This might need a bit of explaining. Like, for example, how the person had known me for a grand total of thirty seconds before suggesting this. Like, for example, how I was at a small sheep festival. And like how I'd just won the main event of the day for people who weren't there with their pets.
More explaining? Alright.
Somewhere last week, I noticed in a magazine in the nail studio that it had all the activities for our area in it. Including the Medieval fair Boyfriend has been drooling over like a teenager with porn, without the sexual aspect of it. Now, some genius had decided to put the Ahorn Gerätemuseum's annual Shaffest's ad right next to it, on the half of the second page that wasn't filled with promises of how awesome the fair was going to be and pictures of people in historical dress. The Shaffest, or sheep festival, was this Sunday. I mentioned this to Boyfriend a lot and was planning on subtly asking if J. and W. had any plans for Sunday on Friday. Except I was too sick on Friday. There was Saturday, but I forgot to ask when J. came over, even though I was mentioning sheep in every other sentence to Boyfriend at that point.
I wanted to go. I needed to go. There was no way to go unless J. and/or W. would drive us. Well, there was the small chance that Sis had slept off her hangover, wasn't with her own boyfriend and wanted to drive to a small town in the middle of nowhere to look at some farm animals, but the chances of that happening all at once were slim to none.
So I woke up at nine on a Sunday and tried to convince Boyfriend he wanted to do the same. The festival started at ten, dangnabbit, and I'd be damned if--Boyfriend was asleep, which meant J. and W. were as well, probably. I sulkily had breakfast, threw in some feminine wiles and managed to get him out of bed by eleven. In his pajamas. Not in a hurry to shower, eat or get dressed. Sigh.
Anyway, he called his parents and asked if they had any plans for the day. They hadn't. How about a sheep festival? A what now?
Now, anyone who's known me for longer than two weeks knows I have a weakness for the sheepy loot of yarn, so it wasn't a really big mystery as to where their son had gotten it in his head to go and watch sheep and sheepish byproducts. The fact that I was answering the questions he didn't know the answers to might have been a hint, too.
Anyway, they had no plans and it didn't sound expensive, so J. was going to take a relaxing bath and then we would leave.
I spent the next two hours stubbornly planning on eating mutton at the festival. When I finally gave in to hunger and made myself two low-fat schnitzel sandwiches, the phone rang. Go figure. Anyway, we were leaving in half an hour. Boyfriend had showered at this point, so he went to put on clothes.
The sheep festival was in Ahorn, but somehow that had gotten miscommunicated. I'd told Boyfriend it was in 'die alte Shäferei', the old sheep farm. We ended up in the village of 'Shafhof', sheep-farm. I hadn't minded the signs until W. said that he didn't see anything going on here, were we sure it was today and in Shafhof? No, I said, it was in Ahorn. Ahorn? Where in Ahorn? The where now? Oh, the machine museum. No problem.
There were people at the museum. Lots and lots of people. Some of them had brought sheep, others sheepdogs, others still had brought small farm animals and wares to sell. Parking wasn't exactly easy. Also, it had been raining on and off for the past three days, so the grassy field had turned slightly... swampy.
We walked by the stands selling things and went to the back pen, where there was a sheep dog presentation, followed by a tracking dog tracking a small boy by the scent of a sock. Then we decided to go watch the bunnies, because I'm in love with a big ol' softy who likes huge bunnies and fluffy bunnies. They had a few European angora rabbits which were being shaved for our viewing pleasure. Well, kids' viewing pleasure, since the shorn furn literally went everywhere under the loving care of grabbing and throwing little hands. I'm never breeding. Never.
After that, we decided we were hungry. The Germans wanted bratwurst. Someone had made bratwurst from mutton. We all tried a bit. It was tasty. I wasn't hungry for warm and greasy food, though, and the others were... Well, they were being national stereotypes and picked pig. Then there was an ice cream cart with artisanally made ice cream. I got one scoop, Boyfriend two. I would have gotten two, but my digestive system doesn't always agree with ice cream and wasn't on a very good track record so far.
