Farm Journal, June 10, 2007

  Sticky, close day. Paula and I went to look at a very old farm cottage, fallen into disrepair.
  Anthony came over, and we plotted and schemed about his new business.
  I have always had an uneasy relationship with sheep, and last night, at midnight, I realized I might not have filled their water tank – they are in the meadow across from the farmhouse. I decided to leave the dogs, as the sheep never see me without dogs.
  I shined the flashlight, walked through the woods, opened the gate, and the sheep were right there. They were startled by me and the light, and took off, and it made me sad that my own sheep would run from me, but then, so would I if somebody showed up all the time with tough dogs that chased me. Somewhat disappointed, I filled the tub with water and, as I turned around, I saw that all of these eyes were glowing in the dark right next to me. They had returned, to see what was up.
  So I sat down, and several of them – Paula, No. 40, the first ewe I ever herded with, came up, and so did No. 57, my favorite sheep, and No. 73, Brutus, Paula’s son – came up to nose me, and sniff. Then, one by one, they gathered around me in the moonlight and sat down, me in the center of the flock. They seemed quite happy to settle down around me, absorbing me into their little community, and they sat and chewed their cuds and took in the moonlight, and I listened to their heavy and regular breathing, and to the sounds of the night. I sat with them for a half hour, and said goodbye. In the morning, I would return with dogs that chased them, but I made a note to do this once in awhile. Moments like that are why I am here.