salon

We are literally surrounded by things our brains may never comprehend.  Our neighbor’s expertise may be as foreign to us as the syllables dancing from the beaks of rain forest birds thousands of miles away.  We've heard them on the Discovery channel, but what are they saying? 

I've seen them rolling over miles of dirt, as I lift a finger to keep the dust out of my car.  The closest I have gotten to farm life were the animals at county fairs. My affection for country life is admittedly superficial, outweighed by city living.  However, I have not a true understanding of either as I've always straddled the stream between, jumping out on both banks… a puppy surrounded by new faces.

Who didn't have a farm friend growing up in southeast Wisconsin?  The perfect places for bonfires and capture the flag.  I didn't have to travel 9,777 miles to take a sip of this physically demanding life-style… But why not?  I could have asked one of my closest friends to teach me how to drive a manual car… But why not learn sitting on the right-hand side, in an ’89 Subaru “ute” with a loose shifter, surrounded by gum trees, and a dog eagerly bouncing from tire to tire.  (Tire is spelled “tyre” here) 

I suppose sheep shearing may have been a bit of a drive from my hometown, but to enjoy a creole in New Orleans or master taekwondo in Japan...  

The country side is spotted with grass guzzling cotton balls on legs.  This scenery always holds some sort of stone wall, chimney charm; overcast skies and a weathered smile... dripping Ireland tones.

The sheep were overdue and stripping the wool off a half dozen sheep would be quite the task for anyone… Let alone a man in his mid-60s.  There was no messing around as he moved quickly (from my perspective) with each skeptical ewe.  To my surprise, the ladies succumbed to their haircuts quite docilely… at first.  The final couple were somewhat less compliant, but behaved much better than I would have!  My duty was to separate the “dags” from the usable wool on a large, metal turn table-type set up; handy to stand beside and rotate, working around the circumference of the laid out fleece.  Bare hands lowered my confidence with the first couple fleeces, but eventually I appreciated the moisturizing effects of the lanolin – the oil in sheep wool and a term I learned from Sonia’s dad.  I suppose I should call him John.

John has stories and I enjoy listening.  His scope of knowledge seems to rotate like the fleece wheel and I learn my gift for listening must be refined like the skill for wool preening.  His accent is less of a barrier as my mind picks through the stream of silver crested words.  I wondered where he was hiding his horticultural degree as he rattled off the scientific names of the botanical British guards that silently observed my foreign presence…