Lessons in Shearing

I wish I could bring back the shearer I was five years ago and see her reaction to the one I am today.  That version of myself was exhausted by any amount of shearing, had a stomach full of butterflies arriving at each job, and dismissed the word “no” entirely from her vocabulary.  All young people must go through the growing pains at the first adult job.  Newborn calf on wobbly legs type.  That’s all of us, right?  At some point or another?  Now some 15,000 sheep (plus a few goats) in on the fun and a lot has changed.  All those animals and you’d expect to learn a few things about them.  We see nearly every disease, condition, breed, wool type, age, facility, conventional, grass-fed, extensive, high-input, functional and failed system there is.  Our day to day is a survey like no other over the pulse of what sheep production looks, smells, and feels like in the regions we serve.  I didn’t know how much I didn’t know at the start and as the experiences are collected, I’ve only become more excited for this industry I’m building a life in.  However, I didn’t expect quite so much personal growth right out the gate.

            For all those sheep, there are hundreds of clients I see every year.  Some I get to know as friends and even family.  For the others I’ve learned how to tell my story convincingly and concisely.  “Where did you learn to do this?” “What else do you do for work?” and then the more personal, “How old are you anyways? Are you and Colin married? Have kids yet?” all with answers at the ready and preparation for the reactions to the answers.  As such an introverted individual it’s a complete miracle I’ve figured out how to gracefully (I think, anyways) offer small conversation starters to clients not so chatty.  Not intrusive but inquiring questions about their sheep, plans for their wool, maybe their dogs or the area they live in.  Like a good hairdresser or dentist might.  In absorbing so many other stories I’ve learned to keep an endlessly open mind.  How to engage with those across all walks of life and experiences with livestock.  I’ve learned how to know when I’m being talked down to and when someone is receptive to my know-how.  I still haven’t learned how to take a compliment.  I don’t know how to meet the most flattering feedback with the honest fact that I am only a small time, barely above novice shearer.  Good at my job where I am, but not that well trained and not an a very competent shearer within the larger picture.  Recognizing my status, I’ve still learned that “no” doesn’t need to be followed with justification.  In fact it shouldn’t.  I’ve finally learned a professional is allowed to draw a line, say what is unsafe, out of their expertise, not a part of their job, and if still met with debate a professional is allowed to turn down a job. I’ve learned to anticipate when debate left matchless might turn towards disrespect and that is never worth engaging with.  I’ve learned to value my skill, no matter the level because I have sweat and bled and sacrificed too much not to, and my time.  I’ve learned that time is so so precious. 

On the opposite side of the coin, I’ve come to understand how unfair it is to judge people in a moment – especially when that moment is just after sheep break out, get rained on, eat a meal fed by a family member who wasn’t supposed to feed them.  I’ve learned how easy it is for the frustrations during situations like this, ones where sheep can’t be shorn as scheduled, to be heaved onto the closest person. I’ve learned to recognize when I’m not taken seriously in a request for safe working conditions. I’ve learned that when it feels like I’m being taken advantage of I am very likely being taken advantage of.  I’ve learned communication and kindness are of immeasurable importance. Yelling at others is never the solution.  But I’ve found the most important idea to hold is that we never know the amount or weight of all someone else is juggling.  Never, ever.

I know now we can’t pour from an empty cup.  I learned it’s okay to need a break from a job you love, a job others tell you you’re so lucky to have and or beg you not to take a break from.  A break can be necessary to avoid turning that passion into hostility.  I’ve learned the danger passed down through generations in a “work to the bone” ethic which is isolation camouflaged as self-worth.  I’ve decided no work is more important than friends, than family, than health.  I haven’t entirely learned how to live by that decision but the seed is planted.  I have learned how much I can handle, just how far my body can go to shear one more, then one more, then one more.  I’ve yet to reach the end of my tolerance for pain while also learning how to listen to my body for everything it needs.  Importantly, I’ve learned how to appreciate a body that an entire career relies upon.

I’ve learned, sitting down to many meals in many kinds of people’s homes while sometimes turning tablecloths and hand towels shades of filth most would balk at, how much generosity endures. I’ve learned how far the most basic respect, a little bit of patience, and an honest job done can get you. That those with the least will often give the most.  I think I’ve learned to be proud of myself.  And in all of these moments meeting thousands of interesting people and carefully handling even more animals, I’ve always thought of how proud my dad would be.  He was proud of the short, timid, and very unathletic kid I was who found some comfort around sheep.  What would he say to see that kid, a little taller now, pushing past every comfort zone imaginable?

Title photo from the wonderful folks at Werner Tree Farm.