There were lots of dogs. I mean lots and lots of dogs. Different breeds, sizes, ages, take your pick. I wistfully wished out loud for one of my own as a boxer coveted Boyfriend's ice cream, drooling happily on his pants. Apart from the drool, Boyfriend loved the creature. Talk of dogs was interspersed with talk of my joblessness and how I could avoid being sent out of the country after my Belgian social security demanded I come back or go uninsured. Insecurity struck hard.
Boyfriend and W. took me into the old stable/museum proper to watch the stands and displays featuring fibre handwork, but I was too distracted to fully appreciate both modern and historical masterpieces. What if I never find a job? What if I have to go back to Belgium? Out of three stands selling delicious yarn, I bought one measly skein of purple handspun cotton. The cheapest yarn there was. Sigh.
J. was waiting for us outside. Had we seen the lady spinning over there? Spinning? Gasp!
When I'm interested, I'm like an American five-year-old: I ought to be kept on one of those leashes for people and reminded every ten seconds to calm down. The lady was spinning white roving on an Ashford spinning wheel. I may or may not have nudged a small child out of the way to get a better view, but I was still too down in the dumps to get uppity enough to ask for pointers. My head told me my German wasn't good enough and everyone hated foreigners like me.
I eventually wandered to the back of the crowd and saw a ram standing all by his lonesome. Next to him was a table with a program. A quick perusal of both explained that this was the stand for the main event for those without dogs or sheep: Guess the Weight of the Ram. I got excited again. It was only one euro, and you got a keychain for entering. What was the harm? Also, I only had a two euro piece, so Boyfriend had to enter too. (The idea that people who'd been taking coins for six hours straight could have change seemed preposterous) We discussed it for a moment, and entered. When we showed off our rad (okay, crappy, but still) lamb keychains to W. and J., they entered for competition's sake.
We walked among the stands some more, watched the presentation of sheep breeds present, special attention going out to the local, golden-fleeced Coburger Fuchsschaf. I noticed one of my gelled nails had come a bit loose and proceeded to destroy my own hard work while watching the sheep
Then the livestock scales were set up and the ram was guided in. He barely fit. Everyone gathered round to watch the calibration and weighing. I wasn't really paying attention. One hundred and forty-seven kilos. Okay, I'd guessed exactly that, but there were lots of people who'd entered. No way I was the only one who'd gotten that, right?
They started announcing the winners, starting with the main prize. The winner's phone number told me nothing. Okay, they were from Coburg, but we were within spitting distance of--Okay, yeah, my street, chances were--Yes, that was my name. Was I present?
I shuffled forward, hand raised meekly. 'Das bin ich', I said. Which was enough to reveal I didn't have a local accent. Where was I from? General hilarity at a foreigner winning first prize. I should raise sheep if I had such a good eye for them. Here's a gift certificate for the stand selling felted and knitted projects in the barn.
I was there long enough to hear the second prize went to someone who'd guessed one hundred forty six before I bounced up to the barn. Forty euros to spend on wooly goodness, oh my! I looked around for a while. Okay, so it was less than two minutes before I loaded up on Coburger Fuchsshaf yarn in its natural color, eight skeins in total at five euros a pop. My one euro guess had given me enough yarn to knit a prickly warm sweater, whoo-hoo.
At this point, everyone was a bit tired, so we agreed to go home. I was seeing life through rose-colored glasses. Today I won yarn, now the weather would get better, tomorrow my package would arrive and I'd get a letter saying I got a job. Hey, it could happen, right?
My good luck did not end there. J. was hungry. Did anyone want a burger? Sure, we did.
The plan was quickly nixed when we found a road marker to Lichtenfels. Did we want to go to a funfair? Yeah!
So we went, stuffing ourselves on cotton candy and crêpes with kinder chocolate and a chocolate covered banana. Boyfriend tried shooting at targets and only missed two out of twelve. Whoever said playing video games doesn't teach you anything lied.
By the time we were home, I had nine skeins of yarn, two fabric flowers and Boyfriend had a Rubik's cube.
Maybe conventional isn't just us. Anyone want to fund a German sheep farm, by any chance?
No comments:
Post a Comment