Wool Classing Exam

Thirteen hopefuls,

All pretty rough and ready,

Rousies, shearers and cockie's wives.

All nervous.

Before us:

The AWEX Descriptors,

A recent wool report,

Small blue cards,

Our reporting sheet,

And three kilos of greasy wool.

Mixed oddments and fleece,

The pile looked huge.

And the clock ticked.

Thirteen sweated and sorted.

Made and remade piles.

Sifted through the dregs,

Cursed under their breath.

And then time was called.

We all cursed then.

Thirteen repeated the ritual.

Fine wool from New England.

Cross-bred from the Wheat Belt,

And medium wool from Condobolin.

Thirteen looked pensive.

Had we done enough.

Most thought that it would be close.

One looked sick with stress.

Thirteen waited.

The clock ticked.

Thirteen were summoned,

Still the clock ticked.

The announcement was subdued,

Some missed it.

But when it was repeated,

One regained his normal palour.

Thirteen now were wool classes.

Chris the Sheep

Lamb of the Monaro,
Beneath the stark blue sky,
In the frost hollows, tree line inverted,
Chris the Merino grew to wether hood.
Spurned by his shorn brethren,
And frightened by men and their stockyards,
He fled.
At first his growing coat was a comfortable barrier,
To winter gales, rain, sleet and occasional snow.
In summer he sought the cooler shelter of the wooded hills.
Time passed but his overgrown staple,
Continued to overgrow.
He became dwarfed by his prison of fleece.
As he passed from lamb to, two tooth to old mutton,
His burden only became greater.
By shear luck he remained upright.
Many a less laden sheep has turned turtle and perished,
With ridiculous legs gesticulating to the heavens.
Luck was on his side.
For he was spotted,
After six years of avoiding the board,
And with great fanfare,
Shorn.
Chris the sheep,
Cultivator of the heaviest fleece,
In the history of shearing.

Spinning Harriet's Fleece.

Harriet's fleece has the tips of her lamb-hood.
It has been sorted into its colours,
White, grey, chocolate and black.
She would have been a cull,
But I took her home along with this first fleece.
She is a pure Merino.
Her fleece is fine.
It is sound and of good character.
Her wool will be soft.
Not the first choice of home spinners.
Who prefer first crosses with long staples and higher micron.
I don't care because I am learning.
I have spun alpaca and pre-carded, dyed batts of sheep's wool.
This is my first experience using the drum carder on raw fleece.
'Shuck, shuck, shuck' goes the treadle.
I become mesmerized by the repetitive actions of foot and hands.
Harriet's fleece is greasy and makes my skin soft with lanolin.
It spins fine.
I ponder how many threads I shall have to ply?
Will it break in the process? 
And what shall I make with her balls of wool?
'Shuck, shuck, shuck.'