Winter at Sharon Valley Shepherds

Despite the blistery cold temperature today, Roland and his flock are basking in the winter sun. They could use sunglasses to cut down on the glare from the snow-covered lawn. Their barn sits at the bottom of the ridge that rises into Indian Mountain. The wind roars down the steep hill from the north and hits the house, garage, and barn straight on, relatively unbroken by trees or other obstacles. There have been nights this winter when what sounds like a freight train barreling toward us awakens me to worry about the trees, the sheep, and the house. The same wind passes over the snow-covered fields surrounding the flock, polishing the top into what in places amounts to an ice-skating rink.

Mid-December initiated the pattern of weekly winter storms through January, defining a winter unlike any we can remember. There have been larger single storms, but January’s snowfall for the state (I think measured at Hartford’s Bradley Airport) was record setting at 4 feet, 11 inches. Our Northwest Hills region typically has the highest snowfall in Connecticut, but I believe the shoreline to our south may actually top us this unusual year.

Ask anyone, there has been a lot of snow and a lot of cold days, and I mean, nights with subzero temperatures. The digital thermometer measured 14 below one early morning in January, as I pulled on my long johns. And our frost-proof hydrant that supplies water to the animals – well, what is “frost-proof” anyway? A couple of mornings the handle has stubbornly refused to lift and we must wait until the sun warms the air for a few hours to freshen our bucket.

I have learned new things about my animals this winter and some notions have been confirmed. Roland, whose ancestors tie him to the rocky, dry climes of Sicily, does not like the cold. He has spent entire days inside the dark barn, barely sticking his head out the open door. He will begrudgingly walk the 30 feet to the hay feeder if he must, but when the wind howls, he stands in the stall and looks at me with the eyes so familiar to readers of AA Milne. Eeyore, I am sure, would demand that his hay be tossed on the barn floor, so as not to have to venture out in the elements.

The sheep are relatively unfazed by the snow. Their wooly jackets provide excellent insulation and it is not unusual to find them with snow-covered backs. The wool stands between the animal’s heat and the snow. It is dangerous though if they are without shelter during a freezing rainstorm. Should the rain steep down into their wool, they can catch an irreversible chill.

Both miniature donkey and the sheep agree on one thing – as do most of the animals I see while driving: they will not walk into the deep snow. It is simply too difficult and they will not even try. Their world has shrunk dramatically this season. They are surrounded by snow and refuse to stray further than their own well-trod path from barn, to water, to hay and back. Randy optimistically cleared a small path into the pasture for them, but they took one look and decided to stay closer to home. You can open a gate, but you can’t lead a sheep for a walk!

I fear that their muscles are atrophying, that they are terribly depressed, and I imagine that they dream of May and June, when the grass is at its sweetest and greenest. They all devour as much hay as we put out for them. The stall floors have little bedding, because Roland, Pete, and the girls eat most of the straw as soon as I spread it. Although I try not to ascribe human emotions to the animals, they do seem bored. How could they not be? One of the little girls, Princess Leia, I think, is frequently spotted challenging the other sheep to head butting contests. She longs to rule the flock.

One Sunday afternoon I was determined to take Roland for a walk. He reluctantly allowed me to put on his halter and lead rope. We squeezed through the small opening the gate made between piles of snow and out we went. He balked as I lead him further from the barn and the flock. In the driveway he danced a few steps, uncomfortable that the sheep were out of his view. I timed things badly, because just then, I noticed Randy on the porch roof in his brilliant red down jacket, shoveling the heavy snow onto the ground below. A moment later the screen door flew open as the boys bounded out to play. It was all a bit too much for Roland. I asked the boys to bring him some carrots, but that did little to appease him. So, after traversing the driveway a couple of times, we headed back home. The shoveled path to the barn was barely wide enough for one person, so he led the way, picking up his pace and leaving me in the deep snow at the end of the rope. He stopped by the gate and then gratefully returned to his sheep, who incidentally, barely seemed to notice he had been gone for ten minutes.

While the big animals slow down for the winter, little ones can add some life to a cold barn. We introduced two male cats, brothers named Cutie and Oreo, to the mix in December, after they spent October and November in the garage. By Christmas they were fully vaccinated and big enough to brave the cold. The first few days they were unable to jump up and over the stall doors, so we held them up to see the big guys. But things got interesting a few days later. As the cats grew stronger and more determined, they managed to get into the stalls by leaping from the stacked hay and straw bales. The catch was they were unable to get back out, as there was no surrogate step on the other side. Roland was curious to sniff them, but fortunately was unthreatened. The sheep were fascinated and the smaller, younger brown girls were especially curious, literally cornering kittens in the barn. Yet Oreo and Cutie persisted learning to dodge larger, stronger hooves. Within a couple of weeks, they were sitting atop fence posts, squeezing between the woven wire fences and venturing further from the barn. Now they come to join the boys to play in the snow.  Cutie even followed us 100 yards across the yard to watch the boys sled. They are wonderful cats; lets just hope they catch some mice soon!

Just the other day, Kun-Woo declared that it smelled like spring. I didn’t pick up the scent, but optimistically look forward to a slow melt, a very muddy barnyard, the inklings of green, April shearing, and the chirping of birds. It will be messy, but at least it will be spring!