Shearing Day Arrives

Saturday didn't work out for shearing; the weather was cold and wet, and our shearer wanted temperatures a little warmer before she left our little dumplings without their coats.  Yesterday dawned sunny and glorious however, so I emailed my absence into work and dropped an email to Sandy, our shearer, to see whether she could make it out.  In addition to shearing some sheep, I also had 100 strawberry plants sitting in the crisper in my fridge awaiting planting, and two yearling Carpathian English Walnut trees sitting in a box in my pantry waiting for the same.  So, although I was still fighting respiratory issues that had laid me low for the entire weekend, Nora and I got everything in the ground by 1 pm and had time for a little rest before Sandy showed up at 3.

With much anticipation (and some trepidation), we loaded up Sandy's equipment into the wheelbarrow, grabbed some large plastic garbage bags for the fleece, and headed out to the barn.  The sheep were already closed in the barn to make round-up a little easier, theoretically anyway.  The plan was to corral one at a time and coax her from the main part of the barn into the extra stall where we generally store the hay, minerals, grain, etc.  So, we laid down a large sheet of plywood as the shearing station (to keep the dirt and hay on the floor from mucking up the fleece as it comes off the sheep) and hooked up Sandy's cutting tool. Nora has already described the experience of rounding up sheep number 1 below, in a more humorous fashion than I ever could, so I won't repeat the story.  Suffice it to say, I have a somewhat bruised bum from Tallulah plowing me into the metal wall feeder, and after herding and pushing 300+ lbs of sheep across the barn and into the shearing area, some mighty sore shoulders and arms.  I have no idea how Sandy can do this day after day through shearing season  -- some days shearing 50-100 sheep -- but thankfully she can, and she did a fabulous job.

Delilah ended up as the guinea pig of the group; Sandy's first time shearing a Babydoll.  She was extremely impressed with the length and quality of their fleece, which is good to hear.  She also spent a lot of time commenting on the amount of fleece -- everywhere.  Keep in mind the more common breeds, at least around here, do not have any fleece on their faces and little on the bellies and legs.  Our little girls are covered head to top of hoof; and the fleece, at least in Delilah's case, hid many rolls of fat.  Luckily Sandy is quite skilled with the clippers and was able to work her way around all sensitive body parts without lopping anything off.

To give you an idea of process.  First, capture sheep, get her to shearing station and flip her on her bum into docile, sitting pose.  A simple sentence that sounds infinitely easier than it actually is when fighting 100 lbs of flipping out sheep.  But once you get them into that pose, as with the hoof trimming, these little girls really do become quite docile and easy to move around and shear.  It may have taken Sandy 10-15 minutes with Delilah, but after her first, she picked up the speed on Jem and Tallu.

Jem - isn't she adorable?

Step 2: After the fleece has been removed, we opened the stall door and each sheep would right herself and run into the main barn with the others.  Again, Nora described the reaction to Delilah when we released her back in with her sisters.  I was not expecting the total freak out that occurred, nor have I ever seen the 3 of them move that lighting fast around the barn.  Thankfully it didn't last more than a minute, if that.  I would have had to jump into the middle of the fray in an attempt to calm them down, if so.

Step 3: skirt the fleece, which is laying on the plywood in one, intact piece.  The fact that a good shearer can remove a fleece in one piece simply astounds me.  Skirting involves removing the shorter, dirtier edges of the fleece, which end up as garbage.  I may scatter small piles around the edge of our woods for the birds to use as nesting material, but it has little other use.

Step 4: roll up the remaining fleece and stuff into a garbage bad.  I'd estimate that each fleece weighed in around 5-6 lbs.  Not bad for our little girls.

All told, the sheep were sheared, the fleeces skirted and packed into bags by 4 pm.  Emotionally drained and a little sore (Nora and I, not Sandy of course), we headed into the house for some strong coffee and conversation.

Getting reacquainted

The sunrise this morning

just needed to be shared. Have a fabulous day.

The Shearing part two- A photo perspective

The clippers of pain

Told ya the machine was no joke

Examining the fabulous wool on Delilah

Jemima at the spa

Delilah's fleece

why wont they talk to me Mom?

Nudies

Jem taking a moment to digest it all

The Shearing part one- a wimp's perspective

Lynn posted last week that it was time to for our little chubs of cuteness to get hair cuts. Saturday's weather was not ideal so Sandy came over yesterday afternoon instead. Lynn referenced that Sandy is a pro, and that she is. I, on the other hand, am not. My role in this was to document the process photographically. Easy peasy. Or not.

