Sheep Gal

Giving Thanks

 

Patten Hill was veiled in fog as I went about this morning's chores. The sun came out long enough for me to squeeze in a three mile run and it's been back to fog and light drizzle, a somber but welcomingly quiet Thanksgiving day. 

Although we might eke out another three to four weeks of grazing, the sheep are getting hay now, to keep them healthy and to preserve the fields. The ewes were looking for their share while I took this shot in the breeding/birthing barn.

Teaberry appears thankful breakfast and for the company of so many lovely ewes over the last four weeks. Alas, he must take his leave of his ladies tomorrow and return to the group of boys in the carriage barn. I guarantee he will not be a happy camper.

The sheep will have an early dinner tonight so I can enjoy turkey dinner with Mike a bit later. Since my family isn't exactly local, we're use to celebrating this holiday in a quiet way, which is nice because it allows room for relaxation and reflection.

This year I'm truly grateful for my family and friends, especially my new niece's safe arrival into the world in August. I blessed with health and the stewardship of a thriving flock and a lovely slice of New England farm land. I'm lucky to be able to work at what I love most - working with my hands, making art, writing, raising fiber, growing food. I am thankful for the support of the fiber  community, for appreciating and helping to sustain my efforts, and for my blog readers for sharing in the life of my farm.

Sending everyone my strongest wishes for a happy Thanksgiving day.
 
 

Home Again

I love seeing the sheep after being away from the farm for a few days. Mike took charge of the flock so Holly and I could both attend the Knitters' Review Retreat, and I'll have more to say about our very special weekend in a separate post tomorrow.

For now, just a some quiet moments from evening chores.  Topanga was being silly, standing atop a rock at dinnertime, dropping hay on Amy's head. It's nice to be back.

 

Video - Coming Home on a November Evening

Holly and I are off for the Knitter's Review Retreat today ( her first, she's "super excited!"). I'll leave you with a peaceful video clip of the young rams & wethers coming to the barn with Crackerjack one evening this week.

Hope you have a great weekend.

xo

Mischief

 Don't let his "ah, shucks" expression fool you. This guy's been up to no good. At morning chores I was startled to discover the entire ewe lamb group in the breeding pen along with Teaberry and the ewes. I ran through the pasture to check the gate that separates the two adjacent paddocks. From a distance it appeared closed which mystified me until on closer inspection I saw that the latch had been bashed out of shape. In fact, the staple that held the latch was nearly pried from the post. 

So Holly rounded everyone up into catch pens and we spent the first part of the morning sorting sheep. The little girls are now on fresh pasture on the opposite side of the road. Thinking back to yesterday, I recall seeing a few of the little ewes gazing flirtatiously through the fence. Those little pop-tarts. I should know that a gate is not enough to stop a ram.

I've marked the date of the incident on the calendar and we'll just have to watch the girls closely come late February. Good grief.

Elsewhere on Patten Hill.  My neighbors' fowl have run of a patch of pasture. I love their hen hut on wheels. The guineas raise the alert every time I run by and got very agitated when I stepped closer to take some pics. I am living vicariously through my neighbors chickens. Last summer I had hoped to get some layers. I'm not interested in raising meat birds but would love my own supply of fresh eggs. Maybe next year.

Big Love

Last week Teaberry, our Cormo ram, came down from the hilltop in Andy's truck. We call the ram's first day with the ewe flock "big love day". Lots of excitement. Teaberry waited patiently in the truck while we adjusted sheep coats on the ladies and trimmed their toenails. He needed no coaxing to enter the pen, so happy to greet his girls.

All of the Cormo ewes have lambed before, so this group is looking pretty happy and settled. Everyone knows what's expected. Tea is not wasting any time. I can always tell which ewe he's pursuing; they'll always be standing together, sometimes a little ways off from the others. If he's standing with two ewes, then it's likely that both ewes are cycling and vying for his attention.

He had been following the ewe standing just to his left all morning; hence the brown marks on her coat. It appears the ewe in the back left has also been receiving attention.

Here taking a breather. 

