It takes a village to keep sheep!

A little bit of context: the 36 acres of our farm is dissected by two country roads, making three parts.  We refer to them as: the North field - a big field that is contiguous with where our house and the (very simple) barns are; the Woods across from Hatchery road which is in front of our house; and Cross field across from Cross road.  People sometimes stop on Cross road to look at the sheep if they are out there, or, to spot one of the many birds that live in the little woodsy area at the back.  For example, a week or so ago, I chatted with a lady who had stopped to look at a particular tree.  She also mentioned she knew Dave, who takes care of his 102 year-old dad, Lee Evers (now that's long-term parent care!.... Whoooo or should I say Waaaahh) and who is part of our food scrap pick up route.   This kind of thing happens all the time in our little village, which is part of the charm of being here.

On the day of the story, last Monday, the sheep were in the Cross field, possibly slightly disgruntled because they had eaten most everything they like.   I was going to move them back to the barn the next day and was fretting about it.  It's always a bit of a project to do that route because all ten of them have to cross Cross road as a group, trot down Hatchery for a bit, then up our driveway and into the barn, with nobody getting spooked by cars, or distracted by tasty nibbles.  It was late in the afternoon, and I was doing the Monday afternoon food scrap pick up.  I get a text.  It says, "Someone just called and said your sheep were loose and were seen crossing the road back towards your farm.  I thought you should know".  As I mentioned, this kind of looking out for our sheep happens sometimes, although usually, the people stop by our house because they don't have my phone number.  In any case, I responded "Thanks for the heads up" and headed back to the farm to get the sheep (rest of food scrap could be done tomorrow).  After a few minutes, I thought, wait, how did this person know my number?  So I pull over and look at who had texted.  Dave Evers Food Scrap.  Huh.  Maybe he had passed by and seen the sheep?  But no, he said someone else had called.  How did someone think to call Dave, who lives on the other side of the village?  So I text back and ask him.  And guess what, it was the lady who I had talked to a few days before, who figured Dave must have my number because of the food scraps!  

As I said, it takes a village to keep sheep.  

Plus, when I got home, expecting to have to corral a bunch of confused sheep who were scattered all over the place, I found them all together, pretty much by the barn, waiting to be let in.