Transitions
This is embarrassing. Two years since my last blog post. A lot has happened; a lot has stayed the same.
The main difference is that I’m two years older. I’m over 65, but not yet 70. I’ve told my husband that by the time I’m 70, I’ll want a hobby flock of 4-6 sheep, no longer a mini-farm but a homestead. Enough wool for me to play with to my heart’s content and maybe have some extra to sell. Enough freezer lamb to add to our chickens, eggs, dry beans, and nuts to meet our need for protein, with maybe an extra lamb or two to sell to friends and neighbors.
When I’m 70, I don’t want to be working as hard as I am now. Thankfully, I still have energy, vim and vigor, and good health. And arthritis! And I simply can’t do as much in a day as I could twenty years ago. I know plenty of people my age who are way older than I am, as far as that inevitable slide to the grave goes. I have much to be grateful for, and I am not yet ready for the rocking chair.
What this looks like in practical terms is that I’m quicker to hire or barter for help. Rolling 750-pound hay bales up a ramp into our farm truck (currently a Ford E-Transit) is at just about at the edge of possibility for two 60-somethings to do by ourselves. What a difference it makes to have one extra person pushing the bales! Meanwhile, our gardens are no smaller, but they’re simpler. Fewer fussy annuals, more permaculture. As for the sheep, I’m not of a mind to sell off the flock to downsize, but as old ewes age out of the flock, I’m not keeping lambs to replace them. I currently have eight ewes and a ram. Two of those ewes are elderly. They will be culled this year, leaving me with six.
Whether I have six sheep or fifty-five (as I had at the peak), I still have to walk half a mile out to the pasture every day during grazing season to move fences, water, the shade shelter, salt block, and my fence-charging/supply wagon. At least there’ll be less water to haul and fewer fences with fewer sheep. I treasure the time outdoors, listening to birds singing and the wind caressing the leaves and needles of trees. And I love watching the sheep. There’s something peaceful about the sound of their teeth munching grass.
But as I slow down physically, I’m ramping up intellectually. I have learned so much in the fifteen years I’ve had this mini farm. I’m better equipped now to pass on what I’ve learned—about the effect of grazing animals on carbon sequestration, growing various food groups in my particular microclimate, practicing primitive skills, caring for sheep and chickens, staying sane when the world is going crazy, lots of things. As my body slows down, my focus is turning more to teaching and writing.
When I’m 70, I’ll have fewer sheep. Maybe, depending on my health, none. Maybe Reed and I will re-wild all of our gardens and rely on the CSA farm up the road for our fruits and veggies. The future, as always, is unknown—an exercise in flexibility. No matter what comes along, my goal is to follow the advice of hymn writer and church founder John Wesley: to do all the good I can, by all the means I can, in all the ways I can, in all the places I can, at all the times I can, to all the people I can, as long as ever I can.