A smidge of perspective: I suffer from an overblown sense of protection for all of my animals. It doesn't matter the situation, safe or not. I react to their discomfort, their fear, their squeals. And I react strongly. It is primal. And it does not attach itself to logic even remotely. I am missing that necessary portion of the brain that balances reason and emotion in these situations. When I hear the whelp or cry of one of my brood, a shot rings through my body from my heart to my brain. The message is clear, stop the source of the discomfort. Stop it at all costs no matter who or what gets in the way. I transform into what I imagine the ancient Celtic warrior women were like. Part savage, part protector, part psychopath. In short, I am not the best choice for animal husbandry . Apparently it is generally not acceptable to place a Vet into a headlock or choke hold during routine exams. :) This is why I do not attend nail clipping sessions at the vet for Magnolia.

Round up
In order to shear a sheep you must first get a hold of one. Into the pen we went. (As though we could even begin to have a clue on how to do this.) Lynn moved behind them in an effort to guide them towards the shearing area. I was to the side to prevent escape and any wall surfing. Not sure what went wrong but in a flash of an instant Lynn was tossed into the air and slammed against the wall feeder by Tallulah. Score one for the sheep. Clearly they had a sense that something was up. Sheep are way smarter than anyone gives them credit for. A cloud of whirling hay was stirred up by the rampaging flock. (okay, there are only three of them and they each weigh only 100 pounds, but work with me here) These little lumps of cute were whizzing about the area. Lynn, now fueled by her pain was steadfast in her mission to secure a sheep. And she did. Delilah was the first.

The shear
Sandy deftly placed Delilah in a seated position and encouraged her to relax despite the circumstances. Not unlike our doctors telling us to relax while undergoing a PAP smear. Tallulah and Jemima were bleating (baaing) in protest over the abduction of their sister. Sandy switched on the clippers. The hand held clipper is attached to a 35 lb motor suspended in the air. These are not your hairdresser's clippers. In fact, they look like a medieval torture device. The noise of the machine further upset the girls so their bleats increased in volume and frequency. All the while I am clicking away with the camera in an effort to document. PING goes my heart. "Oh no, it is beginning." Are you familiar with the Hulk from Marvel comics? Well, it's kinda like that process with the exception of the whole turning green part. "Just keep taking pictures, it's all good." I told myself. Sandy is now half-way done and Delilah is compliant. The sound of the screams of her sisters however, has reached a fevered pitch. I grew dizzy as the protective chemicals released themselves into my bloodstream and coursed through my veins. "Must stop the source" Tears welled in my eyes as I furiously took pictures in order to distract the growing monster inside. (keep in mind that the only upset beings at this point were me, Tallulah, and Jemima. Everyone else was fine, including, and more importantly, Delilah.)

The machine noise stopped. The girls were still screaming, albeit less. Sandy assured us that they would be less upset when the second one got sheared. I was too far gone at that point to believe her. She was after all, the source of the pain and not to be trusted. Lynn and Sandy released Delilah back into the pen to be with her sisters. As they were preparing for this Sandy informed us that it would take a little while for them to get reacquainted. Sheep are very visual. In fact, they didn't even recognize her. In more fact, they ran from her and shunned her. WHAT? She took one for the team and this is how you treat her? I could not bear the injustice of it all. After a few minutes of "getting to know you" which was really "Let's act like old school witch burning New Englanders" it was time to select the next sheep. Jemima. Oh no, not my sweet and affectionate Jem. I realized at that moment it was time for my departure. My heart could not take the thought of my precious Jem-Jem going under the shears. Someone was going to pay dearly if I stayed. So I hung my head low and left. Defeated. A wimp of all seasons.

About half way to the house I decided that it was not acceptable for me to leave. I needed to fight this ridiculous beast that laid inside of me. I was stronger than it. And so I picked up my pace and entered the house for some sustenance for my fight. Liquid courage. A shot and one half. I also grabbed some water and Gatorade for the other humans.

I marched back into the abyss. There was no screaming this time, just the sound of the clippers. Jem was sitting in a relaxed position as though she were receiving a treatment at the spa. The monster inside me was retreating. Lynn turned around with a look of disbelief and surprise that I had returned. I picked up my camera and began shooting. It was, after all, my job.

Shearing Day Scheduled

Jem and Tallulah - One last look at the girls before their haircut

I just scheduled the sheep's first shearing for this Saturday at 1pm.  I have to admit I feel a little nervous, and I'm not even the one doing the shearing or being sheared!  But the protective, mother instincts kick in and I immediately jump to images of traumatized sheep with their naked bellies nicked by electric shears.  Then I think of how cold they will feel in the 30-40 degree evenings without that 5 inch thick wool coat.  

