This morning, I took my sheep out of their fence to graze under the olive trees, where fresh greens are carpeting the soil after the rain. I sat on a tree stump under the sun, keeping an eye on them lest they decide to veer off course towards the vegetable garden. Baba Yaga, one of my cats, jumped onto my lap only to fall fast asleep, a soft bundle of white and brown fur.
It all sounds pretty idyllic, and yet — I felt close to boredom, a sudden itch growing on me. Should I walk home and fetch a book to keep me company? Or maybe my laptop, so I can keep working on a writing project... My knitting, perhaps? Yet I didn’t, trapped under a cat as I was, rooted on a tree stump, looking over my two brown sheep, doing nothing, un-doing my usual busyness. Why was this so hard, though?
I thought of my grandparents and forebears on both sides of my family, on both continents, who were shepherds themselves. Cows, goats, sheep. I remember going out with my paternal grandfather and his goats, only to look at the animals for hours while they grazed. He would sit on a rock or lean against a tree trunk, focusing on a world of colorful sights that carried no sound to him, for he was deaf. Which thoughts roamed his mind as he did this every day, summer or winter, for his whole life? Did he think of the tasks ahead of him for the day — chopping wood, harvests, collecting brush to light up the communal bread oven? Did he reflect on mundane things, or big questions? Or was he as still on the inside as he always was from the outside, a still mind made of trees and moss, beast and land?
But me? I’m full of uneasiness. I shift weight on the tree trunk, and the cat rearranges her sleeping position. Is it capitalism, is it the hustle culture I was born into, is it the make-perform-show whisper that still lingers on after leaving social media? And how do I find out and breathe more easily?
My forebears didn’t get many choices in their lives, shaped by a life with little means on one side and weighed under colonialism and racism on the other. I carry the enormous privilege of choice, building a house with one’s hands because I chose to, chopping firewood because I chose to, and growing food and tending to animals for the same reason. What wouldn’t they give to have my choices? Would they feel satisfied if they looked over my shoulder? And yet, this morning, I deeply, fully wanted to be able to sit down on a tree stump under the sun, with a cat purring on my lap, observing my two brown sheep while they grazed, and think of
absolutely
nothing.
I put the sheep back in their fence after a good while, and when I came back home, I wrote a short list of things to do while the sheep graze — if giving in to doing nothing is hurting too much. These are not things to fill up time or abstract from what’s happening around, but rather to be more present and aware, rooted in place. As it needs to be while one is guarding sheep. Get too sucked into something (like staring at a smartphone), and the sheep may go places they shouldn’t while your mind is somewhere else.
Mind you, sheep might have been the starting point for this list, but it certainly doesn’t limit itself to a shepherding situation only. It can be a remedy for whenever you are craving a deep sense of stillness, of belonging in place, and contentedness with time that is not up for filling (just for feeling)
Draw the sheep. Drawing what’s around you is a wonderful way of truly taking in your surroundings.
Grab your basket and go on a foraging foray alongside your animals, be it for food, medicine, or sheer beauty (which is medicine, too!)
Journal, using words to describe what’s happening in the place you are writing from. Are you writing from a rural or urban environment? How does the temperature feel like upon your skin? What sounds do you notice? What’s the overall mood in this situation? Which thoughts does this place bring to your mind? (I recently did this exercise in a busy restaurant in the city while waiting for my friends to arrive, a contrasting change from my usual journaling practice at home, but so rich and layered)
Work with fibers. A knitting/crochet project that is somewhat mindless is ideal for this situation, as you surely don’t want to be in the middle of a complex colorwork chart when you are called to run after your mischievous sheep. Similarly, spinning with a drop spindle is a good option. It is easy to carry in a bag and swiftly put back in. I personally find joy in being enthralled by the repetitive movement of the drop spindle, a millennial rhythm during a millennial practice — sheep guarding.
Write a letter to a friend. Writing a letter is like using a flip phone in the sense that it is a reclamation of one’s slow time and attention. Quite fitting with guarding sheep, I find.
Close your eyes and listen. Like Robin Wall Kimmerer writes in Braiding Sweetgrass, “Listening in wild places, we are audience to conversations in a language not our own.” If you dwell in an urban environment, try to distill the hum of other-than-human elements from the busyness of city life. What can you uncover?
My list didn’t go much further than this, but also, I don’t think it needs to go, truthfully. Because when I sat down to write this transmission, the only thing I wanted was to write out loud the questions: why do we feel so uncomfortable with the idea of idleness? And why does being unproductive hurt to the bones? Can I/we bring the mind back to a state of trees and moss, beast and land?
I don’t know the exact answers to these questions. But I know that I want to belong to the place I inhabit so deeply that, to be in its company, place, legged, winged, and rooted beings alike, I am never alone, never bored, never without a wordless conversation to partake in. Even after all this time, I am not there yet. But if I keep on listening and feeling, I may unlearn enough to welcome that in.
I think this is one of the first lessons my sheep have taught me.
Speaking of the teachings of sheep, I am pleased to share with you all that my next in-person spinning workshop has finally got a date! Come hang out with wool, spindles, carders, and me for a whole day in Espaço Aldeão, in Oledo, on the 19th of this month. We had so much fun in our previous edition (last year!), and I’m very excited about offering this workshop once again. Below are some photos from last year so that you can see I’m not bluffing — it is fun! 🙂
The cost per participation is 20€, and you can secure your spot right here.
Will you join us? 🐏