Shearing is finally done for another year. I like to talk big about how I love my life here on the ranch and how I'm happy that I can pass along "teachable moments" to my kid via some retro, back in the day, how they use to do it skill. I hate shearing though. The first year I was excited about it. I'd never seen it done other than an occasional demo at a county fair. Shearing at our ranch is hot, smelly, and generally filled with at least two women who are teetering on the edge of a hormone explosion. I'm usually so pooped by the end of it all, I pass out in my bath. This year, although it was hot and smelly, I didn't have to pluck and haul sheep. Shelly's menace of a ram, Nubie didn't plow me over leaving yet another bruise.
Jolene was relieved of her wool picking up duty by a group of women from a local spinning club. She was able to spend her day tromping around the ranch with someone of her own age, with seemingly the same interests in weird kid things. (I don't remember being interested in weird kid things)
The lady spinners chit chatted all day about this type of wool, and that type of wool, virgin wool, baby doll wool, cotswold wool, smelly wool with poop infused in it, etc. They talked about wool. I chatted with my Aunt, drank lots of soda, sweated and counted naked sheep. I'm tired but not nearly as tired as years past. I'm so thrilled that I was able to be in the company of family without hearing a eulogy on another relative.
Even though sometimes the conversations turned to maggots and hang overs, it was great. I can't say I'm looking forward to shearing next year but I am looking forward to family visits, no matter what form they take.