Down on the farm

I am way late in posting my trip to the General Bailey Homestead Farm, but it isn't going away anytime soon.

Once our trip to Indian Lake, N.Y. was set, I started researching fiber farms on the way up. Why? Because I have the most special princess life, that's why! And it was my birthday and roommate was stuck (he was still roommate at this point, he is now my, um, my soul provider. And my fiancé.) I was originally planning on hitting the Morehouse store, but when I realized I wasn't going to be able to see the sheep on the farm, it lost a little of its luster. I looked for something more farmy. And I found General Bailey's, sitting in the Adirondack foothills. It is actually just a short drive outside of Saratoga Springs, for you racing fans. And while you could miss it driving down the road, the bleating of the sheep would carry you back. They are that loud.

The very nice Kathy Bourgeois, who was semi-expecting us, led us into the barn where the store is. It is full of yarn. She has one floor-to-ceiling wall of her own homespun and another of various sock yarns of mostly merino wool (that I saw), mostly from Australia. There is also a good selection of notions and a cat named Buttons (Buttons!!!), named so because she would keep knocking over Kathy's display buttons. You thought I was going to say knitting needles, didn't you!

The real attraction, aside from the hand-dyed yarn, was the flock of merino sheep that do the work. Sheep's eyes give me the heebie-jeebies, what with that narrow slit and all, but they were dear animals. The soul provider got up close and personal with one of them.
Even while the others looked on in horror.

Then it was feeding time! There was a mini-stampede for the hay.
Thanks for the yarn, buddy.
I have decided that for sure, I want a farm someday. I take a sick amount of crap for stating that wish out loud, but it is true, these people know me and how I grew up. It was not near agriculture. Still, I feel that with a lot of elbow grease, I WE can be self-sustaining. But that is for another post, of course.

Now, if you will excuse me, I think I have just eaten a bad nectarine.