Butternut Woolens

In a follow-up to yesterday's post, I wanted to post some favorite pics from my time as a shepherdess in Oregon's Land of Milk and Honey, aka the Willamette Valley.

The gold tree was one of my favorites, a black walnut brought to this place by Oregon pioneers. Our farm was part of a 100 year old nut orchard homesteaded by the Johnson family. I used the walnut husks to make a beautiful honey-colored dye. You can see how the walnut towered over the oaks in the middle ground and the apple trees in the foreground. The walnut was the last tree to leaf out in the spring and would lose its leaves all at once, a brilliant golden shower that lasted all of a single, glorious day.

Black Opal, a German hybrid angora with a litter of bunnies in the rabbit yard. The wool and breeding stock the rabbits produced paid all the feed bills for all the animals on the farm, as well as funding the early years of my wool dyeing business. I loved them. Black Opal shown here was the last animal to leave the farm. I had her put down at the very end, burying her body under the fir trees in the back yard was my final act as a wool grower. She had an advanced tumor that was keeping her from eating and there was no way she could be cared for any longer.

Evening chore time was my favorite time of day. I'd have a couple of newly gathered warm brown eggs in my pockets and would eat whatever produce was to be had in the garden, a sprig of asparagus, a couple of carrots and a celery leaf, a handful of strawberries, winter apples in the fall. I felt peaceful thinking that when I was an old woman a couple of Rhode Island reds and a small garden would completely feed me. One of my fondest memories is of the boys as toddlers feeding themselves from the garden, faces muddy and chubby hands clutching pea pods.

After watching the bats working back and forth over the darkening meadow, I'd check on the sheep, chivy the sleepy hens into the coup and feed the rabbits. Then I'd just stand, listening, reluctant to go back in the house.

We moved to the farm when the boys were about 2 1/2. A few miles away was a beautiful reservoir where the boys would eventually learn to ride on the forest trails with me running along behind. Here I'm helping Boy B learn to cast. Below, Boy A has a surprise.

What's left of the Shetland flock grazes in the apple orchard. Karen Ries in Grant's Pass adopted the entire flock and tells me they are all still alive and love to race beside her to the feeder as she hauls a bale of hay on the back of her ATV. Taking the sheep to Karen was one of the most difficult things I had to do. Seeing her beautiful farm, the lush pastures and the Shetland ewe lambs that my guys were joining, meeting her kind husband who so obviously loved her and supported her passions, including taking on the responsibility of my failure as a shepherd. Their kindness and generosity continue to touch me everyday. Without them, my beautiful handspinning flock would have had to be sold at the Woodburn auction, probably for pet food. As long as I live I'll be grateful to the Reises who spared the boys and I that horror.

2009 is over now. There's nothing more I can do with 2009. Now each moment of 2010 is full of joyful possibility.

I wish all of you a healthy and prosperous New Year, especially those of you who I know are trying to hold onto your own farms. And those of you who are divorcing or who realize you no longer can hold onto a failed marriage. And for everyone experiencing loss. Thank you for your emails and notes. I hold you all tenderly in my heart. May we all handle the challenges that face us with grace and equanimity and accept with abundant joy the moments of happiness that await.