Sheep and Wool

September 18th, 2023

A week ago, I went with my wife, Karin, and our little grandson, Asher, to the Wisconsin Sheep and Wool Festival at the Jefferson County Fair Grounds. Let me say right up front that there is nothing at the Sheep and Wool Festival that is of interest to me. I am not much interested in sheep, and the only wool that concerns me is in the sweater that Karin knit for me.

For Karin, the Sheep and Wool Festival is an annual pilgrimage. It rivals the Hajj to Mecca in her mind. It’s a big deal. Anybody in Wisconsin who is involved in the fiber arts goes to this festival. It’s the Burning Man for knitters, spinners, and weavers. There are no casual participants at this gathering. The attendees are all dyed-in-wool fanatics about their art.

Karin could have gone to the fair this year on her own, but we had somehow promised Asher that he could watch the dogs chase the sheep around. So, Karin needed me to shepherd Asher while she explored the vendor halls. The halls which usually house pigs, goats, and cows were packed with the kiosks of fiber dealers during the festival. The halls reminded me a bit of the Great Suq in Cairo. There was the chaotic feel of a Middle Eastern bazaar, but one filled with white women wearing handmade shawls and scarves.

Asher and I sought out the dogs and the sheep. We have a border collie at home named Shocky. Shocky is an older lady, thirteen years of age, who likes the quiet life. She used to be quite active, but not anymore. Asher wanted to watch the “Shocky dogs” chase the sheep. We wandered the fairgrounds until we found the west field where they were holding the “Crook and Whistle Stock Dog Trial”. All the participants in the show had a long stick (crook), and whistle, and a border collie that was more or less trained to herd sheep. At the start of every trial, three sheep were released on to the far end of the field, and the border collie was set loose to bring the animals into a small pen at the near end.

The efforts of the dogs and their trainers were entertaining. A few of the border collies were effective in their herding activities. They would get the attention of the three sheep, and then lie down in the grass like a lion tracking prey in the savannah. The sheep would move away the wannabe predator. After much yelling and whistling on the part of the trainer, the dog would sometimes convince the sheep to enter the small corral. That was a win. It didn’t happen often. Usually, the dog would just chase the sheep all over the field, much to the chagrin of the owner. Oh well, there is always next year’s competition.

Asher liked watching the doggies chase the sheep. Even now, a week later, he talks about going to see them. I wasn’t sure what else to do with the boy after he grew weary of observing the amateur sheep herders. There were halls for the sheep and lambs. We walked through them, and Asher enjoyed looking at the animals. There wasn’t much else to do at the fair. It wasn’t a very festive festival. There was no music, no games, and no beer. They had a few food booths, but the gathering was clearly not intended for little boys, or for bigger ones.

The festival had an intensely feminine atmosphere. Yes, there were some men there, but they played a purely auxiliary role in the event. The clientele was almost entirely made up of older women who were on a mission. I noticed that there was line of people waiting for the women’s bathroom, while the men’s restroom was deserted. The few guys who were on the fairgrounds, like me, all looked a bit lost.

Asher and I decided to search the market for his “oma”. That place was sheer pandemonium. Vendors were hawking fiber products of all sorts: raw wool recently sheared from sheep or alpacas, and yarns displayed in a full spectrum of colors. They sold carders, looms, spinning wheels, spindles, needles, and an endless assortment of other craft items. Almost all these products were top of the line. The women thronging the mall were savvy shoppers. They, like my wife, knew all the brands and they could discern the quality of the materials. They recognized the patterns and the styles. These were people who were intimately familiar with all aspects of their art, and they gazed at the wares with keen eyes.

Karin is a fiber goddess. That description may be a little over the top, but she is truly an artist, just as a sculptor or a painter or a dancer is an artist. It is interesting to be married to somebody like that. A spontaneously creative person is always coming up with fascinating new ideas, and that same individual can never find their car keys. Karin has a craft studio where it looks like a grenade just exploded. Yet she seems to know where everything is in that room, usually. Karin’s mind bubbles over with new designs, and she flits from one to another until she at last decides on that unique project. Then she focuses her passion and energy on it with laser like intensity. It is a sight to behold.

Asher and I somehow located Karin amidst the tumult. That was sheer luck, since Karin had her phone on silent. She had one shopping bag full of treasures. She spent a total of $100, but in small amounts at six different vendors. She was frugal. I was impressed. This is the same woman who just the week before dropped four grand when ordering an eight-shaft floor loom for her weaving projects. The floor loom was a good buy. It will get plenty of use, once we figure out where to put it.

As the three of us walked out of the fair, Karin spotted a stranger wearing a sweater with a particularly intricate design. Karin smiled at the woman and said,

“I love your sweater!”

The woman thanked Karin, and they engaged in shop talk for a few minutes. I understood none of it. The lady told Karin,

“The design will be all over Instagram!”, as she walked away.

Karin indicated to me that she wanted to find that pattern.