Teaberry isn't the only ram at work. I've decided to give our junior moorit ram, Chai, a test run. He's in with 5 black cross sheep, though I'm not sure how lucky he's been. They're all much older, except for Stella, and also larger than Chai. And at first they were completely dismissive. Poor little guy. I've only seen him show interest in one ewe, Comet, a few days ago. He seemed to be figuring things out and she was being patient.

You might be wondering why I'm using a ram lamb for breeding this year. We're fishing for the moorit color gene, a recessive trait for true brown coloration, in our ewes. It seems the most likely place to find the gene is in our mixed bred ewes of color, since they have the greatest genetic diversity behind them. Since our Cormos have all been bred away from color, the likelihood that a Cormo ewe may carry the recessive moorit gene are smaller.

Several of my fine black wool ewes are now middle age, by sheep standards. I don't want to lose this year to try for moorit lambs. It will be so interesting to see what happens. If Chai gets lucky, that is. That's him in the center, flanked by Comet, left, and Star, right. Comet, Star and Ursa are sisters, three of a set of quads born to Cocoa in 2004. Their brother, Oreo, lives in NY state. They are black sheep (you can tell by their black faces and legs), even thought their wool has faded in color with age.

Elsewhere on Patten Hill today . . .

My neighbor's bull, taken with my iphone camera while on my morning walk.

  

Autumn Twilight

At dusk I stood on the stone wall behind the barn while I waited for the flock to come in for dinner. I called them in from the pasture and let them take their time filing through the gate, slowly picking their way across the wet ravine beside the barn. They always balk at that, hate to get their hooves muddy. If the goats are in the lead, the sheep hesitate. Experience has taught them not to crowd the goats or they'll get a nasty butt with the horns. Caitlyn always brings up the rear.

With the change in season, grass is diminishing. I can tell - the sheep are pretty hungry when they come in at night. They make a bee line for the feeders.

Mishka, my youngest golden, and I took a little walkabout after chores. Visited the neighbors cows, who were also having dinner against a lovely backdrop.

And ended up at the Patten District sign. I'm not sure why there is a huge map sign for Patten Hill (or "the Patten" as the locals call it).  It shows the location of most of the farms and families who live within the neighborhood. Except our farm still has the name of the previous owners. I think maybe you have to live here for several generations to get your name on the sign.

I've noticed a huge drop in tourist traffic, both around the farm and in the village, now that leaf peeping season has gone by. I actually love the muted colors and soft beauty of this time of year. The woodlands are exposed and it's easier to see the bones and contours of the landscape.

I'm trying to enjoy it while it's quiet. When deer hunting begins in a few weeks, it won't be safe to walk at dusk. On the drive home I spotted two does. The stags must be in the vicinity, although so far I've only spotted one. Our land is posted, all 220 acres of it. If the deer are smart, they'll hang out at the farm!

Happy Halloween!

I've been saving these pictures I took at the New York Sheep & Wool Festival to share with you today. These jack-o-lanterns were in the booth of Hugh McMahon, master pumpkin carver. I didn't get to see much of the festival, but I was glad I didn't miss meeting Hugh and seeing him at work (this is why I love sheep festivals, where else would you find such a spectacular flock of  lamb-o-lanterns?). 

Enjoy.

 

A Merin-o-lantern.

A Cormo-lantern?

I think this one might be a Leicester-Lantern.

There were even a couple llama-o-lanterns. (Crackerjack and Caitlyn are so pleased).

Happy Halloween from me & the flock!

Hay-lelujah!

Our Rhinebeck homecoming just happened to coincide with the first decent stretch of dry weather in nearly four weeks. While Mike and I unpacked the van, Norm wended his way through the fields cutting large swaths in the dense grass with his Kuhn mower. Clear skies and a light dew fall Monday night made for excellent drying time on Tuesday, perfect for tedding and raking. Then we let the breeze do its work, rustling through the windrows. When the windrows change color from bright green to dusty blue, it's time to run the baler.

Norm baled the upper end of the high mowing where the grass always dries fastest on Wednesday afternoon. That left the lower end of the high mowing and the big field directly across from the studio for Thursday. Boy, did we hustle to get it all in the barn.

