See Ewe At The Fair

Day 352: Now we have come to the part of the Fair I'm always afraid I'll miss. They brought the sheep in today! I am not sure of the technicalities, but sheep cannot be on the grounds at the same time as some other species of farm animal due to the possibility of communicable disease. For that reason, sheep are among the last critters to be exhibited. The dates they are to be shown are often difficult to locate in the Fair schedule, and it was just by chance that I happened to be working in the Park booth at the same time. I was overjoyed when I saw them in their pens after my shift.

Y'see, I used to have sheep. Oh, it wasn't much of a flock...six at peak...but running Romney-Suffolk and/or Romney/Corriedale crosses meant that I got both wool and meat. Since I like mutton stew and mutton-burger, I usually kept any given animal through two shearings before sending them off to the butcher. I sold cleaned fleeces to a couple of shops catering to hand-spinners and also to Pendleton Woolen Mills in Oregon. I kept the sheep in "sheep coats" throughout the year, so their wool was always in prime condition.

Quite honestly, I miss the woollies, but there are too many predators here and no shearers willing to travel the distance for just a few sheep. Time has made me forget the cold, rainy nights in the sheep shed during lambing season, and the occasional unfortunate engagement between a porcupine and a curious ewe. I only remember the sweet smell of lanolin and capering in the yard with lambs who followed me around like puppies. Ah, those were the days! But now I buy spinning wool by the batt and lamb-burger from the grocer, and only dream of having my own little sheep station when I walk through the stalls at the Fair.

Here's Looking At Ewe

 Day 351: Oh, the memories this lovely lady brings back! For approximately five years between 1985 and 1990, I maintained two to eight sheep on our prairie property. Two acres of the land was grass pasture, so with that census (sheep are heavy grazers), I supplemented them with alfalfa hay and COB (a corn-oats-barley feed). They were sheared by a professional whose attempts to teach me the art failed miserably, and each year I retained some fleece for my own use and sold the rest to Pendleton Mills in Portland, or to a weaving supply shop in Seattle. Each ewe was allowed to lamb once, and then at eighteen months to two years of age, I turned my woollies into lamb-burger for the table.

At times, raising sheep was nightmarish with early lambings in downpours, attacks by dogs, being chased by an ill-tempered ram as I ran as fast as my feet could carry me down the length of the pasture, only narrowly missing being launched from behind by Bruce's intervention. He was watching and waiting at the gate and grabbed the black monster by the ears just as I passed the fenceline. But there were the joys of playing with twin babies, as sociable as puppies in their early months, and having four-legged lawn mowers to take care of one of my least favorite chores. For the most part, sheep take little care other than feeding, shearing and hoof-trimming, and for the few headaches incumbent with keeping them, the balance lays in their favour. I miss my sheepies!