Thousands of sheep, soft-footed, black-nosed sheep — one by one going up the hill and over the fence — one by one four-footed pattering up and over— one by one wiggling their stub tails as they take the short jump and go over — one by one silently unless for the multitudinous drumming of their hoofs as they move on and go over — thousands and thousands of them in the grey haze of evening just after sundown — one by one slanting in a long line to pass over the hill…

– Carl Sandberg

The meadows of the Ickworth Estate boasted such soft footed, black nosed sheep at every bend in the road.  They never fail to stir up great affection within me. My Gram had a small heard of Suffolk sheep, six I believe.  At least in the beginning. (I inherited her tendency to multiply projects.)  I remember she took a night course at the local extension office. She bought the sheep, bred them. Soon there were twenty, then fifty.  I think there were several dozen by the time my grandfather was overwhelmed and the sheep project came to a close.  

We learned a lot in the interim however. All those biblical analogies take on new meaning after watching a sheep's unique response to challenges (to give up, by and large), towards pack mentality, and the tendency to flee.  Yet, we loved them she and I. In later years she framed a watercolor of a young woman in a nightgown with a winter coat tending a needy sheep in a snowy pen because it reminded her of those late night emergencies that would so often crop up.  

In the late 70's, while we chased those sheep through hill and dale, I certainly never expected to see a herd while standing in Suffolk itself. It is a singular blessing. I know it would make her smile. 

and yes this sky is from the same hike.  It was a brief clearing!

Rolls right off the tongue doesn't it?

Tintwhistle. 

I love words.  Have I mentioned that? 

Our cranky GPS rarely takes us to or from a place the same way twice.  Keeps things fresh, know what I mean? So while we went to Manchester by major highway, we returned along a rural road through some rugged high country dotted with little hamlets like this one near Derbyshire.  I really wanted to stop and get some shots in this one because this one had sheep. 

Like many European country villages there was one main thoroughfare and I couldn't tell if the side streets were wide enough or two way etc until it was too late to turn down them.  This really exasperated one son who shall remain nameless, but you can boo at him here just the same. ; )  I may or may not have passed up an additional dozen or two farm drives because it was impossible to tell if the drives were truly drives or closed gates.  Hence we traveled a couple miles out of town before I had a big ol' public drive to turn around in and head back to those sheep.  I am nothing if not cautious. (…worry wart, overthinker, scaredy-cat, whatever <g>)

We parked on a wayside initially and Alannah and I walked a quarter mile back to the pasture we saw them at the first pass by. They were no longer by the road however.  They had ambled alllllll the way up the hillside. Contrary to what that son might tell you, I wasn't gone that long turning around.  They made good time moving uphill though.  So after some grumbling between us we hightailed it back to the vehicle and into town.  

Green for January, yes?

I want photography points for actually scaling the back of the little cemetary wall for this one:

The little town was classic, sort of post industrial, though some old buildings date back to the 1600's. Just what I would have pictured. We walked for a bit and then headed off.  Most of the passengers fell fast asleep but, my adventures in U-turning now forgotten,  son and I enjoyed some very Colorado-esque views from the top of whatever wild barren hill we were on.