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Lambs Arrive

We’ve been preparing for lambs over the last few days. Ever-rounder ewes have warned us that it’s time to plan.

These are some of our most ostentatiously pregnant ewes:

We started by placing our order from Premier 1 Supplies. We bought fresh new bottles and nipples for the inevitable bottle lambs, smore syringes and needles, and a can of colostrum replacer. We like to have colostrum replacer on hand to “stretch” colostrum when needed. We’ll mix it with a bit of colostrum borrowed from another ewe. I organized our existing lambing supplies and ordered more ear tags. Lots of small things to think of and loose ends to tie off.

Preparing our supplies is one matter, but preparing mentally is another. I am a huge fan of Lambing Live, a show that used to run annually on the BBC. Episodes are available on YouTube. Even though some are missing or out of order, it’s still a valuable watch if you want to get psyched for several weeks of sleepless stress. Truly, watch this series a bit if you find sheep even remotely interesting.



What is the stress of lambing? It’s not an excess of physical work. We have our farm pretty streamlined from that angle. It’s not even a complete lack of sleep. We have barn cameras to help us monitor the barn without having to get up and clothe ourselves every time. It’s really the stress of responsibility. It’s the stress of constant decisionmaking that could result in the death of a lamb whose issues we might fail to recognize, or excessive intervention where patience is needed. Making these calls constantly tires me, and tracking every detail wears on my mind.

Two days ago, I took a walk up Creek Rd and played “stick” with my pal Nugget, the Border Collie. I told her that it might be the last walk for a while, as we were expecting lambs any time. She cocked her head in a BC manner, not understanding that it may be farewell for a short while.

How precient were my words, because this morning we were blessed with two little black Border Leicester lambs. I had a notion to check the barn cam as I lay in bed at 7, and there they were. Matt reviewed the video on the barn cams. The birth was concealed by a hay feeder, but the moment of birth is perfectly apparent when the loud cry of a lamb alerted and alarmed every ewe in the barn. Ears and heads all turned the sharp, high little baas. Oxytocin is flowing already, and we’ve only just begun.


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Target Dress Challenge…

…challenge accepted.

If you are unfamiliar with the Target Dress Challenge, it’s worth reading about so that the rest of this entry will make sense to you.

It all started when someone pointed out that a bunch of long dresses at Target look like “people just lost the farm after locusts ate their crops” but in the pandemic world. And this is where it got fun.

So my friend Betsy decided that we should take the challenge ourselves. She had a nearby Target and I had a farm.

The sheep seemed very confused.

I asked my yearling lamb if she thought we might survive the winter. The weather’s been chilling and cold.
We weren’t hungry enough to kill the goose this winter.
We are blessed with a fresh-baked loaf of humble bread.
Ready to defend the homestead with Grandad’s gun. Tarnation, they’ve hid behind the manure-spreader!
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Shearing Day Arrives

Again, credit to Lee for distilling all of the good advice I’ve gotten about how to really share my farm with others into one useful phrase.

We spent Wednesday evening setting up for shearing. We have learned that if we set up morning-of, the sheep get all nervous and suspicious. Nervous sheep do not go into pens willingly. So we set up the pens the night before so that the sheep can inspect them, grow bored of them and move on. At 4pm, we rolled out the last bale of hay for the ewes to gorge on. The ewes will breathe much more comfortably during shearing if they don’t have full rumens.

“Sniff Sniff – what’s all this?”

Yesterday morning, we penned up the ewes first-thing. I tripped and fell carrying the grain bucket. Not a good idea! Before I was crushed by a stampede of hungry, grumpy ewes, Matt took the bucket from my hand and distracted the horde. Thanks, Matt!

Once the sheep were tucked into their pen to await shearing, we added three fresh bales to the barn. That way, freshly-shorn sheep could head straight for the buffet and fill up on good, tasty hay.

Mary, our shearer, arrived and set to work. Matt encouraged sheep to enter the sorting chute, and each sheep dispensed leapt straight into Mary’s waiting arms. I am often asked why I don’t shear my sheep myself. Shearing takes real expertise, skill and physical strength. Mary has all three in spades. She’s taller than I am, which helps, but more critically, she has shorn thousands of sheep at this point and has the skills necessary to restrain the sheep humanely, shear carefully, and carry on a partial conversation all at the same time.

