Countless Sheep

My friend Evelyn has a great story of how she learned to spin yarn. She was in New Zealand on sabbatical with her husband and decided to take lessons. When she reported for the first class at the instructor’s home, Evelyn saw a small flock of sheep grazing on the green pasture behind the house. After introductions, the instructor took the class outside. As the  flock wandered towards them, the instructor said, “Lesson one. This is your sheep.”

Like a lot of other bloggers, I’ve been following the story of Mama on thekitchensgarden. Ceclia, a displaced New Zealander, writes about her life on a farm on the Great American Prairie. Lately, we’ve been waiting with Ceclia for Mama to give birth. When it finally happened, I felt a collective sigh of relief. I look forward to watching the lambs Minty, Meadow and The Murphy grow into fluffy, fleecy sheep.

I live in a suburb. As a knitter, I can find yarn to play with at one of several excellent local yarn shops. As a spinner, I can buy a fleece, sheep, alpaca, llama or mohair, at regional fiber festivals. I can collect natural dye stuffs, like lichen to dye the fiber, and then spin it into yarn and knit it into something special.

But I don’t have a sheep.

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