Winter Shearing

My dogs and I lock the 236 purebred Rambouillet ewes in the shop for the night so that they stay dry incase it snows. The plan is to start shearing at 8 am the next morning. You can’t shear wet sheep. We only have about 500 head to shear, an easy one day job. I get to Orr around 7:30 from my house to do a few chores and have the sheep in the corral by 8. As I lead them out of the shop and into the chute with my dogs following in behind, it starts to snow. I watch the sky for a minute, praying it’ll stop so we can get started, but also praying for it to keep coming as we need the snow. Which prayer aligns with God's will?

It doesn’t stop snowing.

By this time my mom shows up from doing her chores, and we turn the ewes around and back into the shop to wait out the snow. The shearers have the heat and music going in their 7 man shearing trailer, where my mom and I join them. We visit with the 5 person crew while we wait for Mother Nature. The crew is made up of three Peruvian men, one who runs his own sheep, and another shows us pictures of the beautiful home he’s built back in Huancayo. Cliff, who owns the shearing rig, but also shears right alongside his crew, even at his age! And a woman shearer on the crew from the heart of New York, who is married to a man from Scotland who helps sort and pack wool. We talk sheep, wool, and more sheep, while cracking the door open every now and then to see the white sky and ground we've been missing and needing for so long. It continues to snow until about noon. When it finally stops, we circle the ewes out of the shop and back into the corral, my sweet Pelagia (the only bum lamb I’ve named and become attached to from two years before) leading the way following right behind me all the way up the chute with the rest of the ewes trailing in behind her.

A wave of gray clouds and rain move in an hour after we start, and the sheep get wet enough that we have to shut down. About the time we stop, the rain stops. We visit for a while, deciding to just get going again in the morning, but when I go to move the rained on sheep, they are already dry again! Back in the corral and up into the shearing trailer they go. We’re able to shear for another hour or so before the rain moves in again… only 35 ewes left! We really do call it quits this time. I have a whiskey drink with Cliff, giving the ewes time to eat before my dogs and I lock them in the shed for the night.

Day 2 brings more rain and snow, even though all of our phones show only clouds... this is why I never check the weather! When the rain stops around 10 am, the air is still filled with moisture, unusual in our arid climate, making it impossible for the wet sheep to dry. While Cliff and I are discussing what our game plan is, it starts raining again. That’s it. No shearing today.

I get back to Orr in the evening to bed the ‘naked’ sheep inside the shop to stay warm, and the still 35 white ewes left with wool inside to stay dry. I stop at the married couple's trailer, which is lovingly filled with dogs, cats, plants, and wool! The shearers live in camper trailers during their shearing runs as they are moving from sheep ranch to sheep ranch every few days. I have the best night chatting with her and Mandy, a gal who runs Shetland sheep in Arkansas that helps handle the wool and the crew. We discuss working dogs, making things with wool- which both of them impressively do, corralling Shetland sheep, Scotland, New York fish restaurant, and more! Three gals from across the entire country brought together by sheep, and given extra time together because of the non-shearing-friendly weather. Maybe God had a bigger plan behind all the unexpected moisture…     

Day 3 finally brings sunshine and nothing falling from the sky. The last of the whites are finally sheared, and the black faces run through behind them. No delays, done by noon, and the shearers pack up all their shearing equipment, mobile homes, and string out down the muddy road in less than an hour. I sadly wave goodbye to my new friends, but with a smile as I know I’ll see them all again.