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.

Yes! We are yet still Alive!

Too long. Too long I have waited. Waited for the time when I had just a little more time. But it did not come. And I did not blog.

But time did come. And it passed me by. The hours, and days and weeks slid quietly by, and now a year is ending. But not that I haven't noticed. Just because I did not blog did not mean I was doing nothing.

In the weeks since I last posted, much has taken place.

In November a table of needle'ers each poked out a picture of a snowman of choice. What excellent students they were.

Rhetts 35th birthday marked 11-11-11. It was an event. But the young and old left before the real fun began and the cops showed up. Who would have guessed a neighbor would object to fun on the deck in Nov. Around 11 they said.

The Thanksgiving table was full of food and family. This year there were 3 small faces to join the circle. Much eating and feeding and napping and play. And it will only get better.

The Artitudes show came and went. Snowed out the last day again this year. Sales for me were acceptable, nothing more. Something needs to change. But I'm not in charge.

The first significant snow covered the ground, and we enjoyed the fresh white beauty. Then we shoveled the walks, and plowed the driveway. And got the grain wagon stuck in the snow because of a blowout. But we borrowed a spare, and all was well.

6 lovely ladies spent a Sunday afternoon dyeing scarves. We banded and tied, dribbled and dropped, felted a bit and microwaved. A good time was had by all, and each left with a grin and a wooly warm colorful scarf.

The not-keeping ewe lambs went to their new home in Iowa. The leased buck returned home. The rams returned to their own pen to themselves. Hopefully there will be little feet hit the ground in a few months. Should be lots of them this year.

In the meantime, thoughts have been turning to the bags of wool still on the shelf, and the hope of more to soon come. Time for a clearance sale!

And the ewes are ready for the coming cold winter. These in their sporty camouflage suits to keep their lovely white wool fresh and clean. Our first year of both black and white fleeces that are nearly veggie free. Can hardly wait.


So whats with the tomatoes? Well, better late than never. I took these pics back in Oct, with the intention of a report on our experiment with heirloom tomatoes. And after all that waiting (all summer) I'm not about to let a good picture go to waste.

Don found some plants left over at the end of the planting season, so we decided to give them a try. Here are the results: strictly our opinion.

they are, from top left clockwise: Boxcar Willie, Cherokee purple, Wisconsin 55, and Caspian Pink. Production may have not been a reliable test, as they were rather shaded, and they did get a very late start.

We did a taste test. I love tomatoes. Don avoids them, but is still looking for one he may like.

Boxcar Willie - rather large, ribbed fruit, much air in seed cavity (hollow). Taste unremarkable.

Cherokee Purple -medium round blackish fruit, meaty, with few seeds. Meaty is the operative word. Inside looks like rare cooked meat. Taste was bland to disgusting. The more you ate, the more disgusting it got. Possibly the texture that didn't help.

Wisconsin 55 - med/small round fruit, meaty with few developed seeds. Taste was pretty standard. Best production of the lot - there was more than 3.

Caspian pink - Yellow outside, with pinkish streaks inside. Pretty flesh. Few seeds. Little to no taste.

If you can't tell by now, we were not impressed. Quite similar to our past ventures with the heirlooms. There is likely a reason why they are no longer produced. Taste varies from the standards, but really, if it takes a 1/2 acre to grow enough to do anything with, whats the point. With the exception of the Wisconsin55, the plants averaged 3 fruits each. The Wisconsin at least had a good bucket full of potential little ones, which just didn't make it before frost. We may try those again, as they are short day, and possibly good for the early market if they get put out in time.

If I never see another black/purple tomato, that will suit me just fine.

Red and green. So the tomato talk is really still in season. But Christmas is but a few days away. It will pass without much notice here, as Don is working and the kids are all at the inlaws this year. But then Braydon will come for a stay. Followed by other seasonal visitors, and then the family will all be here for a Christmas/New Years combined.

The toys are retrieved and carefully cleaned. The sheets on beds and crib are freshly washed. The lights are on, and the fire is warm. All is calm, all is bright. Ready for a relaxing, quiet silent night.

Welcome Christmas, everyone.

All in a dogs day

The old saying goes 'Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning'. Not sure it holds true, but I still notice, and the sunrises have been spectacular.





About 10 minutes later. Still nice. But getting noticeably later every day.


In just a few days, the tide has turned. Rather, the trees. Last Sunday it was hot - 86 degrees. Which is REALLY hot for late October. We sweat our way through some garden cleanup work, and finally stopped before we were really done. While we discussed and cussed at the fabric mulch which refused to come up this year (something different WILL be tried next year), I remarked at the contrast of the trees - some already bare, and the oaks still bright green. Well, 4 days later, they are about half turned. Interesting how each tree is slightly different, but predictable in color each year. One yellow, a couple more orange, and one usually quite red. Genetic diversity is great.

