Every April, my friend, Karen, and I take a road trip to the Connecticut Sheep and Wool Festival in Tolland, Connecticut; it is tradition, and one that both of us look forward to greatly. Sometimes it is just the two of us; now that Mom is living with me, she comes along, too. And there’s always room for more. This past April it was my friend, Heather, who volunteered with me at Old Sturbridge Village, and her friend, Lisa. In previous years, other friends have joined us. And it is always a good time.
I love all things fiber; albeit, I like creating fibers best: spinning and weaving, though I only know the rudiments at present. Whether spinning or weaving, once you get the feel for spinning yarn or the rhythm of the shuttle when weaving, “The Zone” takes over and you go into that happy place. It’s as good as any meditation practice I’ve ever experienced.
At the CT Sheep and Wool Festival it is not so much a sheepdog trial but simply a demonstration of how Border collies herd and little bits of advice in regard to their training and care. It doesn’t matter. This is the highlight of the CT Sheep and Wool Festival for me. To me, watching these dogs herd is like watching poetry in motion, and I am working towards that day when I have my own flock of sheep and a pair of Border Collies to enter into some competitions myself. That day may be a long way off; I’m still on the fence about whether to sell this property and relocate, or to stay and relinquish this dream of sheep herding. As it is a little itch that refuses to be scratched and is growing ever larger, I think everyone can guess which decision I’m leaning towards.
However, that’s neither here nor there.
The Connecticut Sheep and Wool Festival is the spring road trip. I didn’t think I had a fall one until earlier this week when Mom asked about going to Salem again. Last year, Mom & I, my cousin, Amanda, and several of my aunts, traveled to Salem, Massachusetts a week before Halloween. While it was wonderful sharing the day with so many loved ones, a missed exit, over-crowded parking lots and numerous blocked roads made for a rather stressful event. By the time we found parking–and each other, as we traveled caravan-style with multiple vehicles–nearly everything was closing, which was a disappointment. It was also freezing by the harbor and we visited the local gift shops, not for souvenirs, but for gloves, hats and extra sweatshirts at inflated, tourist-trapping prices. It seemed we no sooner arrived then we were making the long trek back home again.
This year, with the family splintered again, there will likely be fewer going; it saddens me. I love every member of my family and I hate the thought of anyone being left out–even by their own choice. But I have to respect that choice. And, more, I have to respect my own, knowing my own heart and why I made the choice that I did. A recent meeting with Father Elson helped center me. He advised not to burn the bridge, but to let everyone know it is there, and that all are welcome to cross over at any time as we are all one blood, one family–Christ’s family. In short, don’t isolate anyone. Don’t give up on anyone. Let them know you love them, but the choice is theirs if they would be part of your life–and each other’s; it’s not something I can control as, in doing so, I risk greater injury to all. So, I use my blog posting today to do just that…extend that invitation to cross over the bridge. And, in the meantime, I set my sights on enjoying a beautiful day in Salem and what may be a magickal new tradition.
May God bless you & keep you!