If At First You Don't Succeed....

The secret to life as we know it finishes that title as farming, homesteading, gardening, self-sufficiency, art, fartism - they all require one mantra to keep you sane when you feel like sanity is just NOT.AN.OPTION. anymore- try and try again. Last week, the huscreature and I were discussing those projects that didn't get done last summer, those that need to get done this summer, and how better to manage our time and resources to try to achieve those projects on a budget that is significantly tighter than last year's which is pretty much a theme of every one's life, these days. Still, I was feeling kind of down about the house - a never ending project is building your own home while you live in it. Add to that that we are paying for the house as we go and using lots of recycled materials and you have a constant barrage of many things and none quite yet finished. I've been waiting to paint the living room for a year - need to remove the stairs to the loft first then finish the trim around the window which we were waiting to do until we decided if said beautiful but slightly damaged triple paned picture window would be too much a detriment to energy efficiency and have to be replaced or taken out entirely. Then there's the whole process of finishing the wall baseboards and we've delayed that because we're hoping to add another layer of insulation and flooring....yes, I could go on walking you through this maze but I think you get my point - NEVERENDING. It's easy to be hard on yourself, though, and I was definitely there - until the huscreature came up from the barn with a wee one in his hands. Our 'Cloud' has had her first lamb - another ewe. The chickens broke into the barn at feeding time when I went down to take a pic of Cloud's baby and we discovered that Mab had also had this little ewe. I quickly snapped a pic because I want to tell them, one day, when they are trying to jump the fence and gobble my garden - or when they are having lambs of their own - that I knew them when they were just as tall as a chicken. They chased the chickens around and had great fun while their moms were gobbling hay and munching on grain.

Cloud's baby is a little shy - you can see her hiding behind the pallet. A pallet is an indispensable aid to any sheep farmer. We have often celebrated the find of new pallets. They make great lambing pens. The way we construct our lambing pens is very temporary. The new mom and baby only need a day or two together before they are all set and ready to be back with the herd. Sometimes, a new baby can be found touching noses with a baby on the other side - that means they're already friends. On the day we take the pallets down and let mom and baby back in with their herd - the babies take off to play with the lambs while the moms all huddle together and talk over barn politics and neighborhood news over a bale of hay. We always keep a few pallets around inside the barn and outside it because, when leaned securely against the wall, they make a great playground and napping spot for lambs. Lambs love to cuddle up with their moms but, often, during the day we will find them cuddled up with each other behind the pallets. They really enjoy chasing each other so a pallet to duck and hide from the lamb hot on your trail is a favorite trick, too. The little ewe in the front of the top pic is a jewel - and an exciting experiment to boot. But, first, let me say that the camera takes a while to function in the cold. The first few shots are often spooky or just plain funny. Like this psychedelic shot of the lambs. "Whoaaa, what are they putting in our milk, Brigit?" This one made the kids giggle for a ridiculously long time.

The second pic while the old camera was slowly starting to draw battery power and realizing that, yes, even in the cold we expected it to perform, was of the 'proud mamas' (the rams are off in their own pens because I like to be able to get in with my Mamas and babies alot and don't want to have to worry about rams. Rufus, our head ram, is very good with the lambs - it's more of an issue that he and I have. As he gets older, his previously sweet sort of fanatical following of me has turned into something that feels much more creepy. I'm just not bending over to pick up a lamb with 350 pounds of ram lurking about any time soon, that's all I'm saying about it. The proud mama pic turned out to be the coffee through my nose pic because, as you can see, the flash and red-eye reduction are kind of last to come on board as the camera warms up. We called this pic the 'ghost sheep' pic, though I thought they look much more like aliens than ghosts. Still, terribly funny - unless you're one of the proud mamas and you did your hair and curls special just to look pretty for the camera - I guess that it might not be so funny in that circumstance. Still, our winter hearts are shrunken and small enough to have laughed about it too much.

Hard to believe that those pics of the barn were really once my house. When we first moved here, Rob Roy book in hand, with two wheelbarrows, some bags of concrete, a chainsaw and a few trowels, we spent the summer camping with the kiddos and building this cordwood building with dead fallen trees on the property. It is an experience that I don't want to relive but not because it was a bad one - I just don't know if I could survive it, again. Still, there was something invigorating and insanely satisfying about getting up with the sun, sharing a cuppa with the huscreature, and then going about the competition we had going on to inspire our progress on the house. Toward the heat of August, as the walls began to form, we had contests like, whoever does 4 wheelbarrows before lunch gets double dips on the ice cream and such. It didn't really matter what the prize was - just having something to work that hard for made it less cumbersome to tackle. Of course, with only three months to build it and using, again, as much in the way of recycled materials as we could, and added to the 'cons' of cordwood building like the challenges of insulating properly and the difficulty in lighting such a dark structure, etc. - we eventually came to see that this structure would make a better barn than a home. And, years later, we're pretty darn happy with the barn it makes. You know, try and try again. These two little Cotswold lambs are playing another favorite game on the concrete base (now covered with years of farm dirts and straw) that we, together, only two people, mixed and hand-poured to support the center beam of the structure - the chimney flue that huscreature built. It worked beautifully then and is a great jungle gym for 'king of the mountain' and 'hide and seek' for the lambs, now. On thing I mention, often, when boasting about Cotswolds, is their facial expressions. You can tell which lamb belongs to which ewe by simply looking at their face. 10's lamb, on the top of the mountain, has a dirty face. 10 always has a dirty face. I chalk it up to her tenacious curiosity. If the herd needs something critically investigated - they call 10. Our oldest and wisest ewe. 2's lamb, Brigit, is on the bottom of the mountain - flashy bright eyes and a facial expression that says, "I'm beautiful, smart, and faster than you'll ever be so just choose the obvious route - adore me."

