Lambing Season

Day 65: It certainly isn't the first lambing season I've experienced in December, but the three new additions to my flock arrived without peril to life and limb. There was no leaky roof to pool rain in the tarp above my head, only to dump it down my back in a flood while I knelt down beside a ewe who had no idea what to do with her lamb. There were no falling timbers to crack me on the head when my husband's pallet-built sheep shed came apart at the seams. My fingers and toes stayed nicely warm as I opened the gift marked "Happy Solstice," early and at the encouragement of the giver. How she managed to guess the scale correctly from my photo amazed me, but within minutes, two new fat-tail lambs were kneeling in the straw and the ram (the only bobbed tail in the lot) was bellowing at his keepers. Oh, if only all lambing times had been so easy!

The Sheepy Years

Day 229: As the spinning wheel revolved, drawing fiber from my guiding fingers, I was wool-gathering in the figurative sense, trying to recall the names of the sheep I'd raised so many years ago. Some came easily to mind: Cindy and Ivy (lower left), Shy and her lamb Paskha (right). They came in twos for the most part, like Dacron and Orlon (ewes) and "the boys" who never had proper names (old bit of farming wisdom: don't name anything you intend to eat). The ram was an exception as a solo. I called him Abo which, in that era, was not considered politically incorrect as it is today. He was black and beautiful, and one cannot consider sheep without a nod toward Australia. But as I mulled over the woollies who had been in my care, my tally was coming up short. Surely I had some old photos somewhere. Pulling down the albums, I found very little record of my sheep-keeping, but at least I had labelled the images and thus discovered the two wayward members of the flock, Champagne and May (upper left). Caring for sheep is one thing. Shearing is quite another. A once-a-year job best left to a professional shearer. I only attempted the task once under my shearer's guidance, and quickly gave it up as a bad idea and back-breaking work. What wool I did not keep for my personal use, I sold to Pendleton Woolen Mills or the Weaving Works (a Seattle-based fiber store). I still have a Fair Isle sweater knit from Cindy and Ivy's wool, memories of rainy-night lambings and sunny pastoral romps spun into its yarn.

Lambie-pie

Day 126: If you've been following along for any length of time, you might recall that I've mentioned having had a small flock of sheep at one time. I raised them largely to supply myself with wool for spinning, but also sold some of it to Pendleton Woolen Mills for a good price. I ran both Romney and a Corriedale-Suffolk cross, the latter affording the best of both worlds in fiber and meat. Typically, I would keep them until they were 18 months old and through a mature shearing. Then I'd truck them off and...well, the less I knew about it, the better...when I got them back, they were in the form of lamb-burger with the occasional package of mutton (on the young side) for stew. Chops and legs never particularly appealed to me, whereas burger was more versatile. It was a sad day when I had to give up my flock due to moving beyond the range any good shearer was willing to travel for only two or three sheep, but my taste for lamb and mutton has never dwindled. Recently, I learned to make Scotch pies, a hot-water pastry filled with ground lamb and seasoned with onion, garlic, mace, Italian herbs and extra rosemary, and served up under a lavish application of cornstarch gravy made from the drippings. Sheep! It's what's for dinner!

Hefty Herd

Day 111: When I took this photo, I still had about half an hour's work left to do. When I finally rolled the band off the bonker loom, I had a functional 10 1/2 yards (31 feet). After a short stint with a pocket calculator, I determined that my herd is comprised of approximately 450 sheep which ain't bad for less than a week's effort. I have made a number of different variations on this pattern, mostly changing up to daisies so that sometimes they have leaves and sometimes not, sometimes with taller or shorter stems, or sometimes omitting them altogether, but the sheep have remained the same. I do have another character waiting for the arrival of a particular colour of thread before I can warp up the new design, so I think I'll mosey over to the north paddock to see if I can muster a few more ewes in the meantime.

The Pink Sheep Experiment

Day 105: Although I had already ascertained that it was possible to weave krokbragd on the Glimakra band loom, I wasn't sure how a warp longer than my original sample would behave. To that end, I set up four yards of sheep, a more complex pattern than the flowers in my test piece. There was another foible I hoped to be able to resolve, that being that the lower peg on the back heddle bar prevented two of the three sheds from being opened fully. This had not been a serious issue with the narrow sample, but in the wider band, the interference made it difficult to see whether or not the shed was "clear," i.e., that the shuttle could pass through without picking up threads from the wrong shed. I played around with various solutions for an hour or so, none of which seemed to make any substantial improvement, and then as I leaned back in my chair for a break, the cartoon lightbulb over my head lit up: reverse the heddle bar so that the unused pegs pointed the opposite way! A few seconds later, I had undone the Texsolv cords and had reinstalled the heddle bar backwards. It still rode smoothly in its groove, as if perhaps the loom had been designed to make the reversal possible. As I've said before, there is very little instructional material available for this type of loom, either written or in video, but understanding the mechanics of weaving goes a long way in finding new methods or solutions to problems. The reversed bar solved the issue, and although the second and third sheds still require some manipulation, the actual weaving goes much, much faster than on the inkle loom. In fact, by the time an hour was gone, I had turned out as many sheep as I could have done on the inkle in two or three days, and of course the bonker loom is capable of holding significantly longer warps. Oh yes, you may have noticed that the background for the sheep is pink. I figured if I wound up having to cut the warp off the loom because the experiment failed, I wouldn't shed too many tears over the lost yardage.

