Roll it through the carder,
Make sure the twigs, grass are removed from the drum,
Stand around for a while thinking “Where will I put this?” and then dump it on the floor.
Along the way, because this is really a boring job and it is hard to hear the radio, you change fleeces for variety.
Eventually..... you get this.
Then, sooner or later, you start to spin but we'll save that for another day. Don't forget to go back in the basement and wash the remaining fleece.
While you are waiting for an opportune time to spin, you don't freak out when this happens.
Now from a poetic photographic point of view, I should stop here. But I have to tell you about the sheep that all this fleece came from. As I was carding the locks of fleece, I was comparing it in my mind to last year's sheep's fleece. Despite not knowing what I was doing last year, I thought it had been pretty simple. The steps didn't change this year, but the quality of the locks was very different. Initially, I was lulled into thinking "good fleece" but then, I discovered this sheep's darker side.
As a woman who knows of what she speaks, going behind any large building where the paint is peeling (a.k.a. the local hockey rink), I know what a girl can get up to. And Floozie had the evidence in her locks. She smoked. And she leaned on fences. Probably talking to swells from the other side of the fence, where the fields looked greener. How did I know this? The cigarette butt in one part of the fleece and the NAIL in another.
My peeling building was adjacent to a race track back in the '70's when racing horses and dogs were still rural community events so I know that nails were popping out of those poor fences by the dozen. But you still had to frig with them to get them to come out fully. Floozie had a whopper in her fleece. Obviously, this was a long standing relationship.
I can't fault the sheppard for her sheep's behaviour. The fleece had been properly "skirted" which means the really filthy parts were cut off before she was shorn. But a sheppard can only watch her sheep by day (as the song goes) and so the behind the barn behaviour is more scandalous in that Floozie knew she was sneaking off. Well kids, however you mock my cautionary tales based on regretable experiences, one thing I can say with impunity, I never came home with paint chips, cigarette butts or nails in my hair.
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