An Historical Weekend.

This will go down in my personal history as the first time I was ever run over by a sheep.  And not just any sheep.  A sheep the size of a Shetland pony.  Norman, you know who you are.

Evidence.

Friday dawned as a lovely spring day.  I was fairly organized for a change, and had my shearing paraphernalia all in order and by the back door.  All I had to do was wait for the call.  Since my shearer was going in reverse order this year, I figured I would be early afternoon in the line-up.  That left time for some serious puttering in the garden, and for the sheep to graze before being lured into the shearing area and closed in.  All went smoothly.  It should have been a sign but, alas, I was blissfully ignorant.


I had decided to sit out my usual assistant role at my neighbor's but, after some thought, I decided that it would be more prudent to help - otherwise, I wouldn't have my boys done until dusk.  My neighbor is totally unfocused, unorganized and a general hot mess.  So I chuffed up and volunteered, then headed down the road.  It was as I expected.  After a chaotic forty-five minutes of wrestling, shooing, dodging, cleaning, and more wrestling, we had his five sheep, one angora goat and two less-than-helpful alpacas shorn. 


Back to the Little Lucky, all seemed quiet.  (Cue eerie music)  Joe and I headed for the barn.  Joe had gone through the gate and set up, then wrestled the fat eel (Linden) into submission, when Norman appeared at the barn door - hysterical - and shot toward the gate.  And me.  It was one of those moments you remember in slow motion - NOOOOOOOOOOOoooooo - as he broadsided me, gate and all and literally ran over me.   I was flattened, vaguely protected from his pointy hooves by the gate, with thoughts of mutton dancing through my head.  Joe was horrified, but, as we do, I pulled up my muddy BGPs, fixed the gate and prepared a bowl of grain.  If anything can be said for Norman (anything that can be said in polite company, that is), his stomach overrides his pea-sized brain every time.  By the time he trotted his fat carcass through the gate and over to the grain bowl, Joe was done with the eel.  So I had the satisfaction of having Norman wrenched from his treat and plopped on his sizeable derriere.


I managed to limp through the rest of the day and was totally knackered by 8P - so off to bed.  Interestingly, last weekend I was also totally knackered and was completely (well, 90%) reenergized by morning.  This Saturday, I awoke feeling as if I had not slept at all, and dragged through the entire day.  As it turned out, it was good timing, as I was on the road from 8A until arriving home at 3P, then out the door again at 4P, arriving home for good at 6:30P.  By Sunday morning, I was back to my old self.  Which, unfortunately, included a very sore hip and knee.  This lifestyle is not for sissies.


I managed to try some new recipes this weekend which were ... interesting.  I made some almond flour blueberry muffins - gluten free and low sugar - which turned out to be rather soggy.  I don't know that I have ever had soggy muffins before this.  I think it was because the recipe called for a quarter cup of melted coconut oil - which seemed to be too much.  The flavor is very good but they are odd.  I had my neighbor over for dinner - my way of reciprocating for all of his help around the farm - and tried a slightly altered version of a foil packet dinner from The Kitchn.  I don't know why I thought it would be roasted - sealed in a tight packet, it was more like poached - but it was okay; not great.  I also tried another pickled quail egg recipe (the bourbon recipe was great!) and will make some tiny Scotch eggs this week in my efforts to use up things in my freezer.


I can hardly wait to see what next weekend has in store for me.  I hope I live through it.