the first farm weekend
This morning's dawn was met by me riding a 200-pound sheep into the sunrise. Well, "riding" isn't really the correct term—I was being dragged. It was not yet 6 AM and as my favorite wether pulled my not-so-small frame across the hillside—it occurred to me that most normal people were still in bed. Little did they know us crazy small farmers were out having amateur rodeo hour. My friend Zach and I had loaded the sheep into the Subaru the day before. Had I known then they were planning to teach me some lessons about gravity and hoof-speed: I might have left them there.
Bruises aside, I was happy to have all of my animals (save Finn, who I am waiting till I have electric fencing to call home) back in my care. And that bit about leaving them in Vermont, that's a little dramatic. Truth is I have grown far too fond of my first three sheep to do anything but shear and feed them. There will be lamb and wool on this farm, but these guys aren't food stock. They are the training wheels I fell in love with. Even the mean one.
Zach, his wife Shellee, and their daughter Madeline were visiting from my hometown. They were here to help tear down the old farm and set up the new one. Not many folks jump at the chance to wrangle livestock, so I not only welcomed their visit, I bought new towels.
The family arrived Thursday night, and was helping feed chickens and filling rabbit fonts by 5:30 Am the next morning. After farm chores were done Friday morning, we drove over to Sandgate for the flock. I backed the car right up to the gate. hoping the loading would go smoothly. I opened the hatch to the tarp-lined back seat and threw some grain in. Sal thought this was marvelous and tried to jump in but was too heavy. I lifted his front end up, and then squatted on my knees to boost him into the back seat. It worked. Joe followed with little effort and Maude...well, was Maude. She balked, tried to run away, was caught, and then had to be lifted a foot at a time into the back seat. But we got them all loaded in a matter of minutes. As the hatch slammed I felt the weight of the world lift off my chest. All of Cold Antler was now heading home.
Zach seemed unfazed sitting shotgun in the beat Forester while Maude stuck her head in the space between the two front seats. (People who ride in cars with sheep are my kind of people.) After the drive back to the new farm, we moved them into the small holding pen cobbled together two nights earlier with the help of some coworkers. It was a simple affair: just field fence and some t-posts. Thanks to my friends Phil and Steve—who had come up for beer, pizza, and fence-building Wednesday night— I had the joint ready for some sheep. We had prepared knowing it would be a few days before the sheep shed was dismantled and delivered, but the forecast called for sunny days and they had the shade of a few apples trees. I thought they'd like their new pen and spend some happy time inside it come the weekend.
Sal didn't.
As I walked up the hill to the sheep pen, hay under one arm and somewhat groggy (I was still waiting for the coffee to perk)—I realized Sal had escaped. He had boldly shimmied under the fence in search of greener pastures. The trio had mowed the pen's grass to nothing in a few hours and the endless field around him was too tempting to stay put. I walked right up to him and pat him on the head. Morning Sal, I nodded. He kept eating, in love with the high, lush grass. I dumped the hay into the pen for Maude and Joseph (who had remained in the pen) and walked down to the car to grab some of the grains we used yesterday morning to bribe them into the station wagon. When I returned to the rogue with the grains, he ignored me some more. Wow...This had to be some seriously good grass... So I went with plan B, which was to grab him and push him back under the fence.
This was a mistake.
Sal was not interested in being man handled and started to trot away. I held on tighter. I stepped over him, straddling the 200 pound sheep between my legs, crab walking him towards the break in the fence. To steady him, I leaned the bulk of my weight over his upper back and foolishly thought this would lull him into submission and he would trudge back into the pen. He did not. He took off. I was just along for the ride.
For a few moments I was half riding/half being dragged across my new pasture by a grass-crazed fiend. I bounced as he cantered, holding onto his long wool like a chump. Finally I yelled for him to stop, and out of shock at the noise, he did. Both of us panting, my back covered in sweat, I was then able to follow the original plan of shoving him back under the lame fence. I placed a roll of spare Red Brand in front of the hole and walked back down the hill to the house. I had no idea if he'd mind the improvement or roll it out of the way again. Honestly, I didn't care. I hadn't had any coffee yet and I was panting like a sheepdog. My guests were still fast asleep. I hoped the neighbors weren't up to see the hootenanny. I hadn't even shook hands with them yet...
