As the pull, tug and gravitational attraction of shearing sheep, skirting fleeces and knitting continues to increase, so do the moments in which I ask myself “Why do I waste a single hour on anything else?” Today, I was burnt out to the point of incoherent speaking after an(other) 11-hour work day, five of which were spent in the totally fascinating but socially taxing act of one-on-one user studies.
But, per usual, the kind, generous and unexpected acts of the Wool People have set my universe right. They’d sent me mail. I arrived home to sweet, pretty packets of dye plant seeds from Fibershed; to the surprise gift of well oiled hoof trimmers from a fellow shearer; and to a letter from my favorite eight-year-old pen pal, who is always reading at least six good books simultaneously and who held her own in an adult level wool classing school with the best of ’em.
I don’t know where this path is leading but it’s going somewhere, I love my fellow travelers, and I’m staying on it.