Going back to one's roots

I just reconnected with a friend only to discover that she's farming, and blogging about it, too, over at the Farmetta Farm. I'm so happy for her! I also derive vicarious pleasure from her endeavors, for I simply love reading about raising sheep. One serious drawback to my going back to the city is that I can't bring any sheep with me, not unless they start breeding 'em really small. Granted, some dogs I've seen are much bigger than the Shetland sheep I used to raise, but they won't poop on command (as far as I know).

But that wasn't what I came here to blog about. Yes, I have a problem with being sidetracked, especially when the subject of sheep is involved.

Go over to The Farmetta Farm Blog and read "Where we come from." And if you don't, here's the gist: Two people meet, get married, and start farming, just as their families have done before them. They've gone back to their roots, after years of trying other things. My friend Rose Rapp wrote, "Both of us grew up as country folk."

Y'know, I'm not sure I've ever written about why I moved to Maine. I may have said I'd moved here to get away from the rat race, but the bottom line is that I wanted to raise sheep. I picked Maine because I love the coast, and had fallen in love with the place as a kid, and again as an adult.

I raised sheep and loved it. But, it was a losing battle financially, and when we moved, we didn't have enough land for them any more. Ever since I've lived where I live now, I've though on and off about asking a neighbor if I can use pasture space, but I never did get around to it, just flirted with the idea now and again. I miss having sheep in my life.

But, just using their fleece can be enough. I adore the smell of greasy, dirty fleece. I recently purchased four bags of it and opening it up was sheer heaven. Nowadays, most yarn doesn't smell of sheep any longer, for most new knitters (it seems) don't like that smell. My new fleece is not just dirty, it's filthy. It smells of sheep, mud, and manure. Sheep manure. That is an acquired taste, and most city folk just think "shit" while I'm inhaling deeply and thinking "aaah!"

Still, that doesn't make me a country person. I'm just not. When I'm stressed, I want to walk on sidewalk, not roam through the woods. I adore nature. I'm a birder. I love peace and quiet. Yet. . .

I'm still city folk and I need to go back to my own roots.

As I was perusing the classifieds online, and realizing I'd probably wind up living in Brooklyn, it dawned on me that that's where my family lived for two generations. I wasn't born in Brooklyn, but I was born in the neighboring borough of Queens (and by the way, Brooklyn is actually Kings County, just so you know). I'm a New Yawker. I may have lived in Maine for almost twenty years, but well, I'm going home to my roots.

I'll just have to indulge my love of sheep with bags of wool and pics such as the one above, and that's perfectly okay.