Nine-Foot Flock

Day 97: I am a long way from taking Murphy's Band off the bonker loom, but only inches away from completing the Nine-foot Flock on the inkle. Sheep are so much fun to make in krokbragd that I've already picked out the colours for another band. Krokbragd is more difficult when woven on a regular loom because it is composed three sheds in four throws, two of which are identical. That might not seem like a problem, but it means that there is twice as much take-up on one set of warp threads because they pass over two weft threads. This means that the remaining two sets which only pass over one weft tend to go somewhat slack in comparison. While the problem still exists with an inkle loom or band loom, it does not develop to the same extent that it does on a standard loom. Even when working krokbragd on a rigid heddle, I eventually have to add additional weight to the loosened warps in order to maintain equal tension.

Feeling Sheepish

Day 92: I've been feeling a little "sheepish" these last several days, so I broke out the inkle loom and set up a krokbragd warp with a favourite design. I've been mulling it over, and think I may have figured out how to manipulate krokbragd on the bonker (Glimakra band loom) to make a longer band. Bands on the inkle are limited by its size. This model allows for a warp just slightly longer than nine feet. On the other hand, the bonker loom can hold many more yards of warp. I've never even come close to filling it. Now it has to be mentioned here that I began working with this flock an hour or so before bedtime last night, which may not have been the best idea. It set my mind to puzzling over how best to warp the bonker to get the three sheds required for krokbragd weave. I tucked in for the night with visions of a vast herd of sheep in my head, and counting them as warp threads was certainly not conducive to sleep. In the wee hours, I had mentally drafted several potential experiments with one promising candidate rising to the fore. I intend to run a short test as soon as the current band comes off the bonker despite the fact that I already have measured warp for another project waiting in the wings. Maybe I'll get that paddock built this week after all!

Ewe-wooltide Joy!

Day 73: Seriously, what else would you expect from a fiber artist/weaver/spinner than my best wishes for Ewe-wooltide joy? The ornament was a gift from one of my sisters-of-the-heart, and the word-play sprang into my head as soon as I lifted it out of the wrappings. I knew I had to convert it to a Christmas "card" right then and there. And as a sidebar to that, I'll be hanging a new warp on the "bonker" loom today, picking away at some cross-stitch, finishing up a crocheted motif, weaving on the floor loom, in between spending quality time with Tippy and cooking a ham. Happy Christmas, everyone!

Sheep In The Daisies

Day 53: I can't help it. I love sheep, and couldn't resist doing yet another variation on this inkle-woven krokbragd design, this time putting daisies in their field. In hindsight, I wish I'd made the stems a little longer and darker green, but that just means that I have an excuse to make more. Krokbragd on the inkle loom is fun to do, but it does not lend itself to complicated designs. Creating a pattern could be likened to designing a font for a nine-pin printer (remember those?), because although it can be made as wide as you like, the actual pattern must develop over four rows, two of which are identical and alternate. In this case, row one separates the sheep and is also the center and stem of the daisy, then row two creates a leg and a leaf, row three is the sheep's body and face, and also the space between the daisies, followed by row four which is a repeat of row two (i.e., the second leg and leaf). Krokbragd is not reversible. Solid blocks of colour appear on the reverse, visible here where the ribbon turns back on itself. Inkle weaving of any type (krokbragd or otherwise) is limited by the size of the loom. Three yards is the biggest flock I can manage.

Just Flocking Around

Day 34: Baa! Back in the days when I had my flock, I was primarily raising them for wool with mutton and lamb-burger as an annual bonus. For the most part, my sheep were "black," which is to say that their wool ranged in colour from dark charcoal through greys and brownish-greys to a soft silver. The natural colours were what I liked best for spinning, and I usually sold my white fleeces to Pendleton rather than keeping them for my own use. It seemed appropriate, therefore, that after finishing an inkle band of white sheep, a herd of brown woollies should follow. Truth is, this krokbragd design is fun to weave on the inkle loom. The catch is that the nature of krokbragd limits the way the warp threads can be brought to the surface to only three options. As I'm weaving, I repeat to myself, "background, leg, body, leg; background, leg, body, leg" as the sheep take form with each throw.

