If you like lamb, but don’t care to bother sheering sheep, consider raising a few hair sheep. The editor of our sister publication, Grit, just bought two Katahdin ewes (Katahdin Sheep Come To Osage County). Sheep will take care of some of your rough mowing chores, saving time and gas. There are other breeds of hair sheep, too, such as the St. Croix or Barbados Blackbelly.

Our new blogger, Jenna Woginrich, has recently acquired a small flock of sheep, which she reported on this week in her homesteading blog, "Give Fleece a Chance." Jenna eventually plans many uses for the sheep, including harvesting wool, from which to knit lovely winter scarves.

Have you ever thought of how much work it must have been for our ancestors who spun, wove and sewed all their clothing from wool, flax and cotton? It’s really amazing, when you realize how easily we acquire our clothing today. Imagine knitting all your socks and undergarments from the cotton you spun into thread.

Since we don’t have to produce all that we wear, we have the luxury of choosing to learn how to spin the yarn for and knit unique scarves and sweaters from wool we might even shear ourselves. The back-to-the-landers of the 1970s emulated the early settlers and gave new life to many of the hand crafts that colonists and pioneers relied on. Spinning, knitting and weaving were high on their self-sufficiency skills list.

If you have a yearning to work with lanolin-rich wool, check out these articles from our archive on hand spinning wool and making a spinning wheel from a bicycle wheel. You may not spin enough to knit a sweater, but in a few hours you can make enough yarn to knit a pot holder or tea cozy.

To find the right wool for spinning, contact your local 4-H folks. And a fabric or yarn store can steer you towards spinning and knitting classes in your area.

So folks, I am finally a shepherd. After years of hype — the hooves have landed. Cold Antler Farm now hosts a small flock of Border Leicester/Romney crosses named Sal, Marvin and Maude. Their purpose is to teach me the basics of all things sheep. Under their watchful eyes I'll learn to trim hooves, birth lambs, and turn the wool on their backs into scarves around my neck. I'll know I made it in this world when I can go out on a beautiful crisp October morning and feed the sheep adorned in the fashions they sported last season. My goals are pretty simple people.

I'll also be using them to train a border collie to herd (a whole other world I can barely keep myself from diving into.) Since I'm getting into all this sheep business without farmhands or a fleet of ATVs, a working dog will be my saving grace when the flock gets too large for a girl with a stick to sort through. Hopefully by the time my future farm happens, he'll be revved and ready to go for some serious practical herding work. And while that future puppy isn't in my life just yet, I am on the lookout for strong herding lines in future litters all over America. With the help of mentors in the North East Border Collie Association — I'll find my sheepdog, train him, and before you know it be out in the trial fields, crook in one hand and lead in the other. Okay, so not all of my goals are simple.

So far, shepherding has already taught me some valuable lessons. Lessons like, sheep aren't the stupid animals people constantly tell me they are. (If you get sheep, expect to hear how dumb they are within 27.8 seconds of people finding out.) But regardless of the stereotypes, Marvin learned how to unhinge the gate and lead his flock to freedom in no time. (I'm not sure I would've figured out the gate that fast.) I’ve also learned about the heaviness of sheep hooves when they step on your feet, and that grain rustled about a coffee can start a stampede. I learned that taking a nap on a sunny afternoon out in the pasture with them can be a meditation on the all. But it’s a meditation grounded in reality, because if your siesta happens to be in the way of some good foraging, you'll be woken up by a cold snout nudging you out of the way.

My advice to any future shepherds out there is to do your homework. Before I had any woolies on the farm I did some serious research. I bought and read a small library of books, attended weekend workshops, visited shepherds and sheepdog trials, and talked with neighbors about the upcoming flock. Because of this I was prepared for some of the potential problems, and it insured a happier group of sheep when they finally arrived. I am in no way an expert, and have more to learn than I care to admit, but at least their shelter faces the right direction and their winter hay is stocked up in the garage. I know what it’s like to be excited and want to just jump in head first (trust me), but for the basic fairness for you and the animals, crack a book. But hey, if you find out a few farm visits later that sheep are for you too, I’ll see you in the fields!

