06/10/2026
Beneath the nails and on the skin,The marks of labor now begin. A darkened smudge of oil and clay,The painted dust of honest day. No pristine palms of idle ease,But callused skin and scraped-up knees. For every streak of earthy brown,Is worth the jewels of any crown.They till the soil, they mend the break,They build the world for a maker's sake.Though others shrink at grime and smutch,There is pure magic in their touch. So let the water wash the dust,And leave the stains where they are thrust. For hands that bear the marks of care,Are the truest hands we have to share.
Shearing day complete. We are honored to get to work outside with sheep, alpaca, llama and goats rather than in an office under artificial light.