Hello Reader,

I was on the phone when I saw it.

I'm not normally at the barn at that time, but we're haying, and I've never seen haying happen before. We were expecting the raking/swathing equipment and operator any moment, and so I was there. Waiting. On a call.

Seated in the shade in the hay barn, firmly planted on a bale of straw, deeply involved in a serious conversation, I finally lifted my eyes from the floor to see the bizarre picture.

Jane and Emma were attached to one another. And stuck.

They were looking at me with identical expressions that managed to communicate embarrassment and annoyance at the same time.

Jane, one of our Valais cross ewes, had managed to hook her left horn around Emma's (a Merino) collar. As Jane's horns curl quite snugly near her head, Emma's collar couldn't slip off easily. In fact, it was quite a trick for them to have managed this hooking procedure in the first place.

I have no idea how long they'd been in this awkward arrangement. It was like the sheep version of those "get along shirts" that some parents favored for spatting siblings when my children were young.

The above image came from a Pinterest collage, and I can't find anyone to credit. It does a fantastic job of illustrating the pleasantness of being unwillingly yoked to another being. If you use your imagination to put sheep in place of children, you'll have a pretty good idea of the expressions on Jane and Emma's faces.

Naturally, I ended my call and hurried over to untangle the girls.

Terrible idea.

They startled, causing them to bolt, and I watched, horrified, as necks and heads and bodies bent and twisted in ways that seemed to guarantee disaster as they moved several yards away.

Time for Plan B.

I grabbed some feed, intending to lure them over into grabbing range. Initially, this seemed to work well. While Emma and Jane are as food motivated as any of the sheep, they are a bit more on the skittish side, and so were approaching cautiously (and awkwardly).

This is fine, I thought. This is good. No bolting. No running. No neck pretzels. We're going to manage this.

And then...Georgiana.

Georgie heard the pitter patter of feed crumbles from an entire paddock away. Did she observe a delicate rescue operation underway and tactfully allow space for it to proceed without distraction?

No. No, she did not.

She thundered over and demanded her share of the surprise bounty.

As did Maryanne. And Charlotte, for pity's sake, who decided now was a fine time to break off communications with the heavenly places and join us back on the terrestrial plane.

By the time all was said and done and disconnected, approximately seven sheep got an extra afternoon snack, no lasting injuries were detected, and after the cortisol spike dissipated, you'd never know we'd been a hairsbreadth from a very sad loss.

Our Pemberley Farm adventures provide us with endless stories. The ones we share tend to be the funny ones, or the sweet ones, or once in a while the ones I find especially meaningful.

I'm not as quick to highlight the times I worry about a hoof abscess or whether I am going to have to cull a beloved ram because his horn is threatening to grow into his face. I don't detail the procedure for when a sheep starts choking on feed because he ate too much too quickly and starts foaming at the mouth. We don't report chicken losses to predators, or what has to happen when we catch a predator in a trap.

I don't pretend these things aren't happening, and if you and I have spoken about this life in person, you know I'm happy to discuss the realities, what we've learned, and the things we're still learning.

It's a temptation for me to worry about all the things that can and do go wrong with livestock. I'm a good worrier. We have a barn cam focused on the lambing stalls because this worrier was struggling to not spend lambing season sleeping at the barn.

And I'm not alone. Much more experienced folks write and talk about feeling the same things and living through tough losses. What fascinates me is that most of them point to the same "reason" for continuing the life they've chosen. It's not the money, being their own boss, or even being self-sufficient. They often say things like "I love the animals." "I love this life." "I love the feeling when they see me in the pasture." "I love making sure the animals have the best life they can while I'm caring for them."

The losses, the accidents, the diseases, and all the other downsides happen. But their focus is on something that brings them joy.

I know the next cortisol spike is around the corner. I don't know what will cause it, but something is going to go wrong, and we may or may not come out of it with everyone happy and healthy. My choice is to keep a narrow focus on my worries (Will Frederick choke again? Will Mr. Darcy start limping again? Is Emma gaining condition well enough?) or to keep a broad view on the things that continually bring me joy and contentment.

I suspect I'll waffle between them for the rest of my life, but this afternoon, I'm looking forward to watching live hay baling for the first time, seeing the lambs play "king of the hay feeder", and witnessing the chickens' chaotic reactions to one of their dominions being taken over by fresh hay bales.

Greg's Got Questions

Thank you to those of you who participated in the last poll!

The winning question was: Besides eating bugs and critters, what benefit does the constant scattering of the hay and straw by the chickens provide for the Pemberley Farm ecosystem?

Eating bugs and other creepy crawlies is certainly the biggest benefit of having chickens in the sheep stalls. That activity benefits the sheep by removing the annoying pests from their headquarters, and it also benefits the chickens by providing them an excellent source of nutrition.

We use the deep bedding method in our stalls. The base layer of bedding is straw, and as the straw is soiled, we add thin layers on top, so the animals are resting on clean straw. Waste is covered and sinks to lower levels, where it composts. The thickness of the layers gives the animals a soft surface, protecting feet and joints, and in the winter, the composting action actually produces heat, which is a lovely side benefit in a drafty barn.

Compost that is aerated breaks down more quickly than compost that sits firmly packed. So as the chickens perform their daily housekeeping duties, they are not only removing the buggies, but they are also aerating and turning the compost. That's helping it all break down more quickly into material we can use later when we clean out the stall.

Greg's Questions for Next Week

(As a matter of procedure, the poll function takes you to another page to submit your vote, so if that happens to you, you’re on the right track!)

Question 1: Since you’re new to all things farming including haying? What are the most interesting aspects for you of the summer season so far? What’s surprised you the most?

Question 2: Since you know the unique personalities of Jane and Emma so well, what do you think was going on in their sheep brains during their up-close-and-personal incident? What's the dialogue they'd be having if they could speak human?

Question 3: How would you describe the current state of The Regiment given the recent upheaval of their world?

Happy knitting!

Kiersten J

P.S. You can find this and more of my knitting journal entries at KierstenJ.com.

If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to reply to this email! I read every one!

P.P.S. Would you like to reconnect to the real world through fiber arts? Start by dyeing your own yarn using this free Beast to Blanket lesson!​