Failures and Focus

I Did Think, Let’s Go About This Slowly
by Mary Oliver

I did think, let’s go about this slowly.
This is important. This should take
some really deep thought. We should take
small thoughtful steps.

But, bless us, we didn’t.

This week, we sold our flock of sheep. Despite all of our very best efforts, they simply would not stay in the field. When we had the new fencing installed, we took some bad advice from the contractor and the electric lines weren't enough of a deterrent for our wild and woolly gang from wandering the fields and forests around us.

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In retrospect, we'd known for the better part of a year that this day was coming. Every time someone pulled into the courtyard, I'd panic that the sheep were out. As more and more people ventured up our road in lockdown, and even if we managed to keep them in, errant dogs would jump the short wall and scatter them.
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But we held on...maybe in hope that things would improve if we just bought a better energiser/ sold a few of the wilder ones/ there was more grass. We contacted neighbours for field space, sought advice and threw more money at the problem. We held on...mostly, I think, because of pride. Selling them would mean we failed. That those critics inside and out were right, that we were rubbish farmers and failures. That we don't know what we are doing.
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But pride is a stupid reason to hold on to something that isn't working, and as this last year unfolded it became clear that letting them go was the best option. We sold them to good friends with lots of grass and good fences and felt an immediate relief that we had one less thing to worry about. They can live safely and we can focus on the things we are good at - raising dairy animals, growing a garden, keeping bees and making.
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Of any aspect of the smallholding life, the learning is both my favourite and least favourite. When I think about how far we have come in seven years, I am honestly amazed. I look at how green we were when we moved here and how little we knew and I am reminded of that Mary Oliver poem at the top of this newsletter. We jumped in, whole heartedly, worked our backsides off and made some mistakes along the way. Every season there is something new, some way we can improve and do better, something we have learned and can do now that we couldn't a few months ago. It's not easy, but embracing the fact we can always do better has actually become invigorating and exciting.

So, no more sheep at Gartur. For now at least. I will miss the lambs and the wool, but not the chasing or worry. Mostly though, I am ready to learn more and do better at the things this small piece of earth is good at (which may or may not include a new goat ;) ).

Speak soon,

Kat