Footprints on the Web

After having travelled the world, stayed in luxury hotels, lived in some of the biggest cosmopolitan cities,  worked as a corporate executive, life on the farm in a yurt was no longer foreign to me. I had become part of the farm and it part of me. My daily chores, life, interactions were very simple compared to my past life.

My dog was pretty badly matted from all the galloping around. He had hay, sheep poop and all stinky stuff hanging off and stuck to his hair. It was time for a cut. I thought I could use the sheep shearing tools to give him a trim. Only to find out that the tools were as big as him. One of the farmers suggested I use the dog clipping tools instead. They had these from when there was a pet dog that lived on the farm years ago. I gave him a trim outside my yurt. When I was done with him, it looked like a chicken had been massacred in my garden. He didn’t look too bad either.

The hot water in my shower had run out. And taking cold showers outdoors is no fun unless on those scorching hot days. It turned out that I didn’t have to refill my gas tank but the batteries were dead to the heater. My outdoor kitchen was nothing fancy but it was all I needed. Even though it had a cover/roof, I planned around the days it rained so I wouldn’t cook. The outdoor toilet is something I will never forget or stop talking about. Shitting in a bucket and covering it with wood shavings. Once when I took the bucket out to the sewage pit to throw my shit out (literally),  couldn’t find my dog who had jumped out of Lucy, the utility vehicle. The tall overgrow grass all around the sewage pit was bushy and I panicked. This was a constant fear in the back of my mind. When my dog was nowhere in sight, which was most of the time as he lived his best life romping around the farm, I had to try hard not to think about him being town apart or swallowed whole by coyotes, foxes or guard dogs. He always popped up. Nasty but intact.

My fear was not completely unwarranted. Having seen some gruesome sights on the fields, one couldn’t help it. A lamb attacked by a bird who had gorged out its pupils and intestines by making a hole in its head. A dog who had eaten half the tail of dead lamb and running with it. Sheep just ripped open by coyotes in the middle of the field. One particular field we had sheep kills 5 nights in a row. The farmers considered staking out or even poisoning one of the dead sheep because coyotes always come back the next night to finish up the meat. But instead they had some neighbors who were proficient hunters to be on the look out. The guard dogs are great but don’t always catch all of them because our fields were so vast. It was very hard to tell where the predators would come from.

During my time, I helped the farm with business plans, credit/loan forms, sitting in on meetings with lenders and bankers. Needless to say this was not my favorite as this was a world I was trying to walk away from. I enjoyed the other parts. Like learning life skills such as starting a fire -not just for a cool evening but also to cook on. Or the skill of having to hold onto a lamb’s leg in a tumbrel to help lure its mother sheep in and take them both to the barn for personal care. Or the skill of hoof trimming- ouch!

I enjoyed during the daily chores with the assistant shepherd. She was a great teacher. A mother of 4 and running for the school board. She was always very patient at not just explaining how things worked but giving one an opportunity to try doing it themselves. One day as we were returning after our last field check, one of the guard dogs started following us. We tried to get it to go back to the field but would follow us again as soon as we left. Finally we had to tie him up knowing full on well that by the time we are back he would have broken free.

My meals were always made up of things I picked from the garden some that I planted myself. Beans, tomatoes, cucumbers, kale, asparagus, squash, garlic, onions, mint, etc. It was always farm to table for me. The matriarch of the farm was constantly reminding us to keep picking vegetables from the garden. She was always loved seeing anyone eating from the garden. It brough her immense joy.

