The kids and I recently made a road trip to one of our other family properties during shearing. We happened to be there on a Saturday so no actual shearing was happening, just yard and paddock work and plenty of opportunities for me to take photos in the quiet woolshed.
The shearer’s smoko table, slightly sticky with remnants of coffee and tea from the working week.
A pair of shearing moccasins sitting idly on the board waiting for the Monday morning rush.
An old enamel wash basin still in use. Can you imagine the blood, sweat, tears and grease this little basin must have washed away over the years?
Perfectly formed wool bales starting to snake their way out of the shed, waiting to be loaded onto the truck.
Lastly, this piece of curly barbed wire had managed to make its way into the yards, picking up little pieces of loose wool along the way. As this potentially hazardous piece of wire was tossed away it caught my eye with its woolly twists. I had to bring it home to hang up as an impromptu sculpture, much to the wonderment of the men folk. Surely everyone must be getting used to me picking up strange objects by now.
Shearing time always brings about a certain amount of nostalgia. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times the woolshed bursts into life or how many bales of wool roll out the door.
Do you enjoy a quiet photo opportunity or perhaps finding pieces of random, salvaged stuff and declaring it artwork?
Wishing you a woolly weekend.