A long time ago, in a land far away, well, not that far away, in fact, on this very farm, a young girl raised a bottle lamb and a goat kid.  Toro, Lawn Boy, and the dog, Sammie, were devoted to that young girl. Every morning, the four of them would trudge down the 1/4 mile long driveway to wait for the school bus. Every afternoon, the three pets would set out to meet the bus and run to her when she finally arrived.

Little did that young girl know she would become fiber obsessed later in life.  Even when in her teens and her mother had a flock of sheep, she was not interested in wool.  

When she came back from college in California, there was an old man residing on the farm in the guise of a dorset ram.  All summer long, that ram would spend his days with the cattle, grazing with them, pushing them out of the way when it came to the tastier bits of grass, and generally behaving like one of the herd.  As the nights grew cooler toward fall, he would suddenly remember he had a job to perform and would morph into a sheep ram again.  As he grew older and older, he became more of a pet and would spend his time in the yard, not in the pasture where he could be better cared for.  That old man lived to be 14. He was dearly missed.
 
I was always an avid knitter and one day it dawned on me that we had a great source of wool on the hoof in the pasture.  I learned to spin and became obsessed with fiber and wool and encouraged my mother to breed her sheep for wool.  As I started selling fleece to spinners, I decided the farm needed a name and "Old Man Wool Farm" was in tribute to that old dorset ram who had been an integral part of the farm for 14 years.  

When she came back from college in California, there was an old man residing on the farm in the guise of a dorset ram.  All summer long, that ram would spend his days with the cattle, grazing with them, pushing them out of the way when it came to the tastier bits of grass, and generally behaving like one of the herd.  As the nights grew cooler toward fall, he would suddenly remember he had a job to perform and would morph into a sheep ram again.  As he grew older and older, he became more of a pet and would spend his time in the yard, not in the pasture where he could be better cared for.  That old man lived to be 14. He was dearly missed.

 

I was always an avid knitter and one day it dawned on me that we had a great source of wool on the hoof in the pasture.  I learned to spin and became obsessed with fiber and wool and encouraged my mother to breed her sheep for wool.  As I started selling fleece to spinners, I decided the farm needed a name and "Old Man Wool Farm" was in tribute to that old dorset ram who had been an integral part of the farm for 14 years.