Towards the end of my time on the farm, I was left with 3 fosters. Of these Farley was from one of the earliest group of fosters. He just would not grow. He was a happy, healthy little lamb but he always remained the runt. So we held him back. Crispy, the peeling skin lamb, was also pretty tiny. She was pretty personable so we always put her in for companionship with any newbies, sheep or lamb, who were picked up from the field for personal care before they went on to join the flock and Crispy went back with fosters. Kohl (named by me) was one of the last lambs born on the farm. He was such a handsome looking little fellow. Something about his wool felt so different. We used to take him into the office time to time just to hang out. It sounded like some woman walking around in heels. The three of them recognized and loved me. As soon as I stepped out of my yurt, they would start baahing and come running to the opening of their enclosure. If I was away on the weekends, as soon as my car pulled into the farm in the distance, the matriarch would know I am back because the three of them would start going nuts. They loved me. And I them. But ofcourse, everything fades. Nothing lasts. The virus first got baby Kohl. I came out one morning and saw the matriarch and one of the farmer chatting so joined them in conversation when the matriarch asked me which of the lambs died this morning. My face must have said it all because she apologized right away and said she thought I knew. I ran to the enclosure. They were all there, but Kohl. So treaded with a heavy heart to the ATV shed. There lay a body wrapped in a bag and placed on top of an ATV so that the next person going to the field could bury it. I unwrapped it partially to see Kohl’s pale white eyes and limb head. I lost it. The farmer who I was talking to earlier approached me and tried consoling me. I walked away and went to my yurt. I didn’t work all day. The farmer and one of the helpers cameby my yurt later that day to give me a box of chocolates and card signed by most. I was touched. Few days down the road, it was baby Crispy who departed from us. It never got easier. I went with the shepherd to bury Crispy in the dead pile. He recited a poem and I walked away as he covered him up with soil. I put the fancy ribbon from box of chocolate I was gifted around my dog as a memory sake for Crispy. He wore it until we left the farm.

Of the 40+ little lambs I bottle fed, bucket fed, cared for , some were identified as not being field worthy. They would never go onto thrive with the rest of the flock. They were either blind or lame. Two such lambs, Blindy and Ines were found a home by one of the farmers. Another farm was willing to adopt them. And I was asked if I would be interested in driving them. I, ofcourse, said yes because this would mean that they would not have to be shot (as their meat was of no value). The drive was about 3 hours away. I packed up the SUV with hay, tarp , crate, water bowl and loaded my 2 little friends in. My dog got shotgun and off we went. Most of the first half of the drive was a lot of baahing, me consoling them and my dog wondering what the hell is happening back there with the chorus. The littles eventually calmed down. The farm they were going to was nothing short of my dream spot. A woman who worked in the city sold everything she had and bought up a piece of land and rescued all sorts of (farm) animals that were no longer of any use to their (farmers) owners. Horses, sheep, cows, cats turkeys, rabbits, goats, peacock, ducks, geese, chickens, roosters, dogs- HEAVEN! The farm had taken some of our special needs lambs in the past and the owner took me around the farm to show me how they were doing. They were thriving and living in very healthy pastures. The owner did a lot of fundraising to sustain the farm. It also helped that her husband was an attorney and most of his income went towards farm operations. I knew right away that Blindy and Ines were in the right place. They were a little perplexed what was happening or it must be me humanizing their emotions. They did not cling to me as I walked away like my dog would have but they also had all the volunteers there pouring love and affection on them. I was tearing up as I was driving away. Once I got back to my roadside motel room, and over the next few days, I started stalking them on social media. The owner had hired laser therapist for handicapped Ines and gotten her wheels to walk. Blindy and Ines seemed happy, healthy and had grown a lot bigger. They were no longer my little babies who stood by my side and followed my every move.

I did a similar drive away few months later. My drive away from the farm and island. It was a field move day. The entire flock was going to the farthest field on the island close to the ferry. One of the farmers asked what time I was planning on taking the ferry and planned the move around my schedule so that I could partake in one last field move and depart with fond memories. Because that is what people did here -think of others. I had loaded up my SUV, emptied the yurt, looked back one last time and drove out with the crew which as usual consisted of ATVs, people on foot, side by sides, cars. I was one of the cars to help block the flock from going any farther down the road and enter the field through the entrance we wanted them to. The water troughs were set up, the gates were secure and the guard dogs were in their places. I said my goodbyes and lots of pictures were taken. As I drove away, I looked at my rearview mirror to see a line of people who had been an integral part of my life in the past few months waving at me. And with mixed feelings I boarded the ferry to start the next chapter of my life.