Ladies in waiting

The sheep are still in the same two groups. Spot and his four girlfriends reside in and around the Ram-ada Inn; I've dubbed the Sheep Sheraton "The Island of Misfit Toys," populated as it is with two old ewes, two creaky wethers; a middle-aged ewe with lower jaw/teeth problems, and a bouncy pest who may be closer in age to a yearling but definitely looks and acts more like a lamb.

Round and waddling Bernadette on the left, Spot on the right

"Who are you calling ROUND?"

Left to right: Blaise, Bridget, Bette, Bernadette; the middle two are longer-bodied ewes.

Spot has clearly done his job; all four of his consorts are wide and a couple of them are even waddling. I told a friend that lambs were at least two months away, but I still need to start thinking about logistics. Bing and Bittersweet are no longer spry enough to live with a ram in the prime of life, but Spot can't live alone. Even living next to the wethers with only a pipe gate between as he did when he first arrived made him frustrated, but that may be my only option, along with moving the four ladies in waiting back to the Sheraton. The Sheraton needs to be cleaned out and rebedded (for which I must enlist begrudging manpower) before lambing jugs can be set up; I only have the materials to create two. What am I going to do if everyone lambs around the same time? There is an empty stall in the barn; it would be possible to turn that into a maternity/nursery ward if Rick didn't object too much (he's already grumbling that we're going to be overrun by sheep). Clearly the situation needs more thought and a significant amount of effort.

But this evening I looked back at my records (otherwise known as this blog), and saw with a jolt that I put the breeding group together on September 15. Lambing could begin in as soon as a MONTH! Gulp.

Getting ready to be the midwife at . . .

Critical mass mess

I've reached it. Between the state of the inside of the house and the outside of the house, I am feeling agitated and overwhelmed. Living in the country is messy; burning wood for heat is messy; winter weather is messy; holidays are messy; the males I live with are messy (especially one).... There is no way I can keep up with it all, and sometimes I want to throw an absolute hissy fit – or throw in the towel. Neither would accomplish a thing, though, so I keep at it like a maid with a mop on the Titanic. If my blogs go silent, you know I've gone down with the ship.

Listing badly at . . .

Almost Currier & Ives

Excuse my disparaging the piddly amount of coverage we woke to Christmas morning. The morning of the 26th we awoke to INCHES and more fell, for a total of around 8". It was lovely, fluffy stuff, light enough to fill in under trees and the chicken run's roof and through the barn door. I turned the horses out to play in it and even rode in it, but chose not to try driving in it until Tuesday, when enough tracks had been made by Rick's big, sometimes chained-up, vet truck to allow my car some traction.

Don't worry; I kept the resident hummers fed.

Looking down our icy lane toward home on Monday

The paved road toward town looked a little better

You'd think Poppy, with no fat or fur to speak of, would be ill-suited to snow and cold, but she dashed out into it at every opportunity, hoping to catch the birds and raccoons drawn by the black oil sunflower seeds or search the barn for mice.

Rick and I have both engaged in some handiwork at the end of the year. Rick turned a unique creation out of cherry for a client who gave him the wood,

and I put the finishing touches on my egg ornaments (as well as spinning, of course; there's almost always spinning!):

Saving a glitter fail with a silvery snowflake.

More snowflakes! My neighbor gave them to me.

More eggs now, and most of those eggs are adorned.

It's warmed up a little and rain has fallen most of the day, so our winter wonderland is returning to green, and mud. No special plans here for the weekend, other than an "agape feast" tomorrow night at church, our usual services on Sabbath – and my New Year's tradition of spending some time on horseback to start my year off right in at least one small but significant-to-me way. It's about the only thing I can control!

That's it for 2021 from . . .

Immersed in art

Beyond Van Gogh is described as an "immersive experience," and that it is. I had seen TV advertisements for it so had an idea of what we might see, so was unprepared for the pedestrian beginning. When you enter, you wind through lanes of storyboards and quotes printed on giant details of Van Gogh's paintings. I enjoyed reading them all (not all shown here), as well as seeing his brush strokes magnified. I had to clarify for Rick that he was seeing small details of Van Gogh's work, not the whole piece.

From there we walked into a room with rather psychedelic lights streaming down the wall in front of us, with one of the artist's self portraits materializing and then vanishing in the projection. At this point I think Rick was really wondering what he was getting himself in for!

Then we walked down a corridor and into a giant room, where Van Gogh's work played upon the four walls as well as several tall square 'columns.' And I do mean played. The transitions from one set of images to another was done in a variety of ways, and the images themselves played little tricks, like blinking eyes, and an occasional wisp of smoke from a pipe. Music played, and occasionally a child's voice quoted Van Gogh. This was the truly magical part, to watch and listen and almost feel the artwork swirl around you and even wash over you.

The musical selection for this post is obvious. It was part of the background music played at the exhibit, and it has been on my mind a lot since. So bittersweet:

I am so thankful to my DH for this special experience; it truly was a gift of love.

That's it from a contemplative . . .