Tuesday morning, late April, we wake up early: I should say earlier because we are already waking up early to the melodic cries of Muir each morning. We have a laundry list of chores to complete before Mary, our shearer, arrives at 8:00. I carry out a bag of blueberry muffins that I’ve made the night before as both bribe and thanks to the volunteers who begin to arrive with early morning half smiles. Sheep aren’t supposed to eat on the morning of shearing but it seems I haven’t quite been able to cross that species language barrier and tell them that. So they begin to bellow the minute I come into sight. We have had to shut the gate between chicken coop and sheep paddock so now the chickens are angry and pacing the fence line like prison inmates out for morning exercise. My popularity is going nowhere but down.
We need to empty the barn so that it can act as headquarters central for Mary. We put a hook in the ceiling so that she can move freely while shearing. This year we switched things up and have sheep to begin. Then we set up fencing off the front of the barn so that they would be brought in from the back, shorn in the barn, then hustled out the front. I plant Sam outside of the fencing for good measure. At one point Paul mistakenly leaves part of the fencing open and one of the ewes turns left rather than right and pops right out of the enclosure. In reality, ewes are flock animals and, more importantly, prey animals. They want to stick together: she had no interest in wandering around without her friends. However, once she is out, Sam goes to work to be sure she knows she’s in his territory now and will be moving right along the way we planned, thank you very much.
Mary arrives, tanks up on a few muffins and we begin. As this is our third time shearing [now] with pretty much the same team: we have this. Josh (aka the tree) helps encourage sheep into the barn. I’m Mary’s right hand- or left, depending. Paul opens the front door as the sheep exit and basically gets out of the way. Then he and Morgan, our young neighbor, gather the wool into bags. I grab the broom and am on clean up. Smooth.
Shearing is a beautiful thing to watch. By April the sheep are in full coats, and panting when the sun appears, essentially ready to be shorn. However, they are simultaneously not ready for this and so not really ready to come willingly. Josh helps Mary “coax” the sheep into the barn: there is a lot of backing up during this procedure. Finally Mary has them plopped on their butts and gets to work. It seems that the most docile of the ladies does the most bicycling with her legs. Mary is an expert in the art of sheep Akido and sidesteps many a close call of hoof to face. In less than five minutes they have been taken out of their wool sleeping bags and stand up, essentially naked. Months of wool, fringed with manure lies in a pile at their feet. Naked or not, they know the way out. Once out of the barn they stand for a moment and begin to bellow indignantly for their friends. As they rush around the corner to reach the holding pen it seems that they are bending over slightly, in a vain attempt to cover themselves.
In the middle of shearing Mary notices the radiant heat lamp that I have attached to the ceiling of the barn. I explain that I bought it so that if the temps dropped really low in the winter months there would be some warmth in the barn proper. Over the buzz of the shears I could hear the howl of her laughter.
We work together to vaccinate everyone and clean and clip hooves. The sheep equivalent of a shave and a haircut I guess. Finally the last ewe has been shorn and they all stand in the paddock somewhat self consciously. At this point they have lost about seven pounds of wool each: I don’t recognize them and they don’t recognize each other. They begin the arduous process of head butting to reestablish their pecking order. I make note that the hens line the fence watching this. Cackling.
We spend the next hour bagging wool, taking down fencing and putting straw bedding back onto the barn floor. Morgan grabs another muffin for fortification.
I feel relieved to have this rite of spring over. (Next step: pasture!) We hit the hay early that night and wake up in the morning to…snow. Three inches with more coming . The wind is howling from the north and I have a barn full of sheep who are naked. And afraid.
I push feet into muck boots, grab a barn coat from the hook and quickly head out. I open the guillotine door for the hens who peek their heads out, think better of it and stay put in the coop. I quietly open the barn door to find all the sheep nestled deep in fresh straw. They look up and continue to chew quietly and contentedly because they are all tucked under the radiant heat lamp that I had turned on before I went to bed!!
And. over the roar of the wind I can distinctly hear the howl of my own laughter.
Melissa Perley