a modest profession
It's shepherding, darling, and contrary to popular belief there's still a paycheck to be made with a dog at your side and crook in your hand. While some might think this has been a dead vocation since, I don't know, the Bronze Age—there's actually a living to be made raising sheep. You can take your pick how. You want to raise lamb chops? Go ahead. Prefer to raise sweaters? You can do that too. Maybe you want to sell authentic Ricotta, lanolin skin products, or shearling boots and coats? Well, you can do those all in spades, son. And if none of this suits you, well, then raise lambs for other farmers so they can. There's no glass ceiling when the walls are electric netting.
A sheep is a noble animal, probably the perfect small-farm livestock. I always say this, but that's because I really mean it folks. Sheep give us wool, yes, but they also manage to give us meat, milk, lanolin, landscaping, lambs, rugs, cheese, leather, fleeces, horns, buttons, entertainment, ambiance and Border Collies. They are better behaved than goats, and less dangerous than cattle and hogs. One person with a good dog can manage a whole flock with a few commands or whistle blows. I ask you, with all these products and processes how could one not succeed if they truly gave it their all?
So that's what I'm doing here. Cold Antler Farm is a mix of many different species and projects: but the keystone of the whole arc (ark?) is 100% ovine. I raise sheep because my region, my personality, and my desire to be outside can all marry with the aid of these beasts. And I want to be outside with them, so much.
I want to knit their yarn, deliver their lambs, host farm dinners, and shear their raw wool. I want to learn how to train and work with my business partner, the Border Collie, so someday long from now I can breed and train my own dog on my own land and raise him up under the supervision of wiser dogs. I want to know what it's like to feed a pregnant ewe in winter, help her raise her lambs all spring, watch them gambol and grow all the long summer, and learn to say goodbye in the fall. I want to thank them with October bonfires warmed by thick wool sweaters and hard cider from the trees they shared with me. I want them to show me how to be a proper person. One who knows how to be quiet, and still, and not make a fuss or need to escape all the time. There is so much to learn from the Zen that is shepherding with a hungry mind. Call it a pipedream if you must. No offense taken here. I find both pipes and dreams useful objects in a life worth reclining back into.
So on 6 and a half hilly, rough, acres in Washington County I will learn how to do all this, slowly, with many mistakes and lessons. I'll repair soil and pasture. I'll learn to breed and train. I'll figure out the fences and outbuildings, socks and sweaters: all of it. This is my work and my dream and how blessed it is to have those two nouns together form the beautiful verb FARM. Whatever sacrifices or struggles arise I'll meet them the way a proper sheepdog does, with a steady glare, ears back, and head low. (I am learning how to be a better person by watching superior animals work with all their heart.)
I want to do this for the rest of my life. I know won't get wealthy. I know won't travel far. I know might do it alone indefinitely. I know I might fail. I know I'll get hurt. I know it's all an emotional and social gamble. That's all okay.
Not taking up this line of work, isn't.