bodies have almost adjusted to average winter temperatures of a more southern state, one day we will wake up to a more normal winter clime. That day, indicated by past experience, would most likely be the annual chosen day to shear.

No, I'm not wringing hands over the potential shivers from the newly naked flock. They have managed fine before, and with a roof overhead and a bed of straw below, will so again. No, it's me. I long ago accepted the fact that the stars align along with the jet stream, the highs and lows of atmospheric pressure, Don's work schedule, and whatever other factors may enter in, and the coldest day of the year will fall along with the mercury on shearing day.

There is cold, and then there is barn cold. That same cutting cold of an unoccupied house, that feels colder than it really is. The kind of cold that numbs toes and fingers despite the added insulating layers - wool of course. Of course, the shearer soon sheds his outerwear, and offers no consolation to one who appears to be merely standing by. Which of course, I am not. For with the toss of the first fleece onto the sorting table, there is skirting and weighing and tagging and bagging. But none of that warms toes. Although, I learned years ago of the magical feeling of thrusting icy cold fingers into a freshly sheared fleece still warm and alive. It may be a part of the true appreciation for wool. An experience I still look forward to, as it serves as a reminder of another of the essential links in this cycle we call the shepherds life.

So regardless of the weather, the shearing will take place. Hopefully (for me) a little slower this year. With so many more wooly bodies, there will likely be more than one shearing day. Several perhaps, for the sake of both shearer and skirter. Sorting later on the garage floor is not any more fun.

Other seasonal subjects have been in discussion. The seed catalogs have arrived. Plots of melons and sweet corn already dance in our heads. And there is talk of new fields for all.

And as a personal achievement, I finished little Harper's nursery quilt. In keeping with the meadow theme of the nursery, (see previous blog for pictures) the back of the quilt is 'strip farmed'. See above picure - they are not cooperating today.



Another bird showed up at Christmas. Attached to a slinky, if you pull the cord it 'flies'!












And the quilt top. A variation of an uneven block pattern, I named it "Harper's Field."

So now its almost February. And the calendar is already filling. Conventions and presentation, art projects to finish (and start), planning and hopes for a productive year ahead.

I'll get at that. And try to keep you posted as it develops.

And of course, we will be shearing, regardless the weather.

Braydon visits the farm, and another year begins

So Christmas has come and gone. Without a lot of fuss around here. Since it was an 'inlaw' year, Christmas day was pretty quiet. Don at work, Dolly and Stalky and I hung out, enjoying the wonders of real Christmas music via Pandora, enjoying the fire and twinkly lights. Not bad, all in all. But we did venture off for supper with the Fujans, where I recieved the unwanted gift of the Christmas virus.

Fortunately, it didn't kick in for a few days. Because Braydon came for a visit. 48 hours of boy toddler. No time for sneezing. Since the weather was so nice, we got to spend some time outside. Braydon is finally old enough to do some serious exploring.

Of course we had to help with chores. Braydon directed the munching ewes with his new found toy.
















The only snow left was a heap from the driveway clearing.

"Silly Dolly Dog," you could almost hear him mutter. "Daddy told me you don't eat snow."


The drifts of leaves were great fun though, because they rustle when you walk.









Braydon is learning new words every day. Being a boy on the farm, this one came easily.


"Stick!" he proclaimed without prompting. Then proceeded to 'write' in the dirt.










And discovered it makes a happy clattering sound when you beat it against the panels.

















"What da ya mean, Grandma don't allow no sticks in the house?'














And while 'helping' Grandpa do chores, they stopped for a 'ride' on the old gray tractor. "Tractor' was also a new word. And possibly how 'Grandpa Tractor' got a new name.












After the 'ride' Braydon and Grandpa had a serious discussion of safety on the farm, and the high price of tires.

2 nights and 2 days, Cinnamon apple pancakes, books read, and much fun. Old toys played with by other little boys long ago were dusted off and drove once more. And the old Fisher Price doll house garage door goes up and down, up and down, and the front door bell still rings.

Then when the allotted time ran out, Grandma Fujan came for Braydon. It was their turn for a couple days of Braydon fun.

And the next day, the Virus took hold. And held through New Years, which was really Christmas. By then, I was really stuffed up and confused. But it was a good time with the kids and grandkids all home for supper at the farm.

So its now Jan, and we are well off the blocks in another year. Many exciting new plans are already beginning to unfold. There will soon be sheep to shear, and lambs to be born. Here's hoping for a truly Happy New Year for all.

Happy New Year Everyone.

Oh. And I am grateful to Dr. M, who gave me antibiotics even if I didn't have strep throat. I'm feeling much better now.

December 21. At last. Again

Its December 21st. The ancient holiday celebration that signals both end and beginning. The winter solstice.

I have long contemplated the fact that nearly every religion, culture, and people have a designated holiday near this time. The timeless need of humankind for a symbol of hope in the midst of darkness.

The end is near. (this is a short post.)

Think about it. And then, whatever your choice, celebrate. Whether the Festival of Lights, walk a labyrinth lighted with candles, or gathered with family in awe of the new born Christ child, give thanks.

Tomorrow the sun will rise once more, and the light will begin its increase once more.

The adventure begins again. Live it well.