There are places that can surprise you even in your own backyard. Last weekend I attended an event that I had no idea existed. The Shepherd’s Harvest, held at the Washington County Fairgrounds, was a ‘harvest’ of all things sheep. There was sheep shearing. There was sheep herding with the amazing sheepherding dog that followed verbal commands of his owner that were unintelligible to my human ears. There were spinners and carders and row after row of people whose true love was clearly wool. Colorful bags of brightly dyed wool waited patiently to be purchased and spun. For those who did not want to exert that effort there was equally brilliant yarn begging to become a sweater for winter’s chill. People…lots of people…roamed the aisles looking, touching, searching for the perfect weight and color to call to their creative heart. 

If you were lucky enough to be there on a warm and sunny Saturday morning, I was the person roaming around with the look of wonder on my face. The questions rolled around in my head. Who knew so many people in this part of the country raised sheep? Who knew so many people were drawn to all the arts associated with wool? How have I not known about this event, these people before? Over and over, I saw women standing and knitting as they talked to interested folk never seeming to miss a beat or a stitch. As someone who has tried over and over again to knit, this seemed impossible to me and I was in awe of them. 

The fact is over the last many years I have been fascinated with sheep. I have a love of the places where I have mostly encountered them: the fields and pastures of England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland. I have no idea how I came to this heartspace. Their gentleness and their contemplative presence seems to draw me in and bring a calmness in me that I treasure. To find people closer to where I actually live whose days are filled with the presence of these wooly creatures created such joy. Watching the skill and strength it takes to shear a 200 pound sheep makes my head spin. (Pun intended.) And watching women, young and not so young, sit quietly behind a spinning wheel pedaling and forming yarn from fluffy wool nearly made me weep.

Since that Saturday I have thought often about all the opportunities to be witness to things you had no idea were just around the corner. If I hadn’t heard this event advertised on public radio I would not have known that somewhere…someplace…there is a community of people who come together to join one another is the celebration of what are really ancient arts. They have chosen to continue what people have done since they first realized that the fluff that covers that four legged one can become something more. And it took off from there. Sheep. Wool. Yarn. Clothing. Creativity. As with so many of the things we see as ordinary, things we take for granted, there is a connection that goes deeper and can transcend time. 

For awhile that morning I slipped into a world that was unfamiliar to me. Walking among the people and the animals I found myself allowing the news that had sounded from my radio on the way there to fall away. Instead I felt connected to something kinder, gentler, something that seemed to speak of a greater truth, a deeper wisdom of how the world really is. It was a blessing of sorts to be there and to imagine a time when the whole of the world could be more like that. 

The ancient Scots in the collection of blessings and hymns, Carmina Gadelica, offered these words for those who shepherded the sheep:

May the herding of Columba
Encompass you going and returning,
Encompass you in strath and on ridge
And on the edge of each rough region;

May it keep you from pit and from mire,
Keep you from hill and from crag,
Keep you from loch and downfall,
Each evening and each darkling;

The peace of Columba be yours in the grazing,
The peace of Brigit be yours in the grazing,
The peace of Mary be yours in the grazing,
And may you return home safe-guarded.

Yes…like the sheep and the shepherd may we all return home safe-guarded.