|The moment he realized he had been|
Linden left for his new home last Tuesday morning. My shearer, Joe, came with his gooseneck trailer and loaded up the remaining hay and my boy. Linden, sweet as he is, does not cooperate. So, I had a big pan of "Waldorf" salad (chopped apple with some romaine lettuce) to lead him down the right path. He would plant his butt, then I would waggle the bowl under his nose, we would go a few more yards. Rinse, repeat. We finally got him loaded, all cozy with the 80 bales of hay, and off he went. I stood by the barn and bawled for twenty minutes. Everything seems so quiet and empty now. I realized that this is the first time in almost 14 years that there has not been a sheep on this place. I am consoled by the vision of Linden tucked in a barn, cozied up with his new flock.
It's a good thing, too. We have had Arctic temps both day and night. I can't believe I feel like celebrating when the thermometer shows double digits above zero. There is ice everywhere and I finally cleared out the carport so that I can tuck my car under cover. We've had high winds, rain, sleet, freezing rain, and snow. I have brought out all my seeds and am in the process of sorting through them. Now that I have over an acre and a half of fenced in ground, I might attempt winter squash this year.
I've finished a pair of socks, knitted a few more catnip mice, and have started on a glorious alpaca yarn cowl for my sister.
I'm trying to emulate my friend, Sam, and get myself whipped into gear to finish a few of the hundreds of projects in various stages of completion (or not). Then there is the stack of books that I need to crack open.
With this gloomy winter weather so far, it's nice to know there are bright spots waiting in the wings.