Picture This: Sans Pictures

The drive out to northwestern NJ was matter of fact, and even with the light drizzle of rain, it wasn't anything unwieldly. Once I got on I-80, I turned off the radio and just left myself with my own thoughts.

In my mad dash to pack my bag for an overnight, following sheep shearing day, I neglected to make sure I had fresh batteries for my camera. Found this out, naturally, upon arriving at the farm, ready to snap some pics on my approach to the barn, only to have ground a few microns of enamel off my teeth, as I grit them, pissed off at myself for this oversight. Something cosmic was conspiring against us, as my friend's husband's camera batteries died after his first few snapshots.

[Photo of her horses and donkey would have been HERE.]

Including the professional shearer, there were six of us, working in unison. Each of us had a part to play in the whole process. The flock was a bit more skittish than I've seen in a while, but that was due to the shearer's son, going into the barn ahead of my friend, and it unnerved the sheep. Heck, the sheep were so wound up, even one of them, after being sheared, leaped over a gate that was roughly chest high.

[Photo of a shorn Imogene amid the unshorn remainder of the flock would have been HERE.]

The night before, my friend had taken a horn to her eye, due to some sheepy nervousness as she was removing the coat (keeps vegetation out of the sheep's fleece), and even had a sheep head butt her in her solar plexus.

[Picture of Helen, the nervous sheep in the previous paragraph, would have been here.]

Something cosmic was afoot, I think. Dead batteries. Nervous sheep.

The rain wasn't as heavy as was first predicted, but outside was still a bit muddy. As each sheep was led to the shearer, I meditated briefly on their name, and thought very calm thoughts as I looked in their eyes. Plenty of good conversation and good spirits were in that barn on Saturday, and in three hours, our work was done. Fleeces were organized by name, floor swept, and the shearer was on his way to another farm in the area to do the exact same thing all over again with another flock.

[Photo of her mohair goat standing up on its hind legs, peering over the gate at the ram being sheared, would have been HERE.]

As is our habit now, we headed off to a local diner for some lunch and conversation.

[Group photo of all of us would have been HERE.]

To thank us, those of us who knit or crochet were offered up some of her yarn hand spun from the wool from her sheep. I have a smaller hank of hand spun, and a larger (possibly about 5 ounces) of sock yarn, I believe which was spun at the mill which processes her fleeces.

[Photo of the yarn I was gifted would have been HERE.]

Another friend who made it out for shearing day, drove me back to the farm after lunch, so I could get in my car and drive to the nearby hotel for a nap, before heading out for dinner with friends.

The physical exertion from helping out with sheep shearing wasn't anywhere's near as taxing as my drive home. Normally it takes about an hour and fifteen minutes to get home. I thought it'd take closer to an hour and a half, given the rain.

First, I got lost in thought and missed my exit on I-80, so I got off and back tracked to Rt 46 to Rt 23, thinking I could hook up with I-287 from there. Only, that didn't work, as traffic was diverted off Rt 23, causing traffic to snarl. I took 202 to 208, thinking I could get to 287. And I did, only after driving thru an area, which was no doubt the cause of all the traffic being diverted:



I finally get to 287 in/around Mahwah, with traffic at a complete and profound stop, due to someone having had an accident at the entrance ramp for the thruway.

As I approached the thruway, inch by inch, millimeter by millimeter, driving so slow, I was able to crochet and drive at the same time.

By the time I arrived home, four hours had elapsed since departing Belvidere.

I was asleep before my head hit my pillow.