Don't you just love the expressive faces of Cotswolds? Here's Brigit, again, ready for you to adore her....and you will. No one has resisted the temptation so far so there's really no hope for you, either. She's like her mom - likes her pet behind the ears and, while you're there, you might at well scratch her forehead for her...and you will. I mean, I love the Merinos and Corriedale X's, too - and I'm slowly coming to some sort of relationship with the few remaining Shetlands that we have, though I won't be getting any more - LOL. But my heart remains firmly devoted to the Cotswolds. So, last week when I found myself having to wait for a few minutes in a book store, I perused the farming books and garden books because, well, the knitting books were too much a temptation and I'd already splurged on a cup of coffee so I was hoping to be good. I found a few books on sheep and one, in particular, that seemed to showcase the beauty of heritage breeds. So, you can imagine the heated boil I nearly came to when a terse and all too common description for Cotswold simply stated that the wool was not so great and the animal better used for cross breeding than anything else. Huh! I got so mad I put it back on the shelf backwards - a childish rebellion that I couldn't live with further than three paces away when I turned around, righted it on the shelf, and pointed at it and said, 'Shame on you'. The gentleman who was sitting over in the 'psychiatry' section happened to be walking out with his three books on the workings of the female mind at the time (yes, I'm a voyeur so I looked at his titles while he was reading them) and my talking to the book with such an admonishing tone seemed to verify whatever research he was conducting and he winked at me, nodded his head in that polite way that says, "It's okay that you're a crazy woman because, hey, look at my book selection, I love crazy women," and walked on. Urgh!

It happens more than I'd like to even think about. Wool book after wool book with just plain dog the longwool breeds. I mean, I'm not here to say they are anywhere as soft as merino, and they certainly aren't perfect for every kind of yarn - but they are all beautiful and wonderful to work with and I just don't think they get a fair presentation in most discussions on wool production. Which is soooo odd as, a peek at Cotswold history will clearly describe that they were considered, in their time, a 'golden fleece'. There's also quality production to be considered. If you've ever tried to process a really badly grown merino fleece, you know what I'm talking about. Any wool grown to be worthless, can certainly end up that way. The shepherd who selects Cotswolds doesn't do so for efficiency. They grow slowly - reaching full maturity after two years. They are large and good eaters but they are also a greater expenditure for the shepherd. For instance, we shear twice a year. The shorter staple and 6 month old fleece is infinitely softer and more beautiful than the 12 month fleece. That isn't a problem for us because we do our own shearing. But, if we were having to pay a shearer - it would double the cost of shearing each year...which, added to the extra hay to feed such a large animal, and the MANY FREAKING BOOKS THAT SAY SILLY THINGS ABOUT LONGWOOL and it almost seems like public perception and politics are more to blame for this breed coming so close to extinction than the actual quality of the wool and beauty of the breed.

Having said that, I'm not a staunch purebred person, either. I appreciate the breed and have adopted, as part of my own personal mission with being a shepherd, continuing to breed a portion of my flock for purebred Cotswolds. My rams and ewes are papered, though I've not papered the babes and don't know if I will. But, the try and try again beast rears it's ugly head when I think of sticking my feet in the sinking mud of being a purist at anything. It just doesn't appeal to me. And, cross-breeding has resulted in the production of some pretty fabulous wool breeds. Pat Coleby, in "Natural Sheep Care" goes into some pretty fascinating discussion of breeding and cross-breeding. Polwarth is produced by crossing Merino ewes over a Lincoln ram and then using a Merino ram to breed the resulting ewes in the following season. Longwool breeds tend to improve, IMHO, the luster, strength, and character of Merino fleece. Corriedale is another breed that resulted from such a cross - Leicesters/Lincolns/Merinos crossed over one another. So, our experimenting began last year and sort of by accident when one of the shetlands bullied her way through the wrong fence and found our young Cotswold ram, "Rammerkins" on the other side of it. We're eagerly awaiting the spring fleeces from the resulting 'Shotwold' lambs and, depending on how that goes, we may experiment with that mix further. The more intentional experiment is the little ewe you see here. Her mom is a Corriedale/Merino cross bred to our Rufus. We're calling her a Corrinowold - snork. Her aunt was the first round of crossing last year and she won't be ready to be bred back to the Merino ram until next season - so we're in the midst of the experiment but, so far, the corrie/merino/cotswold fleece is Gawwwwjeous! Our round of lambs with this cross last year were all a deep chocolate brown but this little ewe, as you can see, is very much like her Cotswold father. I can't get over the facial expression - and how it tends to follow this breed wherever they go. We distracted her mom with feeding so we could pick her up and look her over to make sure she's doing okay, check the cord, etc. You can see how strong and robust she is in the pic at the top of the paragraph, crying out, "Mama, don't fall for the grain bait - they're going to touch me and I'll smell like yucky human after that - puuuulease!". But, mom fell right for the bait and switch and huscreature brought her over to me, both of us laughing at the little bit of Cotswold that resulted in a whole lotta facial expression.