It was the beginning of a very long (but grand) day. A day that started with rodeo and would end with a toddler dancing barefoot in the grass around a small flock of meat birds, soaking up the sun together. How it should be.
More tomorrow. I'm so tired right now I could sleep a horse.
Bruises aside, I was happy to have all of my animals (save Finn, who I am waiting till I have electric fencing to call home) back in my care. And that bit about leaving them in Vermont, that's a little dramatic. Truth is I have grown far too fond of my first three sheep to do anything but shear and feed them. There will be lamb and wool on this farm, but these guys aren't food stock. They are the training wheels I fell in love with. Even the mean one.
Zach, his wife Shellee, and their daughter Madeline were visiting from my hometown. They were here to help tear down the old farm and set up the new one. Not many folks jump at the chance to wrangle livestock, so I not only welcomed their visit, I bought new towels.
The family arrived Thursday night, and was helping feed chickens and filling rabbit fonts by 5:30 Am the next morning. After farm chores were done Friday morning, we drove over to Sandgate for the flock. I backed the car right up to the gate. hoping the loading would go smoothly. I opened the hatch to the tarp-lined back seat and threw some grain in. Sal thought this was marvelous and tried to jump in but was too heavy. I lifted his front end up, and then squatted on my knees to boost him into the back seat. It worked. Joe followed with little effort and Maude...well, was Maude. She balked, tried to run away, was caught, and then had to be lifted a foot at a time into the back seat. But we got them all loaded in a matter of minutes. As the hatch slammed I felt the weight of the world lift off my chest. All of Cold Antler was now heading home.
Zach seemed unfazed sitting shotgun in the beat Forester while Maude stuck her head in the space between the two front seats. (People who ride in cars with sheep are my kind of people.) After the drive back to the new farm, we moved them into the small holding pen cobbled together two nights earlier with the help of some coworkers. It was a simple affair: just field fence and some t-posts. Thanks to my friends Phil and Steve—who had come up for beer, pizza, and fence-building Wednesday night— I had the joint ready for some sheep. We had prepared knowing it would be a few days before the sheep shed was dismantled and delivered, but the forecast called for sunny days and they had the shade of a few apples trees. I thought they'd like their new pen and spend some happy time inside it come the weekend.
Sal didn't.
As I walked up the hill to the sheep pen, hay under one arm and somewhat groggy (I was still waiting for the coffee to perk)—I realized Sal had escaped. He had boldly shimmied under the fence in search of greener pastures. The trio had mowed the pen's grass to nothing in a few hours and the endless field around him was too tempting to stay put. I walked right up to him and pat him on the head. Morning Sal, I nodded. He kept eating, in love with the high, lush grass. I dumped the hay into the pen for Maude and Joseph (who had remained in the pen) and walked down to the car to grab some of the grains we used yesterday morning to bribe them into the station wagon. When I returned to the rogue with the grains, he ignored me some more. Wow...This had to be some seriously good grass... So I went with plan B, which was to grab him and push him back under the fence.
This was a mistake.
Sal was not interested in being man handled and started to trot away. I held on tighter. I stepped over him, straddling the 200 pound sheep between my legs, crab walking him towards the break in the fence. To steady him, I leaned the bulk of my weight over his upper back and foolishly thought this would lull him into submission and he would trudge back into the pen. He did not. He took off. I was just along for the ride.
For a few moments I was half riding/half being dragged across my new pasture by a grass-crazed fiend. I bounced as he cantered, holding onto his long wool like a chump. Finally I yelled for him to stop, and out of shock at the noise, he did. Both of us panting, my back covered in sweat, I was then able to follow the original plan of shoving him back under the lame fence. I placed a roll of spare Red Brand in front of the hole and walked back down the hill to the house. I had no idea if he'd mind the improvement or roll it out of the way again. Honestly, I didn't care. I hadn't had any coffee yet and I was panting like a sheepdog. My guests were still fast asleep. I hoped the neighbors weren't up to see the hootenanny. I hadn't even shook hands with them yet...
It was the beginning of a very long (but grand) day. A day that started with rodeo and would end with a toddler dancing barefoot in the grass around a small flock of meat birds, soaking up the sun together. How it should be.
More tomorrow. I'm so tired right now I could sleep a horse.
posted by Jenna at 8:20 PM
18 comments
links to this post
