Sun and Wind Farm

Newly shorn Icelandics enjoy their lighter look

It gets cold in Texas. Not the relentless, soul-numbing cold of the Northeast, but cold enough, thank you, for two transplants to remember Marches gone by when it seemed as if Spring would never arrive.

This week, Spring did. And with it arrived Danny. For tenders of flocks from Kansas to Arizona, Danny may even be a more welcome sight than Spring. Armed with a kind soul, an efficient technique and industrial-grade electric shears, Danny moves from farm to farm a few times a year to lighten the load of woolly sheep.

This was the first time our current flock met Danny. We have four friendly souls who are hand-raised and four who are a bit more distant but generally amiable. None of them were very interested at first to go under the knife but Danny has his persuasive ways. One-by-one he marched them over to the canvas. Click, they were standing. Click, they were sitting down on their bottoms. Click, the shears glided along hidden contours. In a matter of minutes, each sheep had shed its coat and Version 2.0, sleeker and cooler, was revealed to the world.

And what interesting wool they shed! The big Suffolks provided bags full of thick white wool. The diminutive Icelandics provided more modest amounts. But their fleece was lustrous and quite spinnable. Frances can’t wait to get her hands on that!

Stella bravely endures her haircut

As May transitions into June, we are preparing for the long hot months ahead. First up: sheep shearing!

The four adult fluffballs were good and ready for their biannual shearing. We called upon our able assistant, Sarah, who arrived one Saturday morning with razors in tow.

Corralling sheep for a hair cut is a bit like lunging for greased pigs at the state fair. Sheep do not want to be caught, as a general rule. Firefly the ram was the one easy exception. He always struts amiably over to us, although usually it’s because he is mulling whether or not to butt us into the next county. We surprised him with a halter and muscled him up onto the fitting stand. One down, three to go.

The ewes, well, they were another story. We boxed them into what looked like an escape-proof corner, but they sure could move fast when motivated. One by one they met their match. Perhaps the most outraged were Pixie and Page’s two sets of twin lambs. As each mother faced the music, she and her lambs performed an energetic call-and-response to each other, one profoundly maternal “m-a-a-a” met by two high-pitched “m-e-h-h-s.” In that way they kept in touch until the ordeal was over.

Since then, Frances has been spending her spare time cleaning and carding the four fresh fleeces, then hand-spinning the wool into yarn. This is the perfect ending for a cycle that began with free and endlessly renewable solar energy, continued on through a grassy growing season and concluded with fuzzy, warm, beautiful wool.

 
Two sets of twins get to know Dad

It’s been a busy few weeks here on the farm. We’ve endured fluctuating temperatures that have tested the optimism of our early vegetable plantings. Violent spring rains have provided a soggy hint of storms yet to come in April and May. And Page delivered twins, one week after Pixie. Together they have doubled the size of our modest flock of Shetland sheep.

Page emulated Pixie’s wonderfully low-maintenance brand of birthing, wandering off quietly to a corner of the run-in shed before producing with no fuss her lambs, Goldthorn and Silversage. For more information — and a cute video — on this season’s crop, please visit out 2009 lambs page.

The lambs are full of energy and show absolutely no sign of respect for their sire, Firefly. That is all to the good, since Mr. Firefly has grown rather full of himself of late, as most rams do. 

We soon will celebrate our first year on the farm. We have gone from zero to sixty in that time, from a suburban-focused Northeastern couple with a few house pets, to a Texas homestead bursting with sheep and chickens. Life is too big and mysterious ever to predict what is just around the corner, but insofar as the last 12 months are concerned, we’ll happily stay with the cards we’ve been dealt this year.

Family portrait: Swiftthistle, Pixie and Mageroyal

For the last few days, all the signs were in place that Pixie would soon give birth. Her back end dropped and an udder suddenly became visible. She walked stiffly and on several occasions would start to wander off. We kept the sheep in the shed Friday night but Saturday arrived with no lambs. By Sunday morning, the ram was getting edgy so we let him out into the field with one of the ewes, leaving just Pixie and Stella in the shed. An hour later we checked again and Pixie was lying down in the back corner of the shed, ready for her moment.

For people like us, with no previous experience with pregnant livestock, research can be a mixed blessing. Although it theoretically prepares you for all the various outcomes, some of those outcomes are not so pleasant. So you can imagine our immense relief when shortly after 10 a.m., Pixie produced two spunky little lambs au naturel. For an hour we watched from the other side of the shed as she carefully licked each lamb clean, all the while reassuring them with breathy murmurs. With each passing minute, the lambs gained strength and soon they were groping instinctively for Pixie’s udder.

The rest of the day was considerably less dramatic as mother and lambs alternated naps with get-to-know-you encounters. By this morning, they had ventured 5 or 10 yards closer to the front of the shed. There’s a lot out there for them to discover.

For a short 12-second film of mother and lambs, see http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PDKmDF_IYnw

Mom carefully licks newborn lambs clean

Firefly and Calvin

The first rule of Fight Club is you don’t bleat about Fight Club.

It all began when upstart Calvin jumped atop a bale of straw, a glazed look in his eye and fiery ambition in his sheeply soul. Elder statesman Firefly ambled over and sniffed. That’s all it took. With the three girls munching hay and looking on, Calvin leapt into the air, did what could only be described as a swirling dive move, landed on his hooves, backed up, and charged Firefly.

Firefly is pretty laid back these days. He’s bred the girls, tolerated Calvin’s antics, led the Gang of Five on their daily pastoral constitutional, managed all domestic issues in the shed, and generally fulfilled the duties of Class President. But now the upstart was challenging him.

So Firefly did what any red blooded American ram would do. He dropped back a few yards, lowered his head, and rammed Calvin. Let the games begin!

The run-in shed was too small a venue for a drama this large. The rams raced into the pasture, as fast as they could. All bets were off and Calvin was feeling like this was his lucky day. Calvin reared up on his hind legs, front legs in the air, and charged Firefly from 20 feet out. Firefly stood his ground and butted back. Undaunted, Calvin backed up and did it again. On two legs. Smack. Bam! (Repeat 20 times).

Fiery ambition can only take a young ram so far. At some point, the unstoppable logic of a force greater than himself settled in his brain. So Calvin did what any red-blooded adolescent lamb would do: he turned tail and ran. As hard as he could. And Firefly chased him. Round and round the pasture they went, Calvin’s reputation and pride shriveling with each circle.

When one is failing at a contest, the prudent choice is to change the contest. In desperation, Calvin scooted under the fence into the side pasture, where surely he would be safe. But Firefly followed. (Note to self: fix hole in fence.) Pasture Two has a deep gully and Calvin clearly thought he could outdo Firefly by jumping into the gully and then jumping back up. Wrong. Firefly was right behind him. Calvin jumped into the gully. Firefly jumped in. Calvin jumped out. Firefly raised him by also jumping out and then butting Calvin from behind. Repeat this scenario a few times. You get the idea.

Their unseemly behavior was egged on by Freckles, the Great Pyrenees, full of courage thanks to her location on the safe side of the fence. She bounded in rhythm to the action, cheering on the energetic fight. Although we don’t have independent verification, we are told that the chickens were cheering on Firefly to administer a lesson to Calvin — who is known to jump on top of the chicken coop at inopportune moments.

As all Fight Club events do, the two combatants (neither of whom were in the least bit bloodied), sidled up to each other, nuzzled side to side, and walked back to the run-in shed where they availed themselves of water and alfalfa pellets, all the while deconstructing the morning’s events and basking in the adoration of the three ewes.