You can see, here, that she is rather unimpressed with myself and the camera. You can also see the handy fix of the rip in the finger of huscreature's favorite leather gloves - blessed be duct tape! LOL. I could tell, immediately, that she is her mother's daughter. Mab is a strong ewe and I absolutely adore her. She's very private, though, and doesn't like to be fussed over. If you want to show her you love her, pick her some fresh grass and feed it to her out of your hand. She's not into the petting - she's a practical chic. Her little lamb is very much the same. The 'big friggin' deal, you have a shiny lighty box' look on her face is priceless. But, even cuter still was the answer I got when I cooed at her and said, "C'mon, give me a pretty face for your baby book." I think it says, 'go stick your head in a toilet' but it could be something more like,' get away from me you freak'. What do you think?

How does your garden grow?

“To see things in the seed, that is genius.” Lao Tzu

There is so much happening so fast that it can only mean one thing, spring is just around the corner. This could be entirely wishful thinking but, trust me, if it is it is just better to let me simmer in that delusion for a while. Let's see, well, there have been lambs. I know - look how cute they are! This little ewe is sidling up to the side of the lambing pen she and her mom occupy to converse with the other little lamb next door about what the heck just happened to them (they are both less than a day old) and what the next few days have in store for them. The lambs always seem kind of shell shocked right after they're born. I mean, aren't we all? But it seems a more drastic conflict that with, say, human babies, because in less than 8 hours - they can be found running in circles around the barn over and over again, occasionally jumping on the back of a ewe who's just trying to take a little nap.

On the other side of the fence, and a whole 8 hours her senior, is another little ewe. Our dear 10 who always fakes us out acting like she's going to lamb first every year and then ending up either being last or a few births into the season but this year she really had us hopping when she did go first. 10 is one of the ewes that has been with us for years. She has, hands down, the most wonderful fleece of any of our sheep. It is high luster, very soft, and has a really mohair, silky quality to it. Every year, she's had a ram. This year, twin ewes. One lamb was large and healthy and jumping around moments after being born but the other was very weak. We did what we could for her but she didn't make it through the evening. She left us with her head cupped in my hands and a pat and scratch behind her little ear. Nature works it's own cycles - we have no choice but to try to embrace that reality.

Other beginnings have been, well, beginning. I've got my hands on my garden already which just thrills me to no end. Usually, I get the catalog from my beloved Fedco seeds just after Christmas. As luck would have it, I generally have sore hands from finishing up all that holiday knitting so sitting down with a seed catalog and cup of coffee sounds just great about then. I'll go through every tasty morsel of description (Fedco does the best bedroom seed talking I've ever read - it's like garden porn for the insanely garden obsessed), make my list carefully, add up the cost of the seeds, cry when I look at my budget in comparison to the seed cost on my list, review and scrimp and make what is essential fit - and, this is the part where I should send it in , no? Well, I don't. Not until this year, anyway. What generally happens, instead, is I get really busy around that time, put the catalog and carefully made out order on a bookshelf somewhere, and forget to mail it until March. The first year I did this I wanted to slap myself. By the second year, I was thinking I might have been given a 'forget I didn't take the trash out and everything else' pill by SOMEONE who might not want to hear everything I have to say (cough- huscreature). Without being able to sanely blame it on anyone but myself, I resolved to do better the following year and, you guessed it, did it AGAIN. This is a problem because Fedco is a coop. You get what's there and it's best to just forget how much you like everyone else that buys there seed and rudely push yourself to the front of the line. I've never had the spine to do that so I often end up not getting a few things - that special paprika pepper that I've been pining for for years, some tomato that is so hot I think people might have to electric wire their gardens just to ensure jealous gardeners don't come steal their plants away under the cover of night.

So, this year, I got my seed order in by the end of January (cheers and claps for herself because, you know, sometimes you've just got to do that or no one will LOL) and I'm soooo looking forward to the garden. Not as much as I'm looking forward to finishing these socks. I know, they don't look very far along in this pic but bear in mind that this is a 2nd sock - I'm working both socks, a few inches at a time, on two sets of dpn's. Besides, this was the picture from yesterday. It grew quite a bit last night and I am just smitten - purely puppy loving addicted to this yarn. I had planned to make the socks with this 'Vardo' yarn from my batts on the cuff and then knit the rest of the sock with the silk road roving I'd spun. Now, though, I'm thinking stripes of vardo raining down and a touch of knee high bliss. We shall see.

