February 15, 2024

Some in my family may argue that I read this book only to have an excuse to share my story about wrestling a sheep. (Do I have your attention?) Well, that may be at least partially true, but I also recognized the author who has written important books about young people in today’s culture, such as Girls & Sex, Boys & Sex, and Don’t Call Me Princess, and I knew I would learn something new and more than likely would appreciate the ride.

We are beginning to see books appear about the pandemic and/or written during the pandemic, and Unraveling by Peggy Orenstein is one of these books. Orenstein is a SLFHM (She learned from her mom.) knitter and during the pandemic she decided to experience the whole process from sheep to sweater. While there were too many details along the way for me, I did enjoy her reactions to each phase of the process. In addition, Orenstein shares her own life with the reader–feelings about a daughter ready to head to college, the ongoing grieving of her mother’s death, and the decline of her father. “I realize I am beginning a shift in my perspective from thinking about old age as a daughter…to reckoning with it for myself.”

As I said, at times all the details, especially since I am not a knitter and in fact, am not a craft kind of person at all, led me to skimming the text, rather than reading carefully. However, I will share one detail. About the color blue. Over the years both Republicans and Democrats tried to claim the color blue probably because “red” seemed related to communism, but in 2000 both USA Today and the New York Times used red for the Republicans (both words–red and Republican start with “r”) and blue for Democrats on the election coverage maps. Voila!

Ok, I promised you my story about wrestling a sheep.

Meet Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.

Once upon a time my husband and I lived at quite a magical place in the countryside outside of Cleveland. The original owner, Asa, was given the land for his service in the Revolutionary War, and in 1997 we became stewards of Sweetwater Farm, following a long line of previous owners. My husband, who worked full-time as a hospice physician and medical director decided having a hobby farm was just what he needed as an antidote to his days of death and dying.

I had always been a city girl, but I admit I fell prey to the charms of our country life. However, as Bruce added animals to the menagerie (llamas, goats, chickens, dog, cats, potbellied pig, donkey, geese named Cyd, Charise, and the sister Clarise, and of course, sheep) I was clear that the care and feeding of such animals was HIS responsibility.

Why was it then that the animals always seemed to escape when he wasn’t around?

One morning, as was my usual routine, I was sitting in my office in the front of the house, which faced the road, reading my devotions and meditating. I was disturbed by cars honking. Unusual. I looked out the window and saw a sheep on the road. One of our sheep.

I knew it had to be Blynken, for she had been sick, and Bruce had isolated her, confining her to the barn where he had piled up bales of hay to create her own healing space. Well, she apparently had recovered, and Bruce apparently had not closed the barn door all the way after feeding her before leaving for work. “Freedom,” thought Blynken.

Fortunately, I was dressed and not still in my pajamas, and I charged out the front door. By that time Blynken was running in the ditch. I headed after her. Now what you need to know about me is that I am not a runner, a sprinter, a pole vaulter. In fact, exercise is never my first or even second choice. I am a reader. But I booked after Blynken and somehow managed to catch up to her. Perhaps I was channeling our son who had played football in high school, but my adrenalin racing, I tackled that bundle of chocolate.

Now what? There I was — in the ditch flat on top of a bleating sheep.

Here’s the God-thing: A woman driving home after working the night shift at the hospital not far from us saw my plight. Blynken and I were hard to miss. She stopped and amazingly, she was driving a stationwagon and even more amazingly, she didn’t just laugh at me, but she jumped into action. She opened up the back of her car and between the two of us we managed to lift that blankety, blank sheep into the car.

I have no memory of our conversation–we were probably too out of breath — as we drove the short distance to our garage where there was an indoor dog pen. A new home for Blynken!

I know I thanked her profusely (and later found out from the hospital who she was–and sent her flowers), but she acted as if the Sheep Olympics were an every day occurrence in her life. I think we won a Gold Medal.

Oh, and best not to repeat the words I had with my beloved husband when he got home.

An Invitation

What have you read lately that reminded you of something that happened in your life? I would love to know.