Hungry sheep, waiting for Mary

Shearing is a time to evaluate sheep health. Shorn of their wool, we can finally see if a ewe is thin or fat, pregnant or potentially open, healthy or ill in some notable way. We noted that Chloe’s udder has a bad side. We can plan to have her only raise one lamb. Most ewes were quite fat, we noted, but a few of the yearlings could do with some more chub. We’ll make sure that we make it easy for the littlest sheep in the flock to get their fair share of feed.

Queued and ready!
Mary asking nicely for more cooperation.
Mary at work

I’ve buried the lede a bit here, but we had a guest of honor at shearing this year. Laini Fondiller, from Lazy Lady Farm, came to shearing this year. An artisan cheesemaker and goatherd, Laini is solidly the busiest person I know. She has been running Lazy Lady Farm for 35 years now, making some of the finest goat cheese to ever grace the counters at Murray’s Cheese and other fine establishments. We’ve been friends for a decade now, collaborating on dairy goat genetics and commiserating about running small farms. It was really a treat to get to spend a day working together – we so seldom can find that kind of time.

Laini sorting our wool.

This year’s wool varied in quality. The BFL was clean and lovely. My only concern is the prevalence of some felting in the longer locks. We have a few BFLs whose wool is not quite up-to-standard. We’ll make sure that such ewes meet a ram with amazing wool every time. The Borders were more of a mixed-bag. Some ewes had lovely fleeces, others were rough and matted. Several fleeces had to be rejected outright due to cotting and felting, which is always a disappointing outcome. We have some amazing jet-black Border Leicester fleeces from our lambs. I’m going to make something really, really special with that wool.

After shearing, we enjoyed some homemade seafood chowder outdoors together. Mary and Laini departed, and Matt and I picked up the sorting pen and then stowed the wool, which will wait until I can make a trip down to Battenkill Fiber Mill.

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A Little Help from my Friends

There’s nothing better than a farm friend when you need one!

January is conference season, even in a year where all conferences are virtual. I was lucky enough to attend a sheep chat hosted by Cornell discussing small ruminant management. While the content of the conference itself varied a bit, I was lucky enough to meet Lee, who runs a dairy and multi-species meat operation. He comes from the entertainment media world, and we had a long discussion about current thought in marketing. Marketing always sounds so cynical to me: I hate feeling like I need to convince people to buy yarn or lamb. Some of my hesitation comes from my own shyness and my cultural background of humility and modesty. Lee understood this and managed to convince me that bringing myself into my marketing doesn’t have to be pushy or obnoxious. It can look like opening up and inviting people in more. Mind, this is not easy for a repressed Yankee like me, but I think that after nearly 10 years raising sheep, I’m ready to welcome you all into my world a little more.

A blog post that’s uncomfortably centered on me. Here I am, attired in woolens and a shabby coat, ready to share myself more generously.

A hastily-composed bio:

My name is Katie Sullivan. I’ll turn 38 in October. I was born and raised in NH, went to college in Massachusetts, and then settled in Vermont after graduation. I came with dreams of working in non-profits. Though my dreams lay in working in social justice organizations, my skillset and personality didn’t fit in that world. I gave the field two solid attempts before quitting for good in 2010, heartbroken, traumatized and looking for a different path towards making a better world.

In 2011, I began an internship on a goat dairy farm that became a job, and that job turned into a new career in value-added food production. In 2012, I got my first sheep and began blogging. In 2014, I went through a divorce, left the goat farm, met Matt and moved in with him. My sheep were fostered that winter with neighbors back at the farm- I still feel tearful when I think of the generosity of the friends who kept my sheep dream alive during that difficult time. The sheep followed me in spring to Williston, VT from 2015-17. In 2017, with some inheritance money of Matt’s, we quit our regular jobs and bought our farm in Albany, VT.