I kind of surprise myself with how much I think in color. You can kind of tell from the variety of vegetables that I strive for that the dyer's mind and eye is always sort of working. This year, in addition to scaring myself by actually being organized and executing the purchase of seeds before the last minute - I felt a bold sense of adventure that I don't generally answer to. I mean, I love to try something new in the garden. Or a few things. The truth is, though, I'm a traditionalist. I prefer open pollinated varieties, old vintage varieties, tried and true garden champs. But, there is always color. The green bean that's purple, purple asparagus, yellow and purple carrots, black tomatoes, black squash, grey pumpkins, rainbow corn. I can't help it - I'm a sucker for color. On the list of 'gotta try that this year' were some multicolor pole beans. I mean, color me a geek if you will but I was positively entranced by the idea of picking four different colored bean pods, lightly sauteing them in some olive oil and garlic, and crumbling some Parmesan cheese on top of. The yellow carrots are something I've tried before and haven't grown in a year or two but have missed their cheery sweetness so much that I had to have them back. And a dark, smokey black and green tomato gives your salad just that perfect 'goth' touch, especially when offset by some deep purple endive and a red tipped lettuce. See what I mean? Color is my addiction. So, now that you've seen the inside of the sock, here's a peek at what the cuff will look like when it's folded over to the 'beaded' edge. stands back a moment to savor it herself. Look, beads, shiny glass beads. I told you, puppy cute hearts and flowers smitten love! Of course, the color's not too shabby, either! LOL.

So, ignore the groundhogs, put some soap in your holes, and bring on the sun. To register for this month's chance at winning the Great Giveaway, tell me what you'd grow in the comments. I'll draw a name on the 15th......

I've been keeping a secret......

About now, ya’ll are shaking your heads, going, “right, you keeping a secret – ain’t happening!” and you’re right in doing so. Everyone who knows me for five minutes knows that I suck at keeping secrets. In fact, in my twisted logic, keeping a secret is kind of a form of lying. I mean, there are good secrets and bad secrets but, either way of intent, the aim in coveting a secret is to deceive others into not noticing your devious secret keeping. It so goes against the nature of a slightly neurotic blabbermouth who likes to squeal and laugh out loud and tell you just what you want to know and how wonderful you are, etc. etc. Keeping a secret is a weight I don’t usually opt to bear because I know it’s just a matter of time before it eats away at me and I end up feeling like a slug.

Recently, in a effort to get things back on track in the form of peaceful times between Mr. and Mrs. Enchanted Knoll, we’ve been trying this strange but pleasant thing commonly referred to as ‘talking’. I know, sounds so simple, right? Only, the homestead is hopping and buzzing like a beehive from March to September and it is all too easy to get swept up in that momentum and FORGET to take care of the people you love. We’re slow – but learning. You’d think that after 16 yrs. Of marriage, we’d have stumbled on this ‘taking time to talk’ concept before now. The truth is that we have but, uh…., then we got really busy and forgot it again (rolls eyes at self and shakes head). So, hubster says to me the other day, ‘Is there something you want to talk to me about – because you seem kind of distant and I don’t know what to do’. The weird thing? Someone else that I adore said the same thing just days before….and they’re connected. From these two people, I have been keeping my big ole secret. So, I decided to come clean. I told him the whole story (which, yes, I’m about to share with you) and when I was done confessing my high crimes of liardom, sneaky and secretive behavior – he laughed at me! Yes, he did! He mutter something about not believing how gullible I am and that I worry too much. This may have strained these new tightropes of peacemaking a bit but, fortunately, I’m also one to forget about such things and I have to admit, I laughed at myself a little hearing it.

Herein lies, my big ole secret I’ve been keeping for some 7 months:

Many of you know that my good buddy, Lisa, was disrupted from her happy country living last December when a fire destroyed her home. I still remember the day I read her message. It started out something like a friend would think to say – like ‘we are okay (cuz they don’t want you to worry) but ……(insert whatever words you might think to say to describe such a nightmare)." I had to read it three times to assure myself that, though the fire was at night, it specifically said they were all okay. Then, I started thinking. Thinking what I’d say, or maybe I’d just listen and let her talk a while, when I called. Thinking about the Christmas box that had arrived two days before the fire chock full of goodies for me, for things, 1, 2, and 3, and for hubster from her family, and how their Christmas would be so totally different than she’d anticipated when she lovingly knit away on gifts for everyone that burned under the tree. I may have cried a whole lot because I knew myself and knew that if I didn’t cry first, I might cry whilst on the phone with her which would have been selfish and not the sort of friend I was hoping to be for her at the moment. Finally, I called. No answer. Staying with family during the holidays is crazy enough but when it’s because you’ve just lost your home, your pets, everything except yourselves, that’s a whole other thing so I waited. And, while I waited, I started to do what neurotic people do – which was to figure out a way to fix it all.
Only, I knew I couldn’t do that. In fact, I felt totally helpless to do anything. That’s where ya’ll came in. Realizing that my spinning/knitter friend would not even have string and hair to keep her company, I set about asking ya’ll for help. And help we did – we rocked! We sent her some stash rebuilding love that blew her mind and got her back on the knitting wagon STAT! I should have stopped there – at those two big, stuffed boxes of fibery love stuffs…..but I hatched another, more devious plan and kept this secret even from hubster (which I can honestly say is the longest time I’ve ever kept anything from him in these many years). I crossed the line into secret keeping, yarn hoarding frenzy. It was all due to this thinking: I was pondering all of the ‘things’ and pets and work that Lisa and her OH had put into making their home a good and well-loved place and started asking myself, “what would you miss? What would you need? What would you long for if everything you had had just gone up in smoke?” And, then I talked to Lisa – and after so long of us just chatting, she revealed to me that she’d grabbed one thing on her way out with kid in tow – her purse – which had her keys, her tam that I crocheted from handspun yarn, and a sock knitting project. Doncha love her? Me too.

