My dream is a cliché, and I’m at peace with it:  Boy gets border collie, boy introduces border collie to sheep, border collie likes sheep, boy chucks it all to become a shepherd.  The story reached its logical conclusion, ad absurdum, when I moved to a 56-acre hill farm in southwestern New Hampshire this October.

 

In my defense, my longing to live somewhere rural began many years earlier, intensifying when I adopted Musti. I found myself spending every free moment exploring the local parks and forests with him; Boston’s urban playground, whose appeal was already fading, became a barrier rather than a perk.  Shortly after Luc joined us, the vague sense of needing to get out of the city sharpened considerably  — must get sheep!  So after 7 years of scheming and false starts, I’m finally in way over my head, caring for three border collies, a livestock guardian dog named Bravo, 38 sheep, and a piece of land that’s been settled continuously for many centuries.  I’m incredibly excited by it all, and I’m doing my best not to screw any of it up irreparably. And there’s an overlay of sadness, that I couldn’t make this happen in time for Musti to experience it.

 

I suspect that this space will get hijacked by the daily goings-on at Hollow Oak Farm, but I’ll try not to entirely abandon the topics I’ve been exploring over the last couple of years.  Happy New Year!