I have the pleasure of reporting that Maria sold more than 70 Skeins of wool over the past week, and at least 12 sets of Dryer balls. She is far from forgotten or pushed aside, even during a war no one seems to want or understand.

More than a week ago, we returned from the fiber mill with 76 Skleins of wool. For nearly 9 years, they were all sold before and after we got home. Last week, none were sold days after Maria put them up for sale.

We each wrote about our confusion and surprise.

Honestly, there is not a lot of money in it; it takes a huge amount of work – feeding, cleaning, and caring for the sheep, finding a mill (which is very expensive now), and figuring out how to sell it, charge for it, and ship it.

But it was never about money, it is about Maria and her love of animals, her love of the farm, her drive and creativity, the things that bind us together and give the farm real meaning. Maria is a remarkable woman. The animals did their part to bring that out into the open.

To some extent, selling the wool justified having it – the hay, the travel, the medicines sometimes needed – and the things that bring Maria and me closer and closer together. Processing the wool is one of the two or three most important things we do on the farm.

Our lives are happy but not easy or inexpensive. The wool is a symbol and a need.

The sheep first came to us when I moved up to the first Bedlam Farm with 36 sheep and two border collies. One was Orson, who didn’t care much for herding. The other was Rose, a young, natural, and extraordinarily bright sheep herder. I was in it for the dogs and the sheep. I liked the sheep, but didn’t really love them. Working with the border collies was important to me. I was to train five of them, and I loved every second of it.

The sheep were mostly a means of working with the dogs in that special way.

But I never thought of saving the shearing and getting it milled. We even bred a few to keep the flock young.

A couple of years later, I met Maria, and she came to work with me on the farm in exchange for finally using one of my barns for her art. The first time she came up, she had a snack for every single one of the sheep, and began naming them and loving them.

She changed everthing. Watching her, I gradually came to love the sheep as well and to learn about loving animals. Then they got the attention they needed, and we learned how to ignore the unhinged, sad people who roam the world of social media, handing out dumb instructions to strangers.

To love animals like sheep, you have to live with them and earn their trust. Over the years, Maria took control of the sheep, especially as I got older and couldn’t rush about the pasture and no longer had a border collie to work the sheep with me. It was her thing, but also our thing, a justification for being here. She still teaches me a lot (I don’t kill spiders anymore.)

In our relationship, we tend to do everything for our main work – my writing, her art – together, but the sheep came to be something we loved and cared about, and which gave meaning to the farm. I’m even learning their names, something I never did when I was herding them with a dog. In her love of the sheep, our own love grew steadily.

As always, we each supported the other in every way possible.

It was her idea to mill the wool, her idea to sell, her hard work to clean it and keep the books, and ship it – lots of work, paperwork, shipping. I’m a fan and observer. The selling of the wool became one of the most important events of the year, for Maria, but then also because of her, for me. And she does almost all of the work, loving every minute of it.

When we came home with the wool last week, we just assumed it would sell quickly – lots of people wait for it. Maria has an intensely close connection with scores of her readers. I kid her about having 100 mothers. They keep in touch, trade stories, send photos of the wool they knit, and send their families wool to work with, their mothers and grandmothers knitting.

It’s not just a business, but  a close-knit community. Maria often gives one of her works out for free or at a reduced cost if someone runs out of money. She mourns when death or illness comes and sympathizes when there is loneliness or trouble. She knows every name of every person who has ever contacted her or bought her art.

The wool was a very personal connection with her world, and thus to her mind. And then to me.

So we were flabbergasted when no one seemed to be buying the wool; we couldn’t figure it out, it didn’t make any sense.

I realize now that the delayed response was a reflection of the fear, confusion, and chaos sweeping the country. Of course, people were distracted with the unprecedented eruption – wars, intense conflict, a poisoned political system, and a lot of fear. We get it. It was never about her. It affirms our work and our lives.

Today, a week later, only five of the original Skeins remain on her Etsy site. We won’t worry anymore about all the work and cost it takes to do this; instead, we will give thanks for our love of nature, animals, our readers and followers,  and, above all, one another. It matters to us, and clearly, to others. Thank you for reinforcing all of those things.

_______

__________

Maria’s remaining five Skeins are on her Etsy Page.

She went out this morning to show them to the sheep. They were pleased. “Just five left,” I shouted.