The shearing of sheep is an ancient art, a ballet, done twice a year, once in advance of summer, the other in advance of winter. The wool of sheep clothes warmed the ancients and our most recent ancestors and lots of people today.

Sheep shearers are a diminishing culture and art in greedy Corporate America; they study for years,  travel everywhere, charge ridiculously little, bring news of other farmers and sheep, and are artists in every sense.

The way they use and move their bodies, keep the sheep still and calm, and suffer kicks and cuts, sore backs and torn muscles and exhaustion reminds me of ballet, circus work sometimes, but most of all, of the dedicated artist who puts his or her art above all.

The material rewards for shearing are small, hardly anyone can make a living at it anymore, but it takes so much grace and heart. The work is grueling and meticulous. Mistakes can hurt sheep, and hurting sheep horrifies real shearers. Ian has never harmed one beyond an occasional nick.

Our shearer, Ian McRae,  is also our friend and a gifted poet. He is a regular dinner guest at the farm and a precious friend. Lately, he brings his newest posts. We cherish those dinners.

He starts his first college course in poetry and creative writing in just a few weeks. He is excited about it. So am I. Ian has a lot of gifts; poetry is one of them; he has also worked with some of the shearing masters of Vermont and knows his stuff. It is pure joy to know him and watch him work.

 

The first few photos were taken with my new SLR-S mirrorless Leica; I’m excited about it. The rest were taken with my Iphone 13. The shearing was its first real workout, not bad for the first full day. I can’t wait for a macro lens to point at my flowers. That will take a while. I’m talking with my Leica teacher Donald next week.

I have a lot to learn.

The shearing of sheep began in around 3500 B.C. when people learned how to spin wool for their clothes and other everyday uses. The wool trade has been popular worldwide for centuries as a sustainable resource that always has a service.

Maria takes the wool to knitting mills in Vermont and sells skeins and roving to those who follow her work and read her blog.

This is a much-loved ritual, and shearing is a big part of it. I love to come along.

The modern idea of sheep shearing took shape in Wales and rural Australia. At the start of the wool industry in the early 19th century, sheep were shorn with blade shears, similar to garden clippers.

Frederick York Yosely (1837 – 1899) was an Irish-born New South Wales inventor and woolgrower who invented and developed the first commercially successful sheep-shearing machinery. It revolutionized the wool industry. That machinery is very close to what Ian uses today.

The first authenticated daily tally (amount of sheep shorn in a single day) was 30 sheep by Tome Merely in 1835.

I much appreciate taking pictures of Ian working on the sheep. Small wonder he is a poet; his shearing is a kind of poetry all of its own. Come along and watch. I’ve been watching sheep shearing twice a year for 15 years now. I never tire of seeing it.

Shearers need to be strong and agile; they use their whole body to catch and control the sheep, including their legs. It takes years for a shearer to learn this trade. Once the sheep are turned on their backs, they freeze. Many wear special clothes to help their backs and fend off hernias and leg injuries.

 

 

Ian charges $6.50 to shear each sheep and $2 to trim their hooves. It is customary to pay more than the shearer asks since, for some reason, they never charge what they are worth in opposition to much of American industry, which always demands more than things are worth. When I tell him the charge is ridiculously low, he just shrugs and smiles. It wouldn’t work to charge more he says.

 

Sheep get numb when turned over and helped adequately; it takes concentration and the whole body.

Ian is 23, strong and experienced; he was exhausted after shearing our ten sheep. Then he rushed off to Vermont to do it again.

As Ian shares each sheep, Maria scoops the wool up (the clean part) and puts it into a giant garbage back. When it’s warm, we will clean the wall as thoroughly as possible before taking it to the mill. This is called skirting.

When Maria’s followers get the sheep, it is spotless and ready for knitting. The roving goes for dryer balls, which sell like crazy.

 

Before he comes, we trick the sheep into coming into the Pole Barn with a bucket of grain, I take up position to keep the donkeys from coming in, and Maria rushes to close the gates we put up, mainly for this.

I sorely miss Red when we shear the sheep; he knew what to do and kept the sheep in a corner, ready to be grabbed by the shearer. Ian had to chase them all over the barn.

Ultimately, the sheep were happy to leave; Maria held the gate for them.

Ian first came to the farm with his grandfather, legendary shearer Jim McRae, who has retired. The two loved to dance and sing together, and Jim taught Ian how to herd sheep in the right way. Ian spends every Sunday helping Jim on his Vermont farm.