But I trust Sandy, my shearer, fully.  This woman has been raising and shearing sheep for over 40 years, and has traveled all over the world to talk to other sheep farmers.  She did admit that this is her first time shearing a Southdown (aka Babydoll).  According to Sandy, the description of the Southdown shearing experience from her "shearing bible" written by Godfrey Bowen of New Zealand states "that Southdown sheep are the most difficult of all the mutton breeds to shear.  It has a great deal of wool that is very hard to poke off.  The Southdown is very difficult to bend into shearing position because of its thickly set and strong body.  Further it has a fighting disposition and this does not help."  And here I selected Babydolls, not only for their cute teddy bear faces, but for their allegedly gentle, non-aggressive dispositions!

Hanging out in the orchard

Getting to know you

Now that the weather is better and the grass is growing, the sheep have been let out to graze. In order to let their immediate pasture area have a chance to grow we let them in the middle section where the garden is. This area also abuts the main chicken area. And this gives them a chance to get reacquainted.

Jemima and Oreo

All three sheep decided to nap.  Daisy in the coop.

Spring into friendship

That's what Magnolia does. Since she was a pup, Mags has pursued relationships with all things living. One of my favorite memories of her as a little one and a very telling moment of her personality for me, was when she discovered an ant on our patio. She was intrigued and very excited to share space with another soul. She patiently observed the little guy, whined a little(in that adorable "I am really excited kind of way"), and finally inched closer on her belly to get a better look. She was careful not to frighten him by moving too fast and did not want to hurt him by stepping on him. It was time to meet face to face. Mags moved her head close to him in order to sniff and lick him as she does with everyone she meets. Well, you can pretty much guess the outcome of that interaction. (She spent about 10 minutes inquiring as to his whereabouts)

The point is, Mags is innately loving and curious towards all living creatures. We trust her implicitly with all animals on the property. (although I am not sure about chipmunks) The weather has improved exponentially(as has our moods) so we have been reintroducing Mags to the sheep. She seems to have a natural penchant for herding as well as making friends. Here are some pics from yesterday's visit. Thankfully the sheep are over a hundred pounds so no chance of losing them to a nostril. :)

Did I do good Mom?

She will love me soon

Aw come on and just play

Wait, what?

Mud Season

It's here. The snow melted with alarming rapidity (at least for those living near flowing rivers or owning homes with no sump pumps) over the past couple of days.  When I left for work yesterday, the pasture and much of the backyard was still snow covered with the occasional, small grass patch peaking through here and there.  When I returned home 9 hours later, the snow was almost completely gone from both.  The only sign of snow remaining were the large banks near the edges of the driveway, and the random ice floes scattered about.  That and LOTS of pooling and streaming water, and mud.

Mud season had arrived.  For those of us who are aesthetically minded, it's a difficult couple of weeks.  It is the dark abyss between the purity of snow and the glorious green-ness of late spring.  At our house it means smellier than usual chicken yards (conjure the smell of wet, rotting pine shavings, chicken poo and that earthy mud smell and you'll get what I'm talking about), and floors caked in muddy dog prints.

Despite that, I can't help but smile.  The sun is shining, the air is warmer, the snow is almost a distant memory and I think I can safely say that we will not experience a water shortage this summer -- no matter how dry and hot July and August get.  This wet, soggy expanse of mud and streaming water translates into a full well and happy, happy plants.

Signs of life

April – the month that tries the souls of the hardiest gardeners, especially in the northern tundra.  While many of you in the comfortable world of Zone 6 and above are already seeing signs of spring – crocuses, daffodils, snow drops, perhaps even signs of bright green on trees – we are STILL buried under unsightly piles of snow.  The good news is that the last several days in the 40s and 50s have caused a great deal of melting, and yesterday’s rain certainly helped.  We can actually see some ground in places at this stage, which is progress.  Just not enough progress for my taste.  The beds in the backyard are still buried under snow or swimming in 6 inches of slushy water; the pasture, much to the sheep’s chagrin, remains snow-laden.  The hens are slightly happier since they at least have exposed pathways with plenty of mud in which to scratch and dig.  

My greatest hope of seeing anything with color in the near future lies with my front borders.  The snow has melted and I can actually see the little red and green tips of tulips peeking up out of the mulch.  It’s not much, but it’s all I have to hold onto at the moment.