Who would have known that I would be such a wool nut now. What I wouldn't give to still be on the farm and be able to get my hands on all that wonderful wool on sheep-shearing day. Back then, I thought it was such a pain to have to help, but now? Oh yes, I would love to know that feeling again.
The rams names were Jasper and Amel. Jasper was a gorgeous Suffolk. I always thought he looked so strong. Proud.
He was older. And mean. A Hampshire, he was stockier. He would wait until I came out with the feed buckets, and then charge me. So I would climb up in the trough and scream for my Dad. Amel would butt the trough with his head, and I remember falling backward a couple of times. He was just a horrible old buck where temper was concerned!
I can remember lambing, and staying up all night sometimes when a ewe was birthing for the first time. One mother had triplets the first time. She took care of two, but the third was really struggling so we bottle fed him. If memory serves, we named him Abraham. I *think* because the triplets were born on President's Day.
Amel had nothing on Hannibal though.
Who was Hannibal, you ask? He was a gi-normous white goose. A gander, with a wing span that rivaled that of a DC-9. Or so it appeared that way to a ten year old girl!! While Amel knocked me out of feed troughs, Hannibal would hiss and spread his wings and come at me until I would back up and up and once I even even landed in the water trough. I "inherited" Hannibal and two other geese, Annie and Mother Goose, from my friend Roberta who moved to Alaska when we were kids. The girly goosies were also mean, especially if they busted you in the nests digging around for their eggs they had buried under the straw!
I think I will revisit these days on the farm a little more often. The memories make me smile...
And smiling sure does feel pretty dern nice.