More fun facts:

  • My favorite color is red, even though our home interior, cars, sheep trailer and one tractor are all blue.
  • People think I look just like my mother, but if you saw a picture of my paternal grandmother, you’d see the resemblance.
  • I am a former vegetarian/almost-vegan who made a full 180 shift into raising animals for wool and meat.
  • I am preoccupied with the flavors and textures of East Asian snackfoods. I can eat Gochujang until I breathe fire but I don’t love jalopenos. HMart is my happy place.
  • I speak France-French, but I am not always effective understanding spoken Quebecois-French. I am working on this issue.
  • I’m not a skillful knitter (all the good stuff comes from my mom!) but I’ve been knitting a bit more lately because I love the texture experience of yarn.
  • I have fine motor skills deficiencies, Sensory Integration Disorder and some other ASD goodies, so when I say I love wool and yarn, I mean REALLY LOVE. Unsurprisingly, I have a big chip on my shoulder about people telling me to “try harder” at things that I simply do not have the mental or physical ability to do. You asking me to write it again, more neatly = me asking you to flap your arms until you start flying.
  • I love most cats and some dogs. Matt has a parrot who mostly hates me.
  • My biggest strength and biggest weakness is that I am always intense, singleminded, and determined about whatever I am focused on, to the detriment of other activities and needs.
  • Matt has taught me a great deal about engines and electronics.
  • I enjoy casual birdwatching. I would like to improve my auditory birding abilities.
  • I’m a Public Radio nerd and a big nerd in general, so no one should ever feel bashful about demonstrating their passion about obscure topics around me.
  • Nothing better than exploring an old barn!
  • My favorite TV show is Rick and Morty, followed perhaps by OG All Creatures Great and Small or Law and Order. I enjoy Star Wars and Star Trek equally.
  • I can be very, very funny.
  • I normally swear a lot but I can clean up nicely.
  • I am the rare Millennial who likes mayonnaise.
  • Southern New England aggression is my native tongue, but Vermont has taught me to be nicer and kinder.
  • I speak with a strange mixture of Eastern New England R-less-ness with some adopted Vermont pronunciations so people here can understand me.
  • I read the entirety of Emily Posts’ 1967 etiquette guide, so I know what I *should* do but I don’t always behave
  • I don’t enjoy smoothies.
  • Several people have told me that I am the most “internal” person they know.
  • I do not know how to apply makeup.
  • I wish I could dance but I have zero rhythm.
  • I am uncomfortable with hugs or touch from strangers, so please ask first.
  • I have not had many opportunities to travel and haven’t really left the Northeast much.
  • My only “bucket list” task is to swim in a warm ocean before I die.

    If you have enjoyed this list, thank Lee at Moxie Ridge Farm in NY. You can stay tuned for a bit more “personalized” experience of Cloverworks Farm going forward, and I sincerely hope that you’ll enjoy it. I’m also happy to get to know you. What do you want to learn about, or see more of, or dive into more deeply, or share about your own experience?
A picture of me, the human, and #40, a BFL ewe who LOVES cuddles.
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Lamb Open House – Y/N in 2021?

No matter how much I pet them, my sheep crave attention. I have several who will stop at nothing for shoulder-scritches, up to and including the yearling ewe from my last blog post who now will try to stand on your chest for attention. Needless to say, but we are training her not to do that.

We have a little over a month of petting to distribute equitably before lambing begins right around the end of February. Already, the ewes are waddling more and standing less eagerly. We are expecting anything from 70-90 lambs in 2021. That’s a whole lot.

PET US NOW!

Not gonna kiss that fuzzy face for cootie reasons.

Not only do my sheep want attention and socialization, but I also do. I’m strongly introverted and happily go several days talking only to Matt. But even I have limits. It would be grand to have some visitors at the farm, socially-distanced of course. The barn is pretty open-air, so having visitors in the barn is at a comparable risk level to two masked, distanced people talking at the park. We also recognize that people NEED interaction of some kind to get through this terrible year. Sanity has value, too.

I want visitors to come because I want you to feel, in person, how wonderful baby lambs are. I want you to watch their spontaneous play, to coo over their snoozing, to sense their curiousity and learn to interact with them on their terms. I want children to develop a fascination with animals just as I did as a child. Nothing makes me sadder than meeting people for whom farm animals are an entirely abstract concept.

That said, news about new, more contagious variants comes out daily. Matt and I are relatively young (42 and 37, respectively), but Matt does have some risk factors for a more serious Covid experience. I am so keen to share our farm with you, but also rather anxious about it.

So I am interested in your thoughts: Should we do FB live lambing streams? Should we offer tours? Should we do both or neither? How would you want to interact with lambs and farms at this difficult time?

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Sheep Behaving Badly

I have some entertaining pictures of recent sheep activity. After 45 days in the barn, the ewes express their restlessness with weird stunts.