Sunset Sheepscape

Day 356: After isolating the sheep motif from a krokbragd pattern in a book, I knew I wanted to turn it into a project of some sort. The book sheep were a bit tall and skinny for my tastes, so I changed up the draft to give them more wool and shorter legs, and as I was working them, an idea began forming which would allow me to use up some of the thrums and shuttle over-winds all weavers seem to accumulate. As I wove along, I added a stream, a forest, snow-capped mountains and a sunset/sunrise fading into a star-flecked sky without graphing out a pattern. Hindsight being clearer than foresight, I should have put more sheep at the bottom to balance the visual weight of the night sky, but I was happy with the way the concept of a "sunset sheepscape" had worked out. Another version is percolating: a whole flock of sheep in a pasture dotted with tiny red and yellow flowers like those in the lower portion of the pasture here. Bear in mind that I am constrained to work with a pattern repeat of only four threads. That doesn't give a lot of latitude for creating a design.

Krokbragd Sheep

Day 354: Debby Greenlaw's marvelous book "Krokbragd: How to Design and Weave" contained a draft for sheep which I dearly wanted to try. There was only one problem. It required an 8-harness loom, and both my floor loom and table loom are only 4-harness. I thought I might be able to effect the same thing on the rigid heddle with multiple pick-up sticks, but that proved to be more bothersome and time-consuming than it was worth. The pattern kept rattling around in the back of my head until a few days ago when the light bulb lit: the sheep were only three throws. The additional sheds which necessitated the extra harnesses were there only to weave more green between them! That had bothered me from the get-go. Sheep are not creatures who take well to social distancing, and having them a full sheep's-width apart seemed contrary to their herding nature. By changing the pattern up just a little to eliminate unwanted sheds (weaving sheds, not housing structures), my sheep were compelled to pasture in closer proximity. Satisfied that I could now make sheepie inserts at the ends of towels, I then went on to figure out how to do plain tabby weave on a krokbragd (three-point twill) threading. Yes, it can be done on a rigid heddle (white band at the top), although it leans toward being weft-faced instead of balanced. It's a small trade-off, and one I can accept. Next in my list of experiments-to-be-performed will be to turn the sheep 90 degrees so that I can weave them on the inkle loom: "warp-faced sheep," if you will, a whole new breed engineered for weavers.

Accidentally Artistic

Day 80: Taking down the Christmas tree is on tomorrow's agenda, a task which won't be as lengthy as in years past because I did some serious weeding of ornaments this year. My original plan had been to return to a theme of "birds only," but expanded that stipulation first to include "anything which might be found in a tree" and then later to include decorations with personal significance. You see where this is going, right? Well, I did manage to thin the collection by about 10%, which at least simplified the process of decorating for the holidays. Now technically, I could have shifted sheep to a different pasture, i.e., they could have been reclassified as knickknacks, but I really don't have much space for kitsch. In real life, Cindy (right) and Ivy (left) were two ewes in my flock when it was at its peak of seven sheep. They were best friends and were always to be found together, sometimes apart from the rest of the mob. One year, I decided to try my hand at modelling them in Fimo, a polymer clay which must be baked in the oven. It has to be said that my artistic skills are rather wanting, but occasionally, I've surprised myself by creating something acceptable, and such was the case here. Hung on the tree side by side and joined by a strand of perle cotton, Cindy and Ivy are each about an inch and a half tall. Their fleece locks were made by rolling out the clay until it was paper-thin, then cutting it into 1 mm. wide strips, short pieces of which were twisted and applied to their bodies with the tip of a toothpick. It was a painstaking process, but I am quite proud of the results. When I hang them on the tree, I have to remind myself that while sheep farming is fun on one hand, those cold, wet nights in the lambing shed and the annual desperate search for a shearer willing to service a small flock more than adequately speaks in favour of purchasing raw fleece or roving for my spinning projects. I'll keep my sheep on the Christmas tree, thank you.

Little Lost Lamb

Day 40: I'm feeling a bit like Little Bo Peep after finding a long lost sheep in the bottom of the cedar chest. I was looking for a particular skein of yarn. It had to be in there somewhere, but by the time I'd hit bottom, I hadn't found it (it was in a different stash). As I was putting things back in, sweaters here, spun wool there, wool fabrics laid out flat, I came across a gallon Ziploc containing raw wool, black, very soft. Digging into it, I found a handwritten label: "Paskha." I couldn't believe my eyes.