With the cooler weather, and earlier darkness, Dolly has taken to asking to go to bed earlier also. But with that, her winter night rounds have resumed. Which gets her into trouble occasionally.

But first - the rat story. We knew we had a resident in the garage for several weeks. I noticed one day that there were potatoes being moved, and Dolly had taken to spending as much time as possible lying in front of the garage fridge, staring intently at some unknown occupant. Then one day I noticed a pile of potatoes and small sweet potatoes stacked in the crack beside the refrigerator and the counter. I declared war. I wasn't sure what it was, but it had to go. (At least I knew it wasn't a snake, because they don't move potatoes.)

We backed the van out,pulled out the fridge, and proceeded to dig the veggies out. There must have been 25 lbs. Really. And a good share were packed into the drip pan and around the motor. Rotten. Now we knew how he could survive in the garage with no water. It was bad. Really bad. Thank you Don. He could handle it - he works with hogs.

Once the food supply and hiding place was gone, the critter moved. To under the hood of the van. Once again, I declared he had to go. Dolly was wearing her teeth and nails down on the front tire. So one pleasent afternoon I slowly backed the van out of the garage, and quickly shut the door. Dolly said he was still under the van. She sat and watched, while we suited dressed some of the girls who were 'neked' again. About the time we finished, there was a scramble, firece growling, and a yelp. I ran to see. Good dog Dolly. She had the critter on the lawn held tightly under her paws, but it was clearly not going anywhere. Poor Dolly had blood running out of her nose, and was not pleased when I took the sleek, fat light brown rat away from her, wrapped it in plastic, and Don deposited it where she couldnt retive it again. So, we laughed, we now had a 'Rat terrier' as well as a sheep dog. Dolly still checks the garage every chance she gets, but no more rats. (Very glad her shots are up to date)

So, when she goes to the kennel at night, she makes a 'round of the barnyard, checking for any out of place life forms. Occasionally there is a scramble in the leaves, and some doggy mumbling. But one night, there was more.

She lit out from the house at full speed, and I knew something was up. by the time I got to the yard gate, she was barking and growling. But the slope by the drive, there arose such a chatter - actually more like screaming. They were out by the bales, in the darkest part of the yard of course, and there was no moon. The caterwauling and growls was not letting up. I ran back into the house, yelling for Don to come quick. No answer - but he had been at he back door when went out. I went further into the house yelling like a banshee, to which he finally murmured 'What? ' Like I do that sort of thing all the time. sheesh. Anyway, we grabbed flashlights, and ran out. I was a little alarmed when it was deathly quiet. Then I saw Dolly slinking past the garage, headed toward the house.

I called her into the house and light to check her out. She was nervous and shaking, and there was blood around her mouth. But she soon settled down, and seemed ok. After a bit we took her out on a leash, and checked around the barn. The ewes were huddled in the far corner of the lot, but came toward us. We found nothing, so we left Dolly safely in the kennel, and went back inside. Dolly barked several times during the night, and of course I heard.

The next morning, Don came in and announced he had found the screamer - there was a young coon lying out by the garage. Dead, thanks to Dolly. She can quit this moving up in size business. And so, now she is also officially a 'Coon Dog'. Stick to the Sheep, please Dolly.

But the bucks are out, and things are going seasonally well. So until more news 'happens'. We're off to take lambs to the sale in Columbus. Less mouths to feed.

We fall down, we get up......

Well, we do. Or at least we always have so far. But not if you are a leaf. And the leaves are falling. Down, for the most part. Except for the occasional passing corn leaf. The windy days of late have heralded the coming of the harvest season now in full swing. The corn stalks that seemed to turn white over night this year have shed their leaves, and now stand naked except for the sagging heavy ears, shivering in the foggy chill or the morning. The leaves blanket the ground now. Except for now and then in the afternoon breeze, when, dried by the weakening sun, a current picks a stray leaf and hurls it toward an unknown foe. I see them pass my window, sometimes arrow straight, sometimes curling and whirling, tumbling in the driving wind. And later I retrieve them from the shrubs and fence, limp and heavy with dew once again come morning. And time marks off yet another day, and week, and month.


We have begun the preparations. The garden is done, the harvest sorted, stacked, and stored. A good size stack of wood now darkens part of the view out my window. Chimney checked? Check. The wagon is filled with corn, and the hay bales stand in covered rows like giant sausages.
I looked up this morning, and it was October. 16th. (sigh). The almost-too-warm days are over. The 'F' word has been heard in the forecast. (freeze). But that's ok. I guess. The second blanket was pulled up without hesitation last night, and savored.

Don even took some 'vacation'. Yeah sure. Last year we actually went somewhere. This year, it was back to a working vacation. But we did get some things done, including renting a bobcat, and an attempt to clean the barn. It was only partially successful, but whats done is done. Since the grass is still growing and the crops in the field, the excavations got piled for the time being.