Activity #1 – Fighting

BFL 129 Amelia and Border Leicester 1736 go head to head, with our resident ram lamb goading them on. Sheep flocks have a hierarchy, and apparently these girls do not agree about where they stand in the pecking order.

FINISH HER!
A solid flank shot by Amelia. Luckily, ewes don’t fight to the point of injury, like rams do. These two went back to munching hay and gossiping about each other soon after.

I have to admit that I was laughing the whole time. I am sure this felt very serious to the contenders, but watching chubby, fluffy ewes do battle would amuse anyone. I wonder if this could be a pay per view channel?

And then this happened:

Perhaps you recall a story from last spring, where one of our ewes had quadruplets? The runt died and we gave the ram lamb away to be raised by a friend, but we kept two promising ewes from the set. When a young lady contacted me to ask about keeping some bottle lambs over the summer, I consented. She had tutelage from an experienced shepherd, and handing off some problem children was just what I needed at the time, so I gave her one of the quad girls and another bottle baby. This lamb, #174, came home in the fall. She just loves people, and last week decided that perhaps people would make entertaining climbing walls, too.

So here she is, standing on my thighs and peering me straight in the eye. We will gently train her not to do this, as it’s going to get exponentially less-cute the larger she grows. I love this pretty ewe, but it is not safe to have attack-sheep on premises.

The days here are alternating between grimdark gray and sunny and white. It is a beautiful but bleak season. With the sheep stable and some time to think, I am finally catching up on paperwork and hobbies. I really value this bonding time with the core flock. The ewes are all feeling friendly and loving, so I am bombarded with shoulder-itching requests and loving nudges from my friendly ewes during this time. At other times of the year, the ewes are either preoccupied with parenting or feeling free and feral in the fields. So I gather the sheep petting endorphins when I can while we wait for the coming of lambs in late February.

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Walking

I’ve started taking a walk each day to try to battle my isolation fatigue.

Typically, I begin by walking north. In a few steps past the end of the driveway, I am off our property and walking on the smooth, damp sand of the road. Throughout my walk, I must listen for approaching cars from either direction. Pedestrians are not that common on our road, and many drivers enjoy the wide, open vista and straightaway in front of our property to rev up and go. If a car comes, I will wave. It pays to be neighborly.

Even though it’s now December, it’s still worth taking a look at what transpires in our fields. Commonly, I see crows and ravens. Chickadees flit around in the short trees. Sometimes, the turkeys make themselves visible as they endlessly search the fields for morsels. Two weeks of rifle season has made the deer scarce, though evidence abounds of them crossing our road daily.

Heading up the hill to our north, I start thinking about finding a good throwing stick. I’ve been visiting the neighbors’ Border Collie daily for nearly a week now, and we’ve developed a bit of a routine. I find something nice and throwable as I approach her territory. I crest the hill and I can often see that she’s in the dooryard near the road.

Our routine starts with her bow, inviting me to play. Her gaze fixes completely and resolutely on the stick. I wing it as far as I can away from the road in a westerly direction. Three years on this road and I know that this particular dog has no regard for the hazard that cars present. She fetches, makes a few chomps on the stick and returns. About one in three times, she doesn’t see where the stick landed and looks at me like I’ve deceived her by faking a throw. I shrug at her and we each go looking for a new stick. When I car comes, I try to hold her attention so she won’t thoughtlessly bolt into traffic. I often walk a little past where she will go, and then return for a second session while I walk by the house southbound. I walk on the wrong side of the road for that second throwing time just to keep her where she belongs. Stick time ends once I pass the far end of the barn on the property where the dog lives. She never passes that point with me.

I was informed of the dog’s name by a neighbor recently, but I can’t recall what it is other than that it is feminine and contains two syllables. She has never allowed me to touch her, nor has she approached me to sniff or inspect. This relationship is purely based on stick provision and throwing, nothing else. She is an older dog, likely older than 12 or so. I do not, strictly speaking, have permission to play with her, but neither have I been asked to stop. I have never been acknowledged in any way by her shy and reclusive owner. Selfishly, I plan to continue this activity because it’s really a highlight of my day, and I think the dog takes pleasure in it, too.

Once I am over the hill and out of the dog zone, I can enjoy the prettiest vista on our whole road. From the top of the hill at the Kirshner Farm facing south, I can see Mount Mansfield, Camel’s Hump, Elmore Mountain at the head of the Worcester Range and Woodbury Mountain. This view always provides beauty and pleasure in any weather.