A couple weeks later, I was thinking about that while packing up her stash rebuilding stuffs. And, it came to me that all that knitting she’d done – the shawls, the socks, the sweaters, all of it – was gone. Oh, I cried so hard to think that someone who has knit so much wouldn’t even have a shawl to wrap around herself and keep her safe at heart while she had to trudge through a bold transition from country home to urban living and rebuilding a home. There were four balls of purple yarn in front of me, and as I reached to put them in the box, they spoke to me. I swear they did! They said, ‘make it’. Now, ya’ll know I’m a southerner who attended 7 years of Catholic Academy and was raised by a police officer. So, I had angst about keeping the purple balls of yarn right away. Of course it wasn’t stealing – I was going to use them to make her a shawl already. But, still, it felt…..weird. I tried to entertain the idea of making her a shawl out of my own yarn but that seemed kind of arrogant and I like the sentimentality of using something that someone else lovingly parted with for her to make her something virtually infused with love from her fiber friends. I decided that it was one of those things that seemed uncomfortable but would be remedied when I sent her a beautiful shawl and made her oh so happy. I thought maybe by her birthday.

Only, just before that she contacted me and said that she was really missing her shawl and thought she might make another one. I had a very paranoid moment right then, I admit. Did she know? GASP! She couldn’t have – she wanted to make a shawl of a totally different color. So, I should have just bluffed and moved right along but, ya’ll, this is me we’re talking about – of course I ruminated this over and over and decided that purple was just the wrong color because she hadn’t even mentioned purple as a color she wanted to use. Back to square 1.

So, I thought, maybe by Mother’s Day. Only, by then I was back to thinking that a link to the beauty of the whole idea would be lost if I didn’t use the yarn that came from someone who wanted her to have it. Also, if I didn’t use the purple, what would I do with it? My conscience couldn’t bear the idea of deviating from what was initially a sweet gesture between friends to the kid returning the candy they swiped from the candy store. Dangit all, it was most definitely going to be the purple. I cast on for the second time. Fortunately, I got only as far as I had the first time, which would have been the casting on, before I changed my mind – again. I don’t know, it just seemed to keep bothering me and I started to think I’d never knit the thing if I insisted on staying with the purple. So, a full 6 months after starting this journey – I radically changed EVERYTHING. I put down the knitting needles, picked up the crochet hook, and grabbed the colorway that I knew was one of her faves (Queen Mermaid) and started making her some Mermaid Wings. Days later, I got an email from her stating that she’d decided to ‘spice things up’ a little (which is something we both have in common – seemingly harmless people who just appreciate the value of keeping the heart joyful) and had chosen a totally new hair color – mermaid! She also went on to say that she’d wondered if I was okay because I seemed sort of ‘distant’. I almost cracked right here and told her everything! But, that would have totally ruined the surprise and I just never get to surprise anyone and if I was going to come all this way to do it – I really wanted it to be her.

This is why I don’t lie. It is why I don’t keep secrets. I’m just not bred for it – it is not within the capabilities of my genetic makeup. I kept mum on it and told hubster instead. He laughed at me and instead of stewing, I went to work on finishing the Mermaid Wings. Okay, I may have stewed a little, too. But, mostly I kept hooking along making this shawl for the mermaid lady in Missouri.

Whew! The shawl went out last week, has met its new and loving owner, and I am finally free of the immense strain of all of that secretive yarn swiping. For the record, I sent the purple balls on to their intended home and they will, no doubt, be knit into something awesome (cuz Lisa is an awesome knitter). Now, wanna laugh real hard and then be surprised that I actually DID post the pattern?

I guess, by now, I've pretty much consistently screamed that I love all of you so much – my internet knit & spin friends are so dear to me. My surprise pulled off, my secret out, I was feeling good but that was about to change. That ‘feeling good’ was about to become a euphoric state of ‘wee, I’m so happy, I’m so happy…’ that continue on into the night when the Spindling Scot’s package arrived. And, to ice that yummy cake, a birthday surprise from Loribird! I don’t have a pic of Loribird’s package (ripped that one open before I thought of taking a pic – greedy fiber woman!) and almost didn’t have a pic of JudyMac’s but managed to stop myself squealing long enough to put down the one package I’d torn open greedily to take this ‘before’ thingie.

