Ready for some fun new Bobolink Products?

What would you say to a gradient skein with great eye-appeal? We are now offering 2ply Fingering Coopworth in a gorgeous gradient ball. The base yarn is natural gray, so the rich colors will really stand out. Balls contain 200g/790 yards. This wool comes from friends in Hardwick, VT.

We are now offering local sock yarn! Settlement Sock is a 3ply fingering with nylon. Shepherd Dave Martin raises Cheviot and Montadale sheep in Underhill, VT. Enjoy the spring, softness and durability of Montadale/Cheviot wools blended into a perfect sock yarn. Our initial run has been made into lovely art skeins – solids will be available when the remainder of the spun yarn arrives.

Scuttleship Romney is back in stock! I am pleased to announce that we’ll be offering new colorways and fresh Totally Square Hat Kits. Looking to refresh your skein supply? Get in touch!

Speaking of Scuttleship Romney, our Panorama Scarf Kit is a great way to get your customers engaged in 2021! Available as a DIY KAL or a KAL guided by pattern author Judy Sullivan, we’d love to see some panorama scarves in progress!

I’ve started taking a walk each day to try to battle my isolation fatigue.

Typically, I begin by walking north. In a few steps past the end of the driveway, I am off our property and walking on the smooth, damp sand of the road. Throughout my walk, I must listen for approaching cars from either direction. Pedestrians are not that common on our road, and many drivers enjoy the wide, open vista and straightaway in front of our property to rev up and go. If a car comes, I will wave. It pays to be neighborly.

Even though it’s now December, it’s still worth taking a look at what transpires in our fields. Commonly, I see crows and ravens. Chickadees flit around in the short trees. Sometimes, the turkeys make themselves visible as they endlessly search the fields for morsels. Two weeks of rifle season has made the deer scarce, though evidence abounds of them crossing our road daily.

Heading up the hill to our north, I start thinking about finding a good throwing stick. I’ve been visiting the neighbors’ Border Collie daily for nearly a week now, and we’ve developed a bit of a routine. I find something nice and throwable as I approach her territory. I crest the hill and I can often see that she’s in the dooryard near the road.

Our routine starts with her bow, inviting me to play. Her gaze fixes completely and resolutely on the stick. I wing it as far as I can away from the road in a westerly direction. Three years on this road and I know that this particular dog has no regard for the hazard that cars present. She fetches, makes a few chomps on the stick and returns. About one in three times, she doesn’t see where the stick landed and looks at me like I’ve deceived her by faking a throw. I shrug at her and we each go looking for a new stick. When I car comes, I try to hold her attention so she won’t thoughtlessly bolt into traffic. I often walk a little past where she will go, and then return for a second session while I walk by the house southbound. I walk on the wrong side of the road for that second throwing time just to keep her where she belongs. Stick time ends once I pass the far end of the barn on the property where the dog lives. She never passes that point with me.

I was informed of the dog’s name by a neighbor recently, but I can’t recall what it is other than that it is feminine and contains two syllables. She has never allowed me to touch her, nor has she approached me to sniff or inspect. This relationship is purely based on stick provision and throwing, nothing else. She is an older dog, likely older than 12 or so. I do not, strictly speaking, have permission to play with her, but neither have I been asked to stop. I have never been acknowledged in any way by her shy and reclusive owner. Selfishly, I plan to continue this activity because it’s really a highlight of my day, and I think the dog takes pleasure in it, too.

Once I am over the hill and out of the dog zone, I can enjoy the prettiest vista on our whole road. From the top of the hill at the Kirshner Farm facing south, I can see Mount Mansfield, Camel’s Hump, Elmore Mountain at the head of the Worcester Range and Woodbury Mountain. This view always provides beauty and pleasure in any weather.

Heading back towards my house, I usually now pass my own driveway and walk a little south. You’d think I’d just continue north to get more steps in, but the road turns to pavement there, speeds increase and the road winds around a few blind turns that I wouldn’t feel safe on. Plus, the houses are a little closer to the road and I’m not paying social calls. Heading south, I’m patrolling the lands that we manage and paying a quick visit to the quiet cemetery to the south of our property. The St John of the Cross cemetery holds several generations of French and Irish catholic families that lived in the area. The earliest graves seem to date from the mid 1850s and the cemetery is still active. It’s clear that the lives of previous inhabitants were hard and generally short. Most people born in this area in the 1870s and 1880s lived only into their 40s, 50s and 60s. As was common at those times, there are also many graves of infants and young children.

I usually turn around to walk home after the cemetery. Again, the road gets busier and blind-er, and it’s risky enough already to walk on such a fast road that doesn’t have a good shoulder. I’m usually not tired by the time I turn right into the driveway, but I’ve at least stretched my legs and gotten a little fresh air and sunshine in these dreary days. If my walk is late, I will transition directly into caring for the sheep. Chores are minimal and everyone is waiting for the waning and the waxing of the light.

Today is Election Day in the US. Anticipation and stress fill the air as I’m driving to one of VT’s premier yarn shops to buff up their inventory of Bobolink Yarns. Winding through a small town, I see that political sign-wavers are out in force while voters slow traffic crossing in the crosswalks.

November is already a stressful time of year generally on the farm. The sheep are in three breeding groups, tripling the normal amount of portable-fence-moving labor. We are always cutting right to the wire about getting the sheep into the barn before significant storms hit, with cleaning up the detritus of the year and tucking everything in for storage and with the reality that we now must decide which sheep stay over the winter and which don’t. Everything must be done quickly, even in terrible weather. Moving fence on a warm July morning is a pleasure – picking up frozen fence in a late October sleet storm? Not so much.

I’m listening to a podcast as I drive, mainly to avoid the enless conjecture on the radio. The pod host has invited a therapist who talks about ways to cope with stress. She reminds us to spend time with our art, to do tactile things, to let go of pandemic guilt if we aren’t suffering as some are. These all go straight to my heart. I know that I need to go home and dye some yarn, but I’m too tired to feel artistic or motivated. How do I contact my inspiration on stressful days like today? I know I will feel better when I’m handling yarn. There’s something magical about wool for me – the scent and the sensation make me feel so good. And I know that I feel guilty. How could I be complaining in my head about the stress of having to dye some yarn when it’s pretty much the best job on earth? When I’ve spent the pandemic on a scenic farm? When I live in a state that’s got Covid mostly under control? But like you, I am apart from friends and family. I am without the social settings of sheep and fiber activities that feed the occasional social urges that I feel, even as an introvert.

I’m heading home, minus some yarn but with a bit of peace in my heart and some determination to keep going with this project. I’m going to dye a bit of yarn before I report to my Town Hall to count votes.