I'm gonna be honest. This chapter exists 100% because I realized I can put the mostly useless knowledge I have gathered from several years as an avid yarn bender into actual fanfic use! I've learned things about wool, wool animals, and yarn, and damnit I'm going to use it!

I hope you guys have as much fun with this chapter as I did, because the next one is probably going to hurt a little.

-Becks

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Chapter 11

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"It's sheep shearin' season!" Frank announced brightly at breakfast.

Holly perked up from her sleepy and listless bowl of corn flakes. "Yeah? What does that entail?" In her mind she could picture the cartoonish depiction of a pair of clippers buzzing across a sheep, leaving it naked and embarrassed, trying to gather up the small pieces of its fleece to cover with. Though, she sincerely doubted that was anything close to reality.

"Well, today I'll be headin' over to Megan's farm to help her and Hector shear their flock. They've got quite a few more sheep than I've got and havin' an extra set of hands helps speed things up significantly. You're welcome to join, of course. Unless you've got other plans."

Holly shook her head. "No plans today. You sure it's alright I come? I don't want to get in the way."

"Megan asked me to invite you anyways. She'll be happy for the company and help."

So once breakfast had been eaten and cleaned up, and Frank had finished the rest of his morning chores, they set off down the road to Megan's farm. Things already seemed to be gearing up as they approached the farm. A smaller paddock near the farmhouse was brimming with bleating sheep, all thick and puffy in their wool coats. A couple of dogs trotted around the paddock, keeping their sharp eyes on the sheep, but otherwise leaving them to wander and graze inside the fence. Megan, Hector, and little Colin were standing outside the paddock, chatting lightly.

Colin was the first to see them approach. He shook his grandmother's hand and then shyly hid behind his father's legs. Megan waved them over, calling out a cheerful "Good morning!"

"Morning Megan, Hector. Morning Colin." Frank nodded to the shy child.

Colin squeaked out a quiet, "G'morning Mister Frank."

Hector merely grunted what was most likely a greeting.

"I'm glad you've come to join us, Holly," Megan said with a warm smile.

Holly reciprocated her smile. "I'm here to help however I can." She rubber her hands together a touch nervously, but more excited than anything. "I've never seen a sheep get sheared before."

The farmer chuckled. "It's really no more exciting than a haircut," Megan explained. She turned towards the paddock and beckoned for Holly to follow. "Come with me, Frank and Hector are going to get set up in the barn."

The sheep moved towards Megan as they approached the paddock gate, and Megan pushed the gate open just enough to let the dogs slip in and start herding the sheep away from the gate. Once it was clear, they stepped in as well.

"We'll separate two sheep at a time and lead them in to be sheared, once they're done, they get to go out to the larger pasture."

"How do you lead them?" Holly asked, eyeing the excited flock a bit warily.

Megan laughed a bit. "Sheep aren't all that bright, I'm afraid. They'll follow a strong lead. Watch." She walked up to the flock, which shied away, but were kept in a tight group by the dogs. Megan reached out and got a handful of the nearest sheep's wool, and with hardly any effort, she walked the sheep out of the group. It followed her like … well, like a lamb to slaughter. Holly suddenly understood that particular turn of phrase.

"Here," Megan walked over, "I'll let you hold onto her while I grab another. Get a good grip, now, you won't hurt her, and you don't have to worry about pulling any hair out."

Holly hesitantly dug her fingers into the thick fleece. She was surprised to find that it felt a bit greasy and gritty. It looked so soft and cloudy from a distance. The sheep hardly seemed to care that it was being held and bent its head to try and graze on some grass. Megan brought another sheep over and led the way to the barn.

The stone barn floor had been swept clean by Colin while Frank and Hector had sharpened rather formidable sets of shears. They each took a sheep, and Holly and Megan stepped back. Then, to Holly's great distress, she watched the men physically lift and flip the sheep by their front legs, suplexing them until they were laying on their backs, with their legs splayed up in the air. The sheep bleated in mild alarm as they were pinned between the men's legs.

"Why did they do that?" Holly gasped.

"Oh, don't worry, honey, it doesn't hurt the sheep," Megan assured her. "Sheep've got this reflex that puts them in a bit of a catatonic state when they're on their backs. It keeps them calm and still and helps prevent nicks and cuts. You'll see we trap their heads too once they're back on their feet."