Judy made me a beautiful diz – and burned a soooo pretty mermaid into it. Seriously, is that not the most beautiful thing you've seen? I used it right away to diz the ‘Peacock’ batts from Happy Hooves this month. They are very nice, non? The diz did make a huge difference – I can’t wait to spin these! There was some gorgeous mermaid colored handwoven silk (cuz this woman is pure magic!) as well as a totally awesome crochet hook, and some roving she’d dyed with Ivy berries, and some CTH alpaca laceweight in, get this, ‘Peacock’ – so you know I instantly loved it . I’m always crazy about things that come from my fellow fiber friend’s hands, though, and the roving is beautiful! Knowing that Judy dyed it made it even more special. It shimmied right up next to this luscious merino/alpaca/silk roving that Loribird dyed for me and said, “you know, now all you need is something dyed by you and then spin us up and make a trio shawl from the hands of those you cherish”. So, that’s what will happen. The mullein is blooming (you see it behind Ms. Lisa’s shawl) so I’m thinking of dyeing with that……of course, a little indigo never hurt anyone, and there are berries to come as well.

And all I can think is, Gawd I’m lucky! Good friends, good spinning, good knitting, and the good life. If it’s so Pollyanna you need to kick me, I’ll one up you and say that, I understand. Go ahead, if it will make you feel better, just kick me – I’ve got enough smile today to endure that and more!

There's been some spinning going on through all this excitement. The yarns here are (from left to right) some rainbow roving that will be appearing at TLE soon, some 'tie dye' bfl roving from Spunky Eclectic, some bright white Cotswold from the sheep, and some purple cotswold with a 'spill' of angelina plied with a jester batt and, lastly, said jester batt navajo plied. Now, I'm off to spin that luxurious roving I made with my new diz - only I leave you with a cute babysitting photo. On summer solstice, one of our two remaining shetland ewes lambed. I knew she was going to but I was very worried, on account of the fact that we have no shetland rams. That meant that Rufus had, well, you know with Adora sometime in the late fall. URgh. I thought cotswold X's would be too big for her to bear healthily. I was wrong. Her little 'shotwolds' were very healthy and she had them and was back grazing in no time. They are too cute. Only, they are very energetic. This is the time of year when every spare minute is to be spent grazing for the ewes to grow round and healthy for the coming winter. Poor Adora, her lambs are too young to play with the big, spring Cotswold lambs....and though Rufus is a good dad and will babysit, they try his patience jumping onto his back and running all over him while he's trying to nap in the sun. So, being the good mom that she is, Adora takes them everywhere. On occasion, though, things 1,2 and 3 will take them off her hands and play with them for a while. You can see her, here, looking at them for a minute like a mom giving a sitter instructions. Within minutes of directing them in how to properly care for her perfect babes, she was off foraging and I swear I heard her breath a sigh of relief. Just goes to show you, even sheepie moms need a little help with the kids now and then!

The 'Winter on the Homestead' Myth

You know those serene visions of a farm covered in a fresh sheet of snow that conjure warm feelings in the bellies of the viewer and make them hanker for the good life? Uh, I hate to be the bearer of bad news but - it's a lie. Winter is, in fact, a crazily busy time for us with regular slappings from Nature. This year, we actually deluded ourselves into believing that the lack of the 'serene days on the winterly sleeping farm' were simply due to our ignorance and disorganization. We deduced that this promised land of tranquility lay right beyond some imagined threshold that we were on the cusp of discovering the secret to. We believed! Oh, stop your clapping/laughing/heckling from the audience. Here, to quiet you - I give you our little ewe - first one from the team of merinoX ewes we added to the farm last year. She's stubborn, active, cute, funny, and all the qualities (except stubborn) that I lack and thereby steal your enjoyment of the blog.

And on the right, the little ram who defied the natural laws of birth by standing up within a minute of his birth and running around the lambing pen whilst mama tried to clean him off.

So, where were we? Oh, yes, our winter delusion. So, we tested our notions of inferiority by giving winter our all this year. In case you're suffering from amnesia or you haven't ever read the blog before, you know that Winter gave us her all, too! What do you do when you've tested a theory and find that your desired goal is hopeless? You change your goal to something easily attained! We are now planning to remain in total chaos and strictly adhere to a schedule that prevents the atrocity of more than 5 hrs. of sleep a night. Its' a sort of 'spring training' because she-who-must-not-be-named was clearly playing the optimist when she made out her seed order this year (and joined a couple of farmer's markets wherein she hopes to have more than just cucumbers and squash to sell) - get a load of all those seeds! I should add for honesty, that excludes the seeds I have on the way from SSE. You are now aware that we lurve Fedco Seeds. Lurve them! Somehow, in keeping with the NEW GOAL - I have concluded that THIS will be the year that hubster puts up the raised beds so I can have a more honorable herb garden just off the kitchen side of the house. I have restrained myself to the utmost extreme to prevent inclusion of any dorky 'hoe' jokes but I wish you to know that it was difficult.

