Parking the Sheep

Once again, it's mid-July and we've had no rain for weeks. Some finally fell this morning, and a major storm is brewing as I type, but it's too late for us. We're leaving in 3 days for an actual trip, and there's not enough grass for the sheep/cattle/llamas to eat while we're gone. There might be grass in 6 days, but we'll be gone by then.

So, what to do? Wave to the farmsitter as we drive away and wish her luck?

Nah, we wouldn't do that. We like Bonnie and want her to keep coming to the farm.

So we have no choice but to set up big round bales for them to eat. Luckily the neighbor cut and baled our north pasture, so we actually have bales.

Each group of animals will have its own spot with shade, water, and hay. I call this 'parking the sheep.' Instead of the animals moving to a new spot every day, which they can no longer do because they've eaten all the grass and the grass needs time to regrow, they'll just hang out in one place and munch on hay. Well, actually they'll complain bitterly to Bonnie every day about the lack of fresh grass and make her feel bad, but when they get hungry enough they'll eat the hay.

The rams will be safely behind the 8-wire fence. The cattle will be in the upper east pasture which has been inundated with Virginia creeper, which we hope they'll eat. The sheep hate it, so it's taken over a big chunk of the pasture.

This is why it's a good idea to have a diverse farm---sheep will eat some weeds that cattle won't, and cattle are supposed to eat some weeds that sheep won't. When we return from our trip, I'm hoping to see all the Virginia creeper gone.

The sheep will be next door in the lower east pasture, on what is usually the lushest grass. If any grass is going to grow while we're gone, it's this grass.

So tomorrow Melissa will put the hay spear on the back of the tractor, and move the bales.

I'd show you a photo of the tractor, but... ahh, no camera.

I'd show you a photo of the hay bales, but...once again, no camera.

So here's another piece of artwork which I did when we hosted an outdoor painting class on our farm. It photographed poorly, but doesn't look half bad in person.








We've got to get a camera soon. I'm running out of artwork.

Airing My Creative Laundry

Okay, here it is. Time to air my dirty laundry, as Mama Pea suggested in an earlier comment. Time to disclose the deep secrets, my quirks, my irritations,.... Here I go:

WE STILL DON'T HAVE A NEW CAMERA.

There. Now you know. A farm without a camera is, well, sort of naked.

So I've been cruising through my photo file and have no choice but to go off-topic, sort of. I figure if I do this enough, a fund will be started to collect money for a new camera.

Since farmers and writers need to blow off a little creative steam now and then, I often participate in an Artist-Poet Collaboration held at Crossings here in Zumbrota. Talented poets submit poems, the best 20 are chosen, then artists create art to accompany the poems---paintings, drawings, pottery, fabric/fiber, anything goes.

The poem I chose to illustrate was light and lively, with many images, but I fixated on the line about laundry blowing in the breeze. However, my deadline approached and I still hadn't painted anything because I didn't know what laundry blowing on the line really looked like. Where were the shadows? How did the fabric move?

So I hung out a shirt and pair of jeans and waited. No wind. No movement. Finally a tiny puff came up and I snapped a shot, seconds after the wind died.

I'm not going to confess how long I stood out there in the chilly March air waiting for my laundry to blow in the wind. I have many photos of laundry just as it stopped blowing. Breathtaking.



Finally the wind picked up and I got some movement.







Still not great. I waited for more, then gave up. At this rate, my deadline would blow by faster than the laundry.

Here's the result, called "Line Dancing," done in pastels.





The piece sold, which was flattering. Of course, it was purchased by the poet's mother, who buys all the pieces connected to her daughter's work, which is very sweet. That might be why I tend to pick this woman's poetry. I know her mom will buy anything I make!

From Our Files

Yesterday the Farmer took our digital camera outside, snapped some photos, put the camera in her shirt pocket, then bent over for some reason, thus dumping the camera from her pocket into a puddle of muddy water.

The camera's been banged around for five years, but it decided the muddy water was just the last straw so it broke.

This means I'm currently without a camera for taking blog photos. I'm not upset, really I'm not. These things happen. I'm totally cool. We'll buy another camera eventually, and will probably get more camera for our money than we did five years ago. But meanwhile, what's a blogger to do? My only choice is to cruise through my photo file, looking for ones I haven't yet posted.

A passive-aggressive sort of person would consider posting lots of photos of the Farmer, since she broke the camera, but luckily I'm far too mature for this.









This next one is a goofy photo. I needed some shots of me in the pasture for a newspaper article (photos requested by the paper) so a friend was shooting while the Farmer and I walked through the flock. I snagged a sleeping lamb for a photo op, but then realized it had some manure on its backside, which ended up on my jeans. The Farmer stands by, unsure what the fuss was all about.



And here's our version of the American Gothic painting....



Buying a new camera means a 30-mile trip into Rochester, which isn't on this week's schedule. But not to worry.... next week I could post the photos of my laundry flapping in the breeze. It'll be great... really...