Jenna Woginrich is the author of the forthcoming book,  Made from Scratch: Discovering the Pleasures of a Handmade Life, from Storey Publishing. Visit her Web site at coldantlerfarm.blogspot.com.

If you knew me growing up you’d probably be surprised to find out that after a perfectly normal suburban childhood, I ended up standing in a chicken coop at 5 a.m. ankle-deep in straw and chicken poo.

After all, that was never the plan. I grew up in the complacency of small town America. We had a fine house with a beautiful back yard, neighborhood friends, and wonderbread sandwiches. Once a year near Halloween, my parents would take us three kids to a small family farm with a pumpkin patch. I’m fairly certain that annual trip was the closest I ever got to the farmlife.

Now, 26 and on my own in rural Vermont — things have changed. Bread comes from my oven — not plastic bags with twist ties. Eggs come from the chicken coop — not a styrofoam container. And vegetables come from the garden not the produce section (though technically, the garden is the produce section of the property, but you know what I mean.) My life went from an urban design job in the city to the path of an apprentice shepherd. While I still have a 9-5 job, my weekends are spent at sheepdog clinics and lambing seminars. The dream is to raise lambs up here in the gambols of Vermont. And the road to that reality is a lot different than the one I’ve been trained for in college. (They don’t teach you how to pull out an inverted lamb from a stubborn ewe in typography classes, just a heads up for any designers-turning-farmers out there.) Anyway,  I’ve been sweating, tilling, and stepping in random feces for a few years now and whenever someone who knew me before all paths lead to sheep runs into me, they always ask me the same question.

Why?

Why would a perfectly normal middle class gal, who had a nice city job, and a pleasant apartment pick up her life and shake it till trowels and feed sacks fell out? Why spend a year learning to raise chickens and keep bees and nearly pass out of heat stroke in the garden when eggs, honey, and broccoli are all for sale at the grocery store for less than the cost of that hoe in your blistered hands?

There are a lot of canned answers to this and you know them already. As fellow homesteaders (or friends there of) you get the whole “homegrown-satisfaction-quality-of-life-green-living” bit. All those reasons ring true for me too, but there’s something else writhing below those surface answers. Something deeper that makes me smile in the garden or laugh from my belly in the bird yard.

It’s the honesty of knowing what I do everyday directly helps keep me alive.

It’s that simple.

Gardening, farming, raising animals — these are seen as labor or hobbies to most. I can’t tell you how many times people have told me “Farming isn’t my thing” which is always said with flippant arrogance masquerading as either city-slicker inadequacy or self-effacing ambivalence. Which is fine. If it weren’t for people not wanting to farm, farmers wouldn’t have any business in the first place. But here’s the thing. If you ever ate anything that had to be raised, slaughtered, or planted — farming is definitely your thing. Actually, It’s the only thing.

We can sit on the porch and talk all day about philosophy and religion and what people want. But the conversation about what the human animal needs is pretty short — food, shelter, water, protection. While I love the literature, art, and amazing questions people ask about ‘what we want’. I find true peace and purpose taking control of what I need.

Raising and growing your own is more than a lifestyle — it is life. Contrary to popular belief there is nothing altruistic about it. Homesteading is the most self-involved way to live. But it’s exactly how most animals do live, and there’s no logical reason for any of us to think we have the world figured out better than anything else stumbling around the planet. Animals live a wild life of procuring food and creating life. The shepherd with a lamb in his arms is no different than the wolf with a lamb in his jaws. Two animals with food being the center of their present lives. I love that so much about farming, you just can’t know.

So I suppose that is why I homestead. The correctness of survival. The wildness of understanding basic needs. It all draws me in and keeps the bit between my teeth. It lets me feel more a part of the world in the most basic sense. Thanks to the egg, garden, and lamb — I too can gain all the satisfaction I need from being in charge of my own life. You know, there’s a reason eating a salad you grew yourself tastes so good, and if you don’t believe me, you can ask that wolf.

Jenna Woginrich is the author of the forthcoming book,  Made from Scratch: Discovering the Pleasures of a Handmade Life, from Storey Publishing. Visit her Web site at coldantlerfarm.blogspot.com.