Heading back towards my house, I usually now pass my own driveway and walk a little south. You’d think I’d just continue north to get more steps in, but the road turns to pavement there, speeds increase and the road winds around a few blind turns that I wouldn’t feel safe on. Plus, the houses are a little closer to the road and I’m not paying social calls. Heading south, I’m patrolling the lands that we manage and paying a quick visit to the quiet cemetery to the south of our property. The St John of the Cross cemetery holds several generations of French and Irish catholic families that lived in the area. The earliest graves seem to date from the mid 1850s and the cemetery is still active. It’s clear that the lives of previous inhabitants were hard and generally short. Most people born in this area in the 1870s and 1880s lived only into their 40s, 50s and 60s. As was common at those times, there are also many graves of infants and young children.

I usually turn around to walk home after the cemetery. Again, the road gets busier and blind-er, and it’s risky enough already to walk on such a fast road that doesn’t have a good shoulder. I’m usually not tired by the time I turn right into the driveway, but I’ve at least stretched my legs and gotten a little fresh air and sunshine in these dreary days. If my walk is late, I will transition directly into caring for the sheep. Chores are minimal and everyone is waiting for the waning and the waxing of the light.

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Snow Too Soon

I’ll be the first to admit that we put off fixing the barn for too long. Though we have a wide-ranging array of skills, neither Matt nor I are woodworkers. Wood is a tricky medium – it warps, shrinks, grows and splits. Matt prefers metal, plastic and electronics, and I prefer spreadsheets and graphics.

So the barn went unmended for months as we pondered an approach. Finally, we decided it was time to cough up for outside help. On Saturday, exactly a year after the back of the barn tore in half, friends helped us replace the back and front panels of the barn. Our friend will be back to work on adding some wooden framing to solidify the canvas and reduce flapping, which should extend the life of the front and back panels. But since he is doing this after work, we’ll have to wait a few more days for the barn to be finished.

So an unfinished work-zone barn is the context we had when we saw the weather report calling for snow. A bit of snow at this time of year is commonplace, but when we woke up this morning, it was clear we’d had a proper snowstorm. Strong winds were blowing the falling snow across the landscape and our house was buffetted by whiteout gusts.

Sheep will graze through a good amount of snow, but we don’t want them to struggle to find sustenance under difficult conditions. My first action was to move all three groups to areas with sheltering trees. What a slog – the wind was whipping past, making the fence tough to manage. I struggled to keep my hands warm and the snow was just deep enough to impede my stride. But at last, both the Border Leicesters and the Bluefaced Leicesters had trees to block the prevailing winds.

Then, we opened a bale of hay and transported it to the Borders pasture. We rolled about 1/3 of the bale out and warched the ewes go wild for it. As much as sheep love fresh grass, hay is a desirable “convenience food” when the grass is buried. Soon, all were munching contentedly. We picked up the remaining bale and brought it to the Blues, who dug in with gusto just as their Border friends did. Finally, we went to see the lambs, who are in a far flung field protected from the worst of the winds. The lambs came gamboling down to see us and dug right into the core of the bale.

We have another day of freezing weather and hay feeding before temperatures transition back into the 60s. Hopefully, the barn will be finished soon and the sheep will go into their shelter for the winter months.

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Running of the Rams

I felt grateful for a morning full of sunshine this morning. We’re well past our first frost and we know that snow is right around the corner, so it wasn’t surprising to step out to 35F temperatures and a crisp wind.

I usually get started by filling the water tank in the bucket of the tractor. We recently replaced our old Ford with a New Holland that’s 20 years newer. The Ford had a bumpy ride that irritates my internal scar tissue from past surgeries, so upgrading has really helped my health.

Aboard the tractor, I headed up to check on the BFLs who are in a breeding group pasture on our neighbor’s property. I spot two cyclists who are looking at me, then I see one of our off-duty rams running loose. That’s bad. Very bad. Our off-duty rams are in a horse pasture, and truthfully, they are not far enough from the BFL breeding group. We just didn’t have other options. So when I saw the off-duty ram heading for the ewes, ready to challenge the on-duty ram, I immediately worried that we would have a real ram-fight.