Holly watched as the trimming began. The sheep didn't appear to actually be in distress, just mildly perturbed about their legs getting moved around and their skin being gently pushed as the shears clipped in quick, efficient strokes. In less time than she thought it would take, the sheep were sheared, and their fleece was on the floor. Frank and Hector released their sheep and they ran happily towards the open pasture, shaking themselves and enjoying their significantly lighter and cooler bodies.

She helped collect the shorn fleece, and was surprised to see that the fleece had come off the sheep in one whole piece. The underside of the fleece was a near-solid mass of densely packed, springy fibers. As she rolled up her fleece and hoisted it up, she had to ask, "How much wool do you get from a sheep?"

"Oh, it depends," Megan said, showing Holly where she could drop off her fleece. "Our larger rams can produce up to twenty or thirty pounds of fleece, while our younger or smaller sheep will only give us about ten pounds. And it will depend on the season as well. Winter coats are heavier than summer coats."

Colin set about sweeping up the shearing floor again and Holly and Megan went to fetch two more sheep. Holly was eager to ask more questions and Megan seemed quite happy to answer.

"How often do you shear the sheep?"

"Twice a year," Megan expertly grabbed another sheep for Holly and then one for herself. "Once in Spring to cut their winter coats, and then again in Autumn. If we have any pregnant ewes we'll shear them early, so the wool doesn't get in the way of the birth, but we don't have any lambs this year."

Holly watched curiously as the next pair of sheep were flipped and clipped. A little niggle of worry couldn't help but surface again. "And it really doesn't hurt them?" She couldn't help but think of some of the ads she had seen before from animal activists and they seemed to have a rather skewed idea of how exactly wool was harvested.

Megan raised a good natured eyebrow. "Do your haircuts hurt?"

"No, I guess not," Holly laughed.

"Scar tissue hinders wool growth and reduces the quality. It's a poor farmer who intentionally hurts their livestock and their profit. Little nicks and cuts can be expected, as even the most docile sheep will twitch and jump, but it's the equivalent of a nick while shaving. And the hand shears help reduce any injuries."

They retrieved another pair of sheep, one of which was a proud looking ram with a thick set of curved horns and the biggest coat yet. "I remember seeing a picture of a sheep that escaped his farm, and when they found him a couple years later his wool was huge. How did it get that way?"

"Oh, I know what sheep you're talking about, the poor thing." Megan gestured to her flock of sheep. "It was a Merino, like the ones we keep. Centuries if not millennia of selective breeding have produced some of the finest wool on the planet, but the downside is that a Merino cannot shed its own coat naturally. Heavy and overgrown fleece can cause mobility and health issues. If water gets trapped in the wool, it can mold, parasites can get down to the skin and not get cleaned out, dirt and other things can get caught in the fleece and cause disease. It's why at least an annual shearing is required for the animals."

"Wow, I never considered that," Holly mused.

"Most people don't. An animal that can't shed its own hair doesn't really sound like it makes sense. But that's where good wool sheep are."

By the time they stopped for a lunch break, they had sheared over half of the flock. Holly was sure she had carried at least five hundred pounds of fleece over to the massive bin they had been tossing the fleece into. Her arms were beginning to feel sore, and she was happy for the break. That being said, she was also thoroughly enjoying her work here. It was fascinating to see how Frank and Hector had gotten shearing down to an art form after a lifetime of practice. And Megan seemed to know the answer to everything.

As Holly tried to scrub her hands clean of the dirt and whatever greasy substance was on the wool, she couldn't help but wonder at the stubbornness of the grease. She washed twice and it still hadn't all come off. "What is this stuff?" she asked, rubbing her fingers together.

"It's lanolin – natural oil from the sheep – does wonders for your skin, good waterproofing agent as well. Your hands will be baby-soft for days after this." Megan chuckled. "If you want it off, though, dry your hands, add soap first, scrub, and then rinse with water. That'll take it right off."

After a nice, if quiet, lunch of sandwiches and lemonade (neither Hector nor Colin contributed much to the conversation) they were back at it again with the sheep. By the time they had sheared three quarters of the flock, the large bin was full to the brim with fleece. Hector wheeled in a much smaller bin that Holly was surprised to see already had two or three sheep's worth of wool inside.

"Are these different?"

"Hmm?" Megan looked over. "Oh, no, dear, I always set aside about a quarter of our wool each season to spin into yarn. Those are leftovers from last fall's shearing, and I didn't quite get to them yet."