Towed behind the baler, the "buncher" collects the bales. When it's full, Norm reaches behind the tractor to pull the string that pops the spring loaded gate at the back end of the buncher.  It deposits a tidy pile of squares. We still have to go around, retrieve them by hand to load the wagon, but at least they're gathered in groups (more or less) rather than spread willy-nilly throughout the field.

Even so, there's tons of walking.

And lifting and stacking. We had many, many loads in the small truck. It's stake bed only handles loads of 50 or so bales. Since it's the only wagon narrow enough to  squeeze down the aisle of the open barn, we made do. 

If you're stacking the wagon, you stand on the empty deck. Everyone pitches bales onto the truck. They're coming at you, left, right, sideways. You stack as fast as you can, since there's many tossers but generally only one stacker. But then you end up on top of the load when the truck is full. Which means you get to toss down the bales at everyone else inside the barn. And they get to stack them. We took turns throwing  square bales at each other all afternoon for two days. 

Fred is the expert when it comes to backing the wagon through the gate and down the narrow aisle of the barn, without clipping a gate post or losing a mirror. 

For Crackerjack and the boys, haying is a spectator sport for their dining pleasure and entertainment. They lounged in the afternoon sun while we bustled back and forth from field to barn. 

 As daylight exited, we gathered the last wagon load. I began tending to the sheep while Mike, Norm and the gang stacked the last bales in the barn, close to 760 total. We then raced around picking up broken bales and "sinkers" out in the field by the light of the tractor.

Relief doesn't quite cover the way I feel about finally having all my barns stashed for winter. We've never had a wetter summer nor a more fickle autumn for making hay. I've been worried that we'd have to go "shopping" - unimaginably expensive with a flock the size of mine. Farming sustainably means balancing the size of a herd with the capacity of the land to feed the herd - in all seasons. It looks like we'll squeak by.

Amen.

I promise to post some shots of Rhinebeck, once I've caught my breath. 

Ready for Rhinebeck?

My main reason for posting this evening to is tell everyone how much we've appreciated your comments during this difficult week. I know that time will eventually dampen the hurt, but your thoughts have helped immensely. We miss Emma terribly and our home just isn't the same. 

The feat of readying for a major show is all-consuming. My  very wise younger sister Kathleen commented yesterday that the distraction is letting me work through the grief a little at a time. We'll see if that's a good thing. Grief is tricky. We'll see if it doesn't clock me between the eyes once the energy of the show subsides.

I somehow managed to pull it together and here I am, in Rhinebeck this evening. Writing now from the Beekman Arms, my favorite place to stay for the NY S&W gig. I can literally roll out of bed tomorrow morning, head north a few blocks and I'm in my booth. Does anyone know where I can find latte at 6 a.m.?

Holly and I packed the van in the midst of a snow squall - a first. We made it here mid afternoon and the time quickly evaporated with setting up the booth and tending to vendorly tasks. I've already met up with some of my favorite people, one of the perks of attending a show. Holly phoned at dusk to say the flock is well, all tucked in before dark.

If you come by my booth first thing tomorrow morning, you may spot me with my photographer, Ben Barnhart, who is taking some shots for my book, Adventures In Yarn Farming (and maybe, if you're not camera shy, you'll get to be in some of those shots). Look for us in Building A. I'll have a stack of Teach Yourself Visually Hand-dyeing books at the booth (and will be signing them at the author's gathering on Sunday morning). Please come say hello.

Wishing all a good weekend.

Emma

Yesterday we said goodbye to Emma. Her condition had worsened overnight to the point where we were forced to make a very difficult decision. She passed peacefully in the arms of her people, surrounded by her favorite toys from home. It was the best we could do for her.

Emma, exploring a crystalline field after the ice storm, December 2008.

Celebrating the season with a Christmas hedgehog, December 2008.

Coming in from the snow, January 2009.

She was our little diva and we were so lucky to have her in our lives. Mike, Caleb and I, along with our pups Daphne and Mishka, will sorely miss her. Thanks, everyone. Your kind thoughts and support have given us solace during this rough weekend. Our deepest thanks to the doctors and staff at the Foster Hospital for Small Animals at Tufts Cummings School of Veterinary Medicine for their caring compassion.