The lambs had a great time playing atop 'Mt. Sheepoopee' while it was there. But it was clear it was not going to last, so it got moved to the other pile. Sorry, lambs.
The whole mess will hopefully be spread on the garden, pasture, and fields before winter really sets in. (Sorry about the evil eyes. I'm blaming the lighting.)

Meanwhile, the sure sign of the season have been spotted. My mate and partner is usually quiet, often dozing in his chair. Recently however, he has been overtaken by spurts of thoughts and inspirations. His clipboard is at hand, and often I notice him flipping between pages, and making notes in margins. Why? You may wonder, as did I.

Of course - its breeding season. And one mark of a true shepherd is the careful selection of pairings of the flock. The amateur little realizes the complexity of the task. There is much to consider. Body type, condition, color, lineage, fleece and more. There must be planning before procreation.




And the sun sets sooooo much earlier these days. But its still kind of nice watching it.





And the last rose of summer literally blooms by the back gate.

But all is well. The promises of spring are hidden in the muffled shuffle of leaves underfoot, but if you pause and listen, you can hear them. The thoughts of a warm fire and wool sweaters, the gentle click of knitting needles and snow falling on yet green grass may materialize sooner than we think. But bring it on. Seasons change, and so must we. I'm up for a long winters nap. Meanwhile, I can still smell the roses.

And if by chance like the leaves we fall, we'll help each other up.

Wait for me.....

Wait for me....

.....I can't keep up. Recently time has caught me unaware. I seem to be marking the calendar off in weeks rather than days. Something tells me the condition could be age related, but if so, then why does it seems to be happening to others much younger than I? I keep meaning to work some down time into my day. A few meaningful thoughts in the quiet of the morning. A deep breath, and slow exhale during those times when I'm impatiently waiting on others. I hate it even more when I let others seemingly waste MY time.

The Equinox even came and passed without ceremony this year. The days marking the changing of the seasons are special to me. For me they serve as a cultural recognition of the progression of natural life. "For Everything there is a Season"... I think it helps keep human kind on track, especially in an age where so many don't have access to the life cycles in their everyday lives. The artificial means of sports seasons and educational institutions have been altered and extended to the point where they no longer are distinctive. Here on the farm, we can't help but notice. The cool evenings command the wool blankets return to the bed (the closing of windows is delayed as long as possible). The tomatoes have set at last, but now refuse to ripen. The threat of frost has already prompted the harvest of the sweet potatoes, which was probably a good thing, as we got them before the voles did more damage. And the last crop of the season was good this year.

The sounds of September are heard daily. The tapping of acorns as they drop on the tin roof of the lamb shed, and the occasional flapping and squawking of the blackbirds as they gather, and swoop down into a chosen tree, darkening the sky in a fluid motion, raising memories of 'The Birds'. Also heard is the occasional 'thud', a hollow echo unique to the season. The rams are rutting. Hormones rule in the cool.

We have added new members to the flock, and now we have a whole new flock. Turkeys. No, I'm not disparaging the ewes. (Who are now all dressed- hopefully in their final attire for the winter, and their fleece condition was noted - impressive)

No, the flock that has been frequenting the pasture, the lane, and even the barnyard are wild turkeys. They are fun to watch, but oh so stupid. They have provided entertainment many mornings as they pace the fences, time after time, until they finally remember they can easily fly over. By the next morning (or fence), they have forgotten, and the pageant is repeated.






Dolly has developed a liking to herding the new flock. She wasn't sure at first. I think she was afraid she would get in trouble. But after a little encouragement, she decided it was great sport.





So last Monday, 5 lovely ladies came rolling in, and we spent the lovely fall day dyeing in the sun. Well, ok, so actually in the shop, in the microwave, but the effect was the same. We ate Epicurean, with the assortment of foods they had brought. We told some 'girl' stories, and laughed. They painted, dabbled, cooked and rinsed. And then we posed in front of some of the days dyeing on the clothesline. And then they took home the tassels and scarves and yarn, now sporting the colors of the season. They have told me they had a good time, which was all I had really hoped for, and are ready to do it again.

I did - today. I dyed some of my new wool I got at Pendeltons, and can't wait to get started on some of the projects already inspired. Better get to it. Just hope time slows just a bit so I can catch up.


Autumn marks the end of the growing season for most, and is met with regret. But I have come to see it more of a relief. A chance to pause in the midst of harvest to acknowledge the fruits of labor. And be glad.

In a matter of days, the crops have gone brown. But I see them not as dead, but done. Well done. I can only hope the same will someday be said of me.

Here's hoping I can at least do better with my posting, now that the evenings are shorter, and outside chores require completion earlier. Maybe I can catch a few sun rises and sets for motivation.

Happy Harvesting to all.