Rocks and shears

I've honed the cutters twice now. The wool is dirtier than we'd hoped, but mostly just long, more than eight inches on some of the ewes. Dirty fleeces mean more sharpenings. I'm much better at sharpening than I am at shearing. My replacement shearer arrived last night from the east coast. My eldest came home and was immediately brought in today to replace dad, and none too soon. Turns out I'm terrible at shearing. Not just sort of terrible, very terrible. It's pretty humbling seeing how bad I did. I'm hoping she'll clean her up before we send them off to their spring pastures. Tomorrow five more will be shorn. Today was just one, the lead ewe, who is also the biggest and she had the longest fleece. The wool is worthless, though. These fleeces would only make rugs. And since the market price is about twenty cents a pound, it's not even worth it. A full grown ewe's fleece weighs about 15lbs.

So instead of shearing, I got to shovel clay muck, and move rock. Two things I do well. And I cooked dinner, the first time we've all sat down together since before Christmas. And what else? Rockfish. I thought it was fitting after a day of moving rocks.

Hope your weekend is grand. Doing anything special with your loved ones?
I'll catch you later, then.
B