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It's not that
we have thousands of sheep that need shearing that will take all this time. 
No, our entire inventory is just three adults, one baby. And we even
went and got technical training from the good folks at Virginia Tech to
be able to handle the job with confidence and skill. So why are we
setting records for slowness that would make an Australian child crawl
into a kangaroo's pouch and hide with shame? It's just that it looks
easier than it is. Much easier.
We've seen those dazzling demonstrations at county fairs and sheep festivals where these teenage boys toss two hundred pound sheep around like they are a bag of air popped popcorn. Six minutes is considered a bit on the slow side in these contests. Sure, when a thing is done well it looks easy, doesn't it? So did shearing until yesterday.
Our first candidate for our own Jenny Jones farm friends makeover was King, not by choice but by simple luck of the catch. After two hours Sunday morning shearing King by hand using historically correct shears, Robert and I both felt as though we actually dated to the mid-1800s ourselves. Then our friend Buffy, who is a former woolyhugger, gave us an electric shear. She said she never wanted to see it again. It was ours forever. Thanks, Buffy, I think. Whoopee, we thought, we'll zip right through the rest of the gang.
So, recharged and armed with a fine donated appliance and replete with Mr. Edison's electricity temporarily run to the long barn where the sheep now call home, Sunday afternoon we tried "them new fangled" ones on Shirley, much to everyone's displeasure. Robert and I both have enormous bruises to confirm that. The noise of the machine. The cries from Beau for his mawwww. The screams from mawww to Beau. It was such a horrid contrast from the quiet snip, snip, snip we had enjoyed with King. Our hands were exhausted from the hours of labor on King, but we did finish his new do, which is definitely the cool, sleek muscle look for beach or pasture. Way to go King.
Neither Shirley nor we were so lucky with her new summer cut. Remembering the day before, when we arrived in the late afternoon, she and her sons dashed for the pasture while Robert was trying to close the gate. He abandoned that effort in favor of just physically tackling either of the two remaining still wooled sheep. Yes, lanky, laid-back Robert landed a full body tackle that would have made a professional linebacker get a huge bonus and offers from competitor teams. Then, with our late start and with Shirley's struggles for freedom constantly encouraged by her three sons, we just got one side done with the combination of electric and hand shears before everything went black. I think it was nightfall, but we could have blacked out from the exhaustion. All I can say is that Shirley's cut is very punk, even trend setting. And she looks so remarkable that a stream of neighbors have come to witness it for themselves. Who says nothing exciting happens in the country?
This evening we set our sites on Hill. Luring the fleet footed flock into the barn with a bucket of feed, which works much better for us than our well pedigreed herding dog, we were able to semi-tackle Hill and put him into position which means Robert is using a Judo leverage hold on him. That was our strategy for using our heads, not backs as much. It sorta worked. Since I can't manage holding a sheep when they start struggling and kicking, I get to be the hair dresser. I started with the hand shears around all the "fancy parts" and then Robert launched in for the long stretches using the electric gadget. In addition to my being unable to hold Hill, even while sitting atop him like King of the Hill, we didn't get very far. One problem we've had with all three sheep is that we've never seen them without their four or five inches of wool coats, so we don't know their natural shape. It takes us a long time to grope along and hope we don't nick anything, especially anything important. All the sheep have registered constant cautions in this regard. Our instructor had called this method of shearing a little and then removing the tiny bits of wool "Picking Cotton." Again, we ran out of light and energy while picking Hill, so now we have a pair of half shorn sheep so it almost looks intentional, and another woolly who is very bumpy looking. We're thinking of changing King's name to Mogul because he looks like rough ski slopes. Go with the obvious we always say.
So, tomorrow we'll try to finish one of the two half-done sheep, and eventually, perhaps go back to smooth out King. At this point, we still have lots of options for our sheep shearing techniques to take form. I think this should become a summer Olympic sport because everyone has told us they'd come buy a ticket to see us shear. I'm sure it would be well worth the money, if not the laugh. Actually, creating a farm olympics is not a bad idea when you think of how aimless it actually is to be able to just run the fastest, or jump the highest if you're not actually trying to run or jump for some good purpose like catching a sheep. A greased pig catching contest would be much more interesting to me than just the traditional football game of highly paid big adult men with enormous padding playing silly keep away with a ball made of skin from a dead pig. Let's see these guys try to toss around a greased live pig if they could ever catch it. Scores would be Pigs 1,000, People 0. Yes, the farm olympics would be lots more exciting for the whole family. Even individual and team events could be developed. Maybe Melrose will have to be the site of the first farm olympics, but I don't want faked up events, I want the hay to be put in the barn, the sheep actually sheared, and all the weeds pulled from the rose garden. Speed is still important, but doing real work is the goal. We could satellite link-up with the rest of the world, and host the official farm olympics web site with instant results postings. Of course, we have just the one phone line now, but we could get more run in, yes sir, we could.
Anyway, the next time the sheep stare at the beautiful "other sheep" reflected in our English basement windows, they will probably feel very superior that they don't have those tacky haircuts of the "other sheep." We're just glad this isn't for a final grade or something we'd have to explain to the ASPCA. They'd never believe that it is as hard as it is when it looks so easy. Even if the sheep don't look marvelous, they'll feel better in this sticky heat, and so will we when it's over. It will be shear delight on the farm that night. Oh boy, then we get to trim hooves and worm them.
Meanwhile, Robert has retreated to his Russian tractor with Italian cutter to make hay while the sun shines. That's another technical thing we're learning how to do that has had neighbors parked along our road just to watch. Now, just to lift the 83 tons of orchard grass and clover hay from the field and onto our fancy Mainline Philadelphia Mazda truck. Maybe another ticket selling opportunity in our farm olympics weight lifting event. Just think of the business the fitness centers would lose if folks just returned to the farms. Most farmers will even pay YOU to get this exercise. We'd put stairmasters and treadmills out of business in no time. Sure, when a thing is done well it looks easy, doesn't it?
cheers!
May 18, 1998