Maybe the title is a bit gushy, but the two days we were in Wisconsin were like going home. We have some very dear friends there and, although it had been several years since the last visit and over 20 years since we lived there, it was as if we’d seen them yesterday.
There were the in-town friends, colleagues of my husband, who were an important part of our life “back then” and still are.
And there were our country friends, a group of women who raised sheep, spun the wool, and made warm lovely things with the yarn. This is the group (out of 12? or 15?) we managed to gather for one of the days I was there.
We were (and will always be, but not in the active sense) the Mt. Horeb Spindrifters. We met once a month at each other’s homes to knit, spin, and share information or stories about our sheep (and oh, what stories!). Each spring we worked our collective butts off to have a Shepherd’s Harvest where we sold our wool, our yarn, our brats (bratwurst, not children), and provided demonstrations of various sheep-related activities/crafts. We even managed to get our families to participate: one brave and dedicated husband sheared sheep, another equally brave and dedicated husband served as our cashier, others helped with cooking the brats, our children did everything from grabbing sheep for the shearer to demonstrating weaving, and of course everyone helped with setting up and taking down according to availability and ability. People came from surrounding farms, Madison, and as far away as Chicago.
A lot has happened in 20+ years. Some of us have moved away–to Minnesota, to Canada/Norway, to Alabama (that’s me). A few still have sheep. Children have grown up and had their own families. A few of us have moved off the farm. A few have stayed, but sold their sheep. A few still have sheep. Interests have expanded or been re-focused. And there have been deaths in our “family.” We are, after all, getting older. Those who have passed on will always be remembered and held close to our hearts.
I wish I had pictures from the past–they are not digital and I’m not up to scanning, etc., yet. Perhaps later. Meanwhile, here are a few from my two days.
Here’s Mary’s felted jacket–felted and sewn by herself, her wool.
…outside
..and inside, showing some of the finishing detail. (See, M? Not a picture of your armpit–not really!)
And here’s a few sheep.
One of Carol’s rams greeting Martha and me in the driveway… We decided not to proceed and send him crashing in a panic into a fence. The asparagus we were delivering would find other happy eaters.
Martha’s boarders, not feeling too sure about us peering over the fence at them.
These guys live across the road from our old place and aren’t feeling nervous about us at all!
This is the old Hauge Church, built of logs in 1852.
Notice the very narrow-bench seats?
Long before we ever moved to Wisconsin, the land was donated by the owners of “our” farm. It was on the corner of the section and was designated for the sole purpose of the building of the church. All this was in our deed. Interesting historical stuff. People still get married here, have picnics, and just visit. It’s well cared for by local folks and is now surrounded on three sides by prairie (being recovered from old fields and a hillside pasture). The fourth side is the site of some controversy. The owner on that side wants to build a pole barn right next to the church plot. People have objected as the barn will obviously detract from the beauty of the churchyard and its views. Now, I’m not likely to object to a farmer needing to make a living, but this guy apparently owns 400 acres in the area and really doesn’t HAVE TO build the barn right next to the church. One would think. The last I heard, the guy won a lawsuit and the township will have to come up with the money to pay the court costs. Not sure I’ve gotten it right. But what a neighbor, eh?
Funny, I never took any pictures of the land we still own there (without the house). It has become woodsy-er. Things looked very green with just a little bit of apple tree blossoms left. I used to spin quite a bit of my wool and sell it under the name “Wild Apple Wool.” Miss that life.