"You spin your own yarn?"

"Yes, only to sell locally, though. It's more cost effective for us to sell our fleece raw to the mills than it would be for me to try and process every fleece by hand. Given textiles aren't our main product, I keep it as something more like a hobby than anything. It's a nice meditative and therapeutic hobby." Megan paused and picked a rather large bit of straw from the fleece in the bin. "Next time I make some yarn, I'll show you how, if you'd like."

Holly decided that she very much would like to see how yarn was made. She had never before thought about what might happen between the sheep and the ball of yarn in the stores. Again, her mind conjured a cartoonish depiction of an old lady knitting a sweater next to a sheep, with a string going between her needles and the increasingly naked sheep. And again, she knew that was very far from the truth.

By the end of the afternoon, all of Megan and Hector's sheep had been shorn and were enjoying their much lighter coats in the grassy pasture. Megan waved off Frank and Holly as they left – Hector and Colin had already begun their evening chores – with the promise to be at his farm bright and early tomorrow morning so they could shear his sheep as well.

Holly felt like she had learned so much, but also had so many more questions. There was one she had been sitting on most of the day that she kept forgetting to ask Megan. "So, are Merino sheep the only animals people get wool from?"

"Oh, no, not at all. Merino tends to be most popular, but there was plenty of other sheep breeds that produce different kinds of wool. All my sheep are Suffolk, for example. They're rarer in these parts, so their wool sells for a higher premium. And sheep aren't even the only critters you can get wool from. Frank tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Of course, there's alpaca wool, that's a pretty common one. I think some folks also harvest wool from llamas, but it's not quite the same as alpaca wool. Angora comes from Angora rabbits, and cashmere comes from Cashmere goats. I think in the northern countries and mountainous regions they'll harvest wool from yaks." Frank shrugged and chuckled. "I think almost any animal that has long enough hair could technically be turned into yarn or cloth."

It was another thing Holly hadn't thought about before. Somehow she just thought that all animal fibers came from sheep. Of course, now that she put more than two seconds of thought into it, it did make sense.

"So who figured out that rabbits, of all creatures, were good for producing wool?" Holly asked lightly.

Frank laughed. "Someone a lot faster than me. Then of course, there's the plant fibers like cotton and flax."

"Flax?" Holly had never heard of any type of cloth made from flax before. She just knew of flaxseeds that people put into smoothies sometimes.

"Flax fibers turn into linen. When I was a boy, there was a local farm who produced flax and turned it all into handmade linen. Hell of a process to turn the plant into cloth, but he was a real craftsman. My grandmother had some of his handkerchiefs and they were so delicate you could read through them."

As they crossed the rickety bridge, Holly couldn't help but ask, "Uncle Frank, wh-" she cut herself off. It felt incredibly rude to ask, but she wanted to know. If she was going to see more of Megan and her family in the future, she didn't want to accidentally say the wrong thing. "What happened to Colin's mom?"

Until today, Holly hadn't realized that it was just Megan, Hector, and Colin in their big farmhouse. She just assumed that she hasn't yet met Hector's wife. But after today, she sincerely doubted that the woman would miss an event like this if she were living with them. Obviously, she was no longer in the picture anymore. Holly's mind was quick to come up with a number of reasons why Colin's mother wasn't around, and she sincerely hoped it was something as mundane as a divorce.

The way Frank refused to meet her eyes, told her it wasn't going to be so simple. "She died. Few years back, now. Colin was just a baby." Frank heaved a sigh. Holly's mouth went dry and her heart pounded in her ears. "Hector don't talk 'bout it much, but I think it was cancer. Set in real fast and took her in just a couple months."

"Oh, that's awful," Holly muttered. Her heart ached not just with her own grief, but with sympathy for Hector as well.

"Yeah." Frank sighed heavily again. "After she passed, Hector moved back to Westown. I think it helped; he never really seemed happy livin' in the city, but they were there for his wife's career. Here he was more at home, and he had his friends to help him."

Holly's mouth twisted a little wryly. She had done the opposite when faced with insurmountable grief and run as far away from home as she could. In the end though, both she and Hector had ended up in Westown. His story did give her a touch of hope, though. As quiet as Hector was – and Holly was certain that was more his personality than anything – the farmer seemed happy with his life, and he clearly loved his son. He and Colin were living proof that there was such a thing as moving on, and there was still life after loss.