Or maybe it's the road to hell is paved with good intention. Hmmm. no. That one doesn't fit. Maybe "oh the irony!!"
So, after Easter (I know, right?) I had made plans (and maybe even promises?) about great things to come at The Wool Food Market.
I started out strong...
Lambs, calves, donkeys, llamas and so much more, all cut out, and ready to go...two months ago.
You see, something happened on the way to making tiny little farms. I started working at a real farm. If you've been following along on my blog, you've already figured that out. But what I probably didn't share is that my mentor broke his ankle. Clean, above the foot, dangling. Olympic Gold Medal Winner of broken bones. Since then, I'm working a little harder and offering up a few extra days, here and there, and yep, you guessed it; two months slipped away from me.
I'd heard that real farms are living, breathing and often take on a life of their own. It's true. The work is never done, it's always hard, the reward is rich and the place.just.fills.my.soul.
I sweat, stink, dig in until I'm staggering and go home filled with joy. Joy that just pours out all over my family, who in return, enthusiastically listen while I blather away about my day. Even if they're not particularly interested, they're encouraging and maintain eye-contact and say "uh-huh" appropriately. lol.
Ok, was that several paragraphs of excuses for not sewing? Maybe it was. Maybe I should concede that I really can't settle my spirit down to sew in the summer. Maybe I *am* a flake. I don't know. Maybe.
What I do know is that there are dozens of critters waiting to be assembled into tiny little farms. I intended to offer farm co-ops. You know, like a creature-of-the-month kind of set-up, then at the end of several months, there's a whole farm. Seemed like a great idea, but it wasn't.
The (real) farm taught me that.
Real or stuffed, animals are not meant to be on an assembly line. Each is unique.
Like Mary. The short-horn mama cow that went missing days ago. I arrived at the farm and the farm's first lady and first daughter were completely exasperated. They hadn't even started milking and had been frantically searching for over-due Mary all morning.
"Do you want me to go look for her?" I started to ask and they both yes'd me so fast that well, alrighty then, I'll get my boots on and be off.
I'm delighted to say that I found Mary, but I needed Vicki (first lady) to get her home. I really thought I just had to find her..
Is her calf with her? I dunno.
Is the calf stuck? I dunno.
Is Mary moving? I dunno.
I weakly offered that Mary's head was up so she was definitely alive. I don't think that they were impressed by this declaration, but it was all I had.
The story gets much longer, so I'll snug it up and tell you that I carried a brand new calf home on my lap, I spent the rest of the day covered in newborn poo, and poor Mary needed help relieving new-mama encouragement in the worst way. C'mon girl, let's get you two all fixed up.
Anyway, back to my failed sewing co-op; I suddenly realized, while looking at those still hazy eyes and stroking the deepest sienna brown fur, that I had no business cranking out little white and black cows...real or wool.
There *will* be little cows (wool and real) in my future, but they'll be uniquely offered. Not in bulk assembly lines. :)