Fortunately, the electric fence succeeded in keeping the rams apart, so I contacted the cyclists. They told me that when they rode by, their cycles spooked the rams, causing Hermie the BFL ram to bust through the fence. They had been trying to keep Sam the Border Leicester ram inbounds while hoping that assistance would arrive. I’m so grateful that they stopped to help instead of leaving the situation.

I had some grain on hand to feed the ewes, so I tried to lure Hermie away from the girls. All amped up and nervous, he spooked at the grain bag sound instead of coming toward me. It was then that I noticed a large gash on his nose from challenging the fence. Poor Hermie! With grain-shaking getting me nowhere, I feed the BFL breeding group. That resulted in them ignoring Hermie, who responded by paying more attention to me. One cyclist returned with a bucket, and I was able to contact Matt for further backup.

It took slow, patient grain-luring to get Hermie back into his field. We were hoping to halter him, but he kept spooking and running in circles, so we concluded that our best hope was to feed out a little more grain in the field and to spray a sanitizing treatment on his wound there. Fortunately, we succeeded with that plan. Hermie now has a bold silver Aluspray blaze, and the fence has some new green stakes supporting the area where the the breakout took place.

It has been a long fall season for me. I haven’t kept up with the blog because I’ve been trying so hard to be nimble with Cloverworks yarn sales opportunities and busy with Bobolink Yarns efforts. It genuinely has been a hard year – I had hoped that this would be our breakout Rhinebeck year. We’ve learned that our yarn sells really well when people can touch it, but that we can’t rely on online sales as a substitute for in-person sales opportunities. That’s a tough realization, for certain.

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Lamb Shearing Day

Two day’s worth of preparation went in to getting 35 lambs shorn in an organized manner, but it was worth the effort for a smooth and pleasant experience.

First, a bit about why we shear lambs in the fall:
Last year, we fall-sheared lambs who would be “getting on the truck,” as it were. We ended up shearing a few Border Leicester ewe lambs who, when shorn, ended up having great breed character and structure. So we kept two shorn lambs over the winter among the unshorn “keeper” lambs. We carefully observed the shorn lambs for signs of discomfort, but all of them looked perfectly content and comfortable. By October, they had a good cover of wool and by November, a thick coat of wool covered them to keep them warm. Come spring shearing, the wool from the shorn lambs was picture-perfect and clean. Meanwhile, the unshorn lambs gave damaged fleeces with excessive growth, some of which were too felted to be usable. More importantly, the huge growth of wool disguised the thinness of some ewe lambs. Not what you want to find after a winter of feeding! The BFL over-wintered fleeces were cotted at the tips and challenging to clean and use, as well. So this year, we thought we’d try shearing everyone.

The first step was gathering the materials. We have a shorting chute that uses sheep psychology to gently organize and restrain the sheep. They are inclined to follow the curve and form a single-file line to get through. It’s gentler and less stressful than grabbing each sheep one by one. We used the chute as a “lamb dispenser” for Mary, our shearer. She’d complete one shearing, tidy up, and then we’d raise the gate and the next sheep would be queued up, right there.



Mary shears gently and swiftly. She removes any belly wool first, tidies the bum, and then gets on with the work of shearing all of the usable wool. The first stroke goes up the chest, and then Mary shears the front of the sheep, gradually peeling wool away using gravity. She goes down one side, around the back, and then rolls the sheep to access the other side. We had a few naughty lambs who kicked and put up a fuss – bad lambs! Our little bottle lamb, Sausage McWiggles, kept coming by for extra pets. She sniffed and investigated Mary while Mary was trying to shear other sheep. We did have to dismiss little Sausage.

After shearing, all of the lambs ran off baaing. As soon as they realized they were naked, they invariably got to work grooming and nibbling the little itchies that they’d been unable to address for months.



Once the fleece was off the sheep, it went straight to Donna Druchunas and husband Dom. They removed any dirty or undesirable wool straightaway and packed the fleece up. Sending Donna home with her favorite fleece of the day seemed like little payment for such great work, but that’s what she wanted most.

In prior years, we have used fall-shorn fleece to make roving and extra yarn. This year, with no Sheep and Wool Festivals happening in-person, we are going to sell this wool as raw fleece. It’s been a little while since we’ve offered raw fleece! I think you’re going to love the tiny ringlets of the BFL and the gorgeous crimp of the Border. We have white and natural Border and we have white BFL. We did not have many natural BFL lambs this year and those we had were sold.