I should be starting those herb seeds this week but I've been totally consumed by a new knitting project. I know, another 'new' one. But, Judy made me start this shawl with her fabulous stitch markers and, once it began, I have been totally drunk on it. It is well established that I have the social skills of a troll but here's a little peek into how innocent I am in this plight. I started the shawl and the knitting has been feverish and addictive. There have been growling episodes whenst I've been interrupted. But, all the time I was knitting I was thinking about these two knitters with whom I discussed the making of this shawl.(Link is to Loribird but, Miranda - why can't I access your blog?) We sort of informally decided to work on it together. But, uh, hey ya'll - I've started! It must be so fun to be my friend...(whuh? there was no lightning in the forecast today!)

I'm just jumping all over the place, here, but I will sum up - the MerinoX lambs are doing great and the mama's were splendid. The birth was a little creepy. You know, maybe it is because the Cotswolds are so big and lanky that the lambs are born a little, uh (searches for a nice way to say 'stupified') relaxed. They take their time getting up and the first bit that they walk is hard to watch as no one enjoys watching something so sweet and gentle fall over so many times. The Shetlands are a different story - they are tiny like little bugs and are basically crazy from birth. We've yet to come up with a description of the MerinoX lambing that doesn't have something to do with Orcs coming up out of the ground. It was mildly disturbing, I tell you. The ram ripped his own sac off and proceeded to jump up and run around with it trailing off of him. Pinging all over the pen (aha! we will ever use lambing pens for this reason - mama knew he was confined and safe and instead of trying to reign him in, she could take care of herself first). Fortunately, they are very sweet so their super-lamb exuberance is less creepy, now. Next year, I will be ready! I will, stop laughing. I can't get over what this pic captures in the difference between these two breeds. While the little ram was being born, there was a meeting going on on the other side of the pen. They stood, head to head, blocking out the little merino ewe, seemingly concurring on the futility of wasting all that energy to run when there's plenty of time for that after you've procured your first meal. Clearly, they think they have the better way.

Lastly, before I run off and pretend I'm a newborn merino for the rest of the day - and update on Tink. She's doing so well - all healed up and playing with the other lambs, even. Still, she seems wiser and more reserved since her day of fighting with a pig. I know this pic is too blurry, but I love it so much I had to put it in here. She's standing facing a window, letting the sun warm her head, and you can just see that inside that tiny, cute lamb is a wellspring of wisdom. She's like a lamb Zen Master. Thanks, again, for all of you who sent us well wishes when she was on the brink!

Hey ya'll, guess what? The news-weather guy is mumbling something about another 'doozy' of a winter storm that will land tonight and the last ewe still waiting to lamb is laying down today! So, we need to get the hay covered, secure the barn, get extra water in for the night, make sure the car is parked out of the way in case we have to resort to a machine to dig us out, oh, and stock the pantry, blah, blah, blah.....where are my mittens?

Get away from that....IT'S MINE!!!

Nothing miffs me like a copycat. I’m an artist, and a human – if you cut me, I’ll bleed. So, when I’ve had the rare but potent occasion of happening upon someone who is CLEARLY copycatting my work, it boils me over just like everyone else. When someone buys my roving, then the following year I walk by their booth and see very similar colors on a stretch of roving with the same exact name on it as my colorway, I get angry and think about throwing a rock or something. Sometimes, I get over it and sometimes I don’t. I don’t understand a lot about people in this world but what I do continue to learn is that some are gold, some are true, some are fickle and the very few but easiest to remember royally suck. And while I’m preaching (not really but I tend to steer clear of fevered opinion about ‘the issues’ here on the blog so it does seem like murky and possibly baited water I should say that if you don’t want a rant, I’m bound to piss you off today. Even if you do, you might find yourself calling me a pig before we’re through. Oink – already!

So, where were we? Oh yes, me – fuming, pouting in the corner stomping my feet saying mean people suck. There’s no disputing that being pirated by a copycat of any form is really infuriating – and it is a reality as well. People will make up a blog name VERY MUCH LIKE yours and purposely try to ride the reputation you’ve built through your hard work. People will buy your product only to take it apart with a fine-tooth comb and try to duplicate it. Some people will buy a pattern and change a minute few things and call the works their own. I’m not trying to say this doesn’t happen. But, I am the eternally optimistic Cancerian who stands off on the sides saying (in her worst southern accent), “C’mon, ya’ll, be nice!”. I do that because I believe that most people are and that most who aren’t wish they were. I know this even in the face of evidence that the people who do suck continue to make life cruelly challenging for the many more that are good. I’m also optimistic because I believe in chaos. Chaos, my friends, happens! So, sometimes a situation can seem clear but, upon careful thought, your certain accusation of copycattery falters in the wind. Sometimes (she ducks because the robocops of copycat hell are chunking boulders at her now) it is AN ACCIDENT! I mean it! If you are an artist who sells your work, you know of which I speak. That idea that you fostered into an actual material palette before you – that you adored and cooed over and just knew was the deepest expression of your most beautiful inner self? And, when you are brave enough to put it out there, you find something so very similar but still distinctly different and you know that though your unreasonable self is hurt, maybe insulted, really just disappointed that humility had to hit you on ‘this’ particular thing – your rational mind knows that this is just chaos at work. Two very creative people (or more, certainly) can create a very similar object of beauty – totally apart and separate from each other and with no malice intended. It happens. Art, though, is emotional. The delicate balance between feeling bold enough to make something totally original and offer it up to the uncertainty of other people’s perception of it (also known as the realm of the manic) and getting over ourselves and not becoming the Voldemorts of the art realm (otherwise known as total ownership over that which cannot be owned – the creative mind) is delicate.