Paskha was the first lamb born into the flock I maintained until I moved away from our Toadstool Acres family homestead. Looking back at photos, I found a date: 1988. Would forty-year old wool still be spinnable? Or would it have become brittle and too fragile? Several things were working in my favour. First, I'd picked the fleece before putting it away, nothing but prime locks in the bag. Second, I'd stored it "in the grease," i.e., without washing the lanolin out of it. I tested the fiber integrity with some heavy-handed carding. It was still in good condition. The bagful weighed out at two ounces, all I had left after the rest of Paskha's first shearing lamb's-wool had gone to make a sweater for a friend. I'm going to have to find a special purpose for the finished yarn, maybe in a Fair Isle yoke, little lost lamb returned to the fold.

Sheep Show

Day 344: I came into the Fair through the Green Gate as I usually do when I'm working at the Park's booth, and the first sound to greet me was a lengthy and distressed "Baaaaaaaaa!" from the new Agricultural Arena. I quickly diverged from my planned line toward the Piglet Palace and discovered  handful of black sheep being judged. The complex next door was filled with all sorts of bleating voices, making me glad I'd gone in early. Yes! Apparently the main "sheep show" had been saved for the last days of the Fair!

I do miss having sheep, although I'm wise enough not to go down that path again for a variety of reasons. That said, looking at all these fine animals (wool and meat breeds both) made me long for the days when I ran Romney-Suffolk crosses. The cross gave me the best of both worlds. I like mutton stew and "lamb-burger," so I'd raise my flock long enough to get two shearings and a new crop of lambs before turning the older sheep into freezer fare. I wasn't raising them for profit, but one year I ran the numbers and figured out that I was breaking even, the expenses of food and shearing balanced out against what I got in terms of fleeces sold to Pendleton Mills and local weaving shops, and meat for my table.

Separating The...

Day 339: Several years ago, I was told by a Fair employee that sheep were only brought in at the end of the Fair's run due to the possibility of disease being cross-communicated to cattle. In my years of raising sheep, I had never heard of any such thing, but I figured Fair officials knew what they were talking about. Consequently, I nearly always missed the sheep exhibit. Oddly, this year the restriction seemed not to apply. Sheep were scheduled for mid-month, and to my delight, the show overlapped one of my duty days. Again to my surprise, goats were housed in the same barn concurrently. Apparently the Fair no longer separates the sheep from the goats!

I've often thought about getting a goat. When I moved here thirty years ago, I brought two sheep with me, only to learn a hard lesson when they were attacked by neighbourhood dogs. A sheep is a docile animal, a goat not so much so. Unless taken down while in a small enclosure, a goat can stand its own against a dog or coyote. But sheep are grazers, good for keeping your lawn mowed. Goats are browsers, and will eat almost anything from knee-level up as high as they can reach, standing on their back legs to to do. I don't have a lot of brush, and wouldn't want them devouring my ornamentals. In any event, I feel that staking a goat on a tether is unkind to the critter. A little Angora is tempting, though.

Goats And Sheep

Day 345: For all of how much I've disparaged the Washington State Fair this year, I received a pleasant surprise today when I went in for my last shift. The sheep and goats were in, and sheep had been moved from a small barn into the new, much larger Agriplex, and almost every pen was filled. The only disappointment was in not finding any Romneys, one of the breeds I used to raise. Goats no longer had to share space with sheep and likewise were well-represented, occupying the whole of the barn they formerly shared. One nanny tried to eat my camera as I was taking photos of her pen-mates, and one ram tried to lick it but only succeeded in thoroughly sheep-slobbering my hand.

Sheep and goats are my favourite part of the Fair. I haven't had a goat since high school, but kept a small herd of Romney, Romney-Suffolk and Romney-Corriedale sheep for many years, supplying myself with both wool and meat. If it wasn't that they require daily care, I would love to have sheep or goats again.

Sheep Shots

Day 344: I miss having sheep. I don't miss the cold nights in the lambing shed, the annual search for a shearer willing to travel for the few dollars he could earn shearing four or five animals. I don't miss trimming hooves, wormings, stitching up wethers savaged by neighbour dogs. But I do kinda miss playing chase with the ewes and the sweet smell of the milky breath of a lamb fresh off the teat. I don't miss the ticks and keds, but I miss the touch of soft wool in my fingers when the first fleeces were rolled and bagged, and the feel of natural lanolin conditioning my rough hands. I miss...forgive me...lamb burger and mutton stews, but I do not miss transporting Ivy and Cindy and Dacron and Orlon to the slaughterhouse, nor driving away to leave them to the fate for which I'd reared them, fighting down emotions no person who raises livestock can allow themselves to own. Every now and then (especially at Fair time), I think, "I should get a sheep, save me mowing the lawn," and then reason kicks in. In truth, it's not having sheep I miss. It's the idea of having sheep, perfect sheep, romanticized sheep. Why, with that logic, I could enjoy thousands of woollies! Nah, I'll just visit them at the Fair.

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!