A hundred years ago, when sheep farms dotted my county, the farmer’s wives would all gather at one another’s farms for skirting parties, they would all help skirt the wool of the sheared sheep, pick out the hay and dirt and stones so that the wool could be spun into yarn and roving. There aren’t many sheep farms now, and we only have nine sheep, so the skirting party was Maria and me. We had a great time, we went through one bag of wool after another, picking out the dirty and messy stuff sheep accumulate. Above, we did Kim’s wool, it was very different, very beautiful.

We got the sheep because Maria wanted to sell the wool as yarn. Red came later. Kim is going back to Vermont on Tuesday along with Ted, she will live on a farm there and be bred again. We got all the skirting done today, the wool is going to a mill in Vermont and returning to Maria as yarn. I especially love the traditions and rituals that surround a farm with animals – shearing, trimming hooves, skirting. They remind us that we live in a special place and in a special way. I appreciate my life, I am grateful for it, I will not speak poorly of it.