Last summer, I got this ‘great idea’. It was a good idea. It still is. The idea came when I was making the ‘Black Magic Woman’ batts – a great black background to play with sparkling color on – it was inspiring! Then, observing our chickens feathers in the sunlight, I changed the idea to an’ Auraucana’ batt to reflect the gorgeous green and black metallic feathers of our rooster. That got me to bird watching and I have a fond affection for black birds and darker birds of all colors. So came the Raven batts and the Peacocks as well. Finally, I had a collection. I loved them all and named them the ‘blackbird series’. All was well. Then, I happened upon a fiber company’s site and was looking at their spinning kits for socks – where I found a ‘raven’ series. While their colors are much different than mine, and there is no doubt that neither of us was trying to duplicate another, I shivered at realizing that other people might THINK that is what I was doing. I’d never even seen their fibers before and had already been making mine for upwards of half a year. I felt kinda stupid about my idea for a while – thinking it couldn’t have been such a bright idea if someone else thought it too (because I do have an ego, you know). It was all silly, I finally concluded. I mean, can only ONE fiber person in the world make a bit of fiber that is inspired by a black bird? The whole notion that someone can own an idea even if it is interpreted differently is bothersome. Being bothered is rather innocent. Being accusing is far more damaging. Ideas can be similar and still be entirely unique. This, in the paradox of how strange is the experience of being human, is harder to remember when you feel your work is being infringed upon than the other way around. The batts and roving mentioned may share the idea of blackbirds, but the similarities stop there. This is because there really is no such thing as an ‘original idea’ because apart from pre-meditated copycatting (which, strangely, is generally accompanied by one being stealth enough to evade any legal recourse anyway), all ideas are original. They are things that we perceive and because of that, they are related. They are original in how we apply ourselves to the process of creating them.

At some point, we have to stop running to the courthouse every time someone makes us feel bad, or we allow ourselves to feel bad – depending on your personal philosophies. There’s much talk of copyrights, trademarks, etc. of colorways in the fiber world. I am sad to see that this is the reference point we might reach for inspiring good behavior. If we are to police the copycats, don’t we lose to them in the end? Will not we make the whole realm of fiber love tainted by the arguing and diminishing other fiber lover’s excitement of the craft by bickering and rule-making to the point wherein we are just paperwork and not artist? Most people will tell you that when they see clear evidence of someone actually working hard to copy someone else’s idea – they will not buy from them. Sometimes you have to choose your battles wisely, that’s one thing my grandmother taught me. She also finally convinced me that I am a freak magnet but that is for another day. Surely, common sense and decency will prevail. You can’t shame people into being ethical. All you end up doing then is shaming the seemingly innocent and warning the malevolent in advance so that they can deflect detection of the offense they intend to create no matter how much they are shunned. But we also should maybe be a little less eager to assume that what we imagine is actually fact.

Totally off-topic and further substantiating that I’m not a real writer, there were some points brought up in the comments of the last post that are rolling around in my brain. Carol was kind enough to console me in the process of deciding which ram to keep a ram and which to make a loved and fussed over eunuch. Rest assured, she is right. The whether on a fiber homestead does live the good life. Most vets and sources of farm living information will confirm that a castrated male is, in general, much healthier and lives a longer life than an intact male. They eat better, are able to be with the herd year-round(which is very important to sheep because they are herd-dependent and need the companionship of other sheep) and their wool will not be affected by the hormones that afflict a breeding ram. I say afflict because even our good and loving Rufus will change his personality for about 1.5 months a year when it is breeding time. It’s like he has a dual personality and the fumes of female hormone seem to transform him into a real grump. Our method is done 4-8 days after birth and is complete and sterile. A simple band is placed around the testicles and circulation is cut off. There is a pinch that bothers the lambs for about an hour, then they literally forget about it. No blood, no open wounds. The skin just dies and falls off and within a week, they are all healed up and the better for it. They go on to be gorgeous, kind, and gentile friends.

Lin mentions that castrating before the age of maturity increases urinary tract infection risks but I have found that urinary problems in many male mammals that have been ‘fixed’ from cats to cows is generally caused by dietary imbalance. If you are feeding your sheep only heavy grain, they will be more prone to bowel and urinary tract infections. Grazing on fresh grass, roots, and bark (or good hay in the winter season) and the supplementation of herbs and mineral salts has kept our sheep in good health. I’ve yet to find a vet that recommends waiting until a ram is an adult to castrate and the entire idea seems counter-productive to me. Firstly, the methods used have to be much more traumatic, painful, and the risk of infection is greatly increased. I’ve seen far too many scenarios where farmers castrate an animal after he has reached adulthood and he only goes on to act like a sexually frustrated but helplessly impotent male. Anyone whose been fortunate enough in the two-legged world to experience knowing one of those will likely attest that any measures taken to avoid proliferating that are paramount to creating a better world.