I sat on a rocker under the apple tree, sipping a cup of tea, waiting, watching the mist fade from the landscape that rolled out in front of me. The dahlia’s this side of the fence, then the still green pasture leading into the marsh and the cut cornfield, further on the Green Mountains topped by a soft pink and peach sky.
I had already gotten the sheep into the pole barn. A little grain and they’ll follow me anywhere. Only Pumpkin gave me a hard time, staying outside the gate, looking in but keeping his distance.
But I knew he wouldn’t want to be out there by himself for long. He is a sheep after all. Enticed by a handful of grain and instinct, he eventually joined the rest of the flock.
Ian showed up just after 7am.
I had the extension cord ready for him and my plastic bags and thick marker for writing the names of the sheep on the bags that would hold their wool.
Seven of the twelve sheep were to be shorn. All twelve would have their hooves trimmed.
Merricat was the first. We always start with the white sheep. You don’t want the black wool mixing with the white, just as when you mix paint a little black goes a long way in changing the color.
Merricat was good about it, she was easy for Ian to catch and calm through the shearing. Her wool, very dirty on the outside is bright white next to her skin. It was the first time I had her sheared and was excited to see her long wool with a very nice crimp.
After shearing, Merricat quickly found Constance in the rest of the flock….
And when it was Constance’s turn to be shorn, Merricat stood in the corner and watched.
