It has been a curious week since the sheep have arrived on Cello Acres. There’s a sense of naturalness to them being here, as if they’ve always been. Maybe they were, centuries ago when much of Rhode Island was full of sheep and the heartbeat of the American wool industry. Indeed, I see old rock walls all over the property, and the nature of the land, and the signs of the clear-cut days. Yes, they must feel the familiarity in the ground they walk and the grass, clover, and dandelions they graze; it seems it can be no other way.
Though, they look at me as some stranger on their land; their gaze fixated on me as I do my chores around the acres, Laura’s gaze at least I can tell, for Sally’s eyes can hardly be seen with her wool coat flowing down over them. It will be nice to see her eye to eye three weeks from now when the local shearing husband and wife duo pays us a visit to relieve them of their sweater for the coming summer months, giving us in return our first family fleece. I’m not sure exactly what we’ll do with it, but some part, if not all of it will forever be cherished, as the wool that started it all.
Come shearing day, I suspect when Sally’s eyes meet my clearly for the first time, they will find no more strangeness in them, for as each day passes, and each treat pale clatters by them as I go to kindle friendly relations with them, their eagerness to approach me increases. Yes, when I walk out every morning as the sun works its way over the Acre Woods, they greet me with as greater eagerness as I them, and then soon the children too, for they are the most eager of all around here to finally make contact with the sheep in the form of petting them. That’s right dear Laura and Sally, the kids just want to pet you, not terrorize you, I promise. And soon enough, I’m sure, when all the children around start paying a visit, you’ll bequeath them all their much desired pets.
Seeing how natural their existence here on the Acres is, how seamlessly they arrived on this land of ours, makes me think we’ve been a bit deceived in our relationship with livestock. That to have livestock you must also have a sizable farm. But that cannot be, for humans have lived alongside livestock for millennia, and they surely did not all have barns and several acres of pasture land to utilize. Nor did everyone have homesteads, in the traditionally defined, total self-sufficient sense, rather, it probably more looked like farmsteads for most. Not every homestead in the community had the same animals and produce, but all had some, and it was not only a part of the economy of their home, but of the community. Who knows, maybe we could even call them after their primary animal, such as a “sheepstead” or a “goatstead”. At the least, it’s a little fun that way.
Though I’m only one week in, it feels like these sheep, Laura and Sally, have always been here. I find it hard to think more families cannot do something similar, in fact some already are, just from seeing our simple act of doing so ourselves. They’ve become part of our daily routines; they’re a pleasant retreat out onto the property if I have been stuck inside for too long; they’re gentle and beautiful to admire. There’s still so much to learn and experience and share, but at this moment, I don’t know how it could have been any other way.
The days are now settling into a new and ancient rhythm here on Cello Acres. The sheep move across their first paddock like slow white clouds, and something in me settles with them. Perhaps that is the gift they bring, not just wool or company or the promise of spring lambs, but a return to something small and true and good that we had nearly forgotten we were allowed to have right here, on our own little piece of ground. Yes, it has been but a curious week, yet already it feels like the beginning of something timeless, something right.
Thank you for being here with us.
Gregory & Christina
