I used to think I must have some Viking ancestry. I am not particularly tough, but I do have a nomadic streak and an affinity for cold, rugged landscapes. Then, after spending a terrible, seasick night on a docked sailboat, I was less sure. While I love a rocky coast, living on a ship was decidedly not for me.
Perhaps I was one of the Vikings who stayed behind on land? I wasn’t sure, but further evidence materialized in the form of my sheep obsession. The first time I walked into a barn during lambing season, I knew I was experiencing love at first sight, and maybe ancient genetic memory as well. Shepherding was in my blood.
Then, after keeping sheep for a few years, I acquired a rare breed of “primitive” sheep: Shetlands, who hail from, as you may have guessed, the Shetland Islands. Once again, inexplicable forces that felt beyond my understanding were at work. I didn’t know where the feeling was coming from, but I knew it was love.
Unfortunately, the harsh realities of life on the northern Plains did not love my Shetland sheep back. While they are as hardy as they come, the legacy of isolated island living did not prepare them for the open plains, and keeping them fenced and safe from predators was nearly impossible.
After more research, I learned that Shetland sheep are members of a grouping called ‘Northern European Short-tailed,’ and they are descended from the original sheep the Vikings spread all over northern Europe during the late 8th to 11th centuries. The Northern Short-tailed group also includes Icelandic and Finnsheep, two other varieties that are represented in my flock.
As the name implies, these sheep all have short tails, which means no need to dock, and they tend to be multi-colored, hardy and on the smaller side, all attributes that I prefer. It turned out it wasn’t just Shetland sheep I loved, but Viking sheep in general.
Does all this mean I’m part Viking? In truth, the history of sheep is the history of huge swaths of human civilization and vice versa. Sheep are one of the oldest domesticated animals, dating back to the Fertile Crescent in 9,000 B.C.
As producers of meat, milk and wool, some theorists believe humanity’s ability to expand their habitat to include colder climates was directly due to shepherding. Humans could reliably survive winter if they had sheep companions.
This week, the weather was unseasonably cold. The Bismarck, North Dakota weather center issued a frost advisory for the first time in the month of August.
Meanwhile, the newest members of my flock are the aforementioned Finnsheep. I acquired five ewes after meeting a family milking sheep last month during my ‘Book + Yarn’ tour.
Finnsheep are a milking variety and these five happened to need a new home, so we now have creamy sheep milk of our own to enjoy! And the cool weather means I’ve been going out to milk while wearing a cozy knit cap made of yarn spun from one of my Shetland’s fleece. There aren’t any better words to describe how this makes me feel than deeply, deeply grateful.
I’ve spent nearly every day over the last 13 years working with, thinking or writing about sheep. It has been such a rich and rewarding adventure.
Until this summer, however, I had never worn anything knit or woven from my own sheep’s fleeces. I certainly wasn’t pouring a delicious dollop of their milk into my morning coffee.
The promise of that initial infatuation has blossomed into something I could never have imagined — a reciprocity that feels life-sustaining and ancient because it is.
So maybe I do have Viking DNA, or maybe I’m feeling the pull of time immemorial when there was even less certainty than now. There have never been any guarantees about what will happen next, that’s nothing new.
When I look out at my flock of sheep who provide me and my family with companionship, sustenance and warmth, I understand that my love and care for them isn’t one-sided. This way of life loves me back.
