“If one advances confidently in the direction of one's dreams, and endeavors to live the life which one has imagined, one will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.” (Thoreau)

Becoming temporarily physically incapacitated has been a tried and true way for me to take stock of where I'm going, like it or not. Although I don't want to carry body-as-metaphor messages too far, my own does have a way of giving me little and not so little hints when I've ignored common sense too long. It doesn't seem a coincidence that I celebrated that turning-point fiftieth birthday at a party during which I was periodically icing my knee, which refuses to heal at anything but an infinitesimal rate.

Acquiring four leg injuries in three months finally made me start wondering if my body was trying to tell me something—something like, stop going places, stay home. Start fencing that nice flat two acres of your neighbor's you got permission to use for sheep. See if you can invest yourself in a teacher thirty-five miles away instead of a hundred and fifty miles away. Build your local contacts in the goat and sheep community, join that spinner's and weaver's guild. Stay home.

An acquaintance of mine is engaged in building a state-of-the-art herding trial facility near me, which will be able to accommodate everything from AKC tending-breed trials to Border Collie open field trials to arena cattle trials. It is his dream, and certainly exciting for the herding trial community, but what I found myself envisioning doing there was setting stock for the trials in exchange for herding practice time (an offer that was accepted). How fun that would be! I guess I'm just meant to be a behind-the-scenes gal.

That's the pleasure of turning fifty, I have found—the newfound ability to accept that I have my own peculiar path which doesn't neccesarily look like anyone else's. When I imagine my ideal future, I do not see myself winning the National Stockdog Finals (that's realism). I see myself walking down a country road, followed by a band of sheep and goats . . . with my trusty dog making it all happen.

I've spent two years working with my dog and my trainer, putting thousands of miles on my car trying to find different places to work, and yes, it has been worth it. But I see that it is time to take a breath and focus. I am no longer an absolute wide-eyed novice—but I'm pretty dang close. My dog and I are useful for some things but not nearly as much as I would like. I know a little bit more about livestock than I did, but the cloud of my ignorance is still vast.

I'm the kind of person who gets up in the morning and makes a little list about what I'm going to get done that day. I'm not saying I actually get it done, but I do make a list. On my list for the coming year is getting the hang of driving, acquiring sheep, and learning to spin. I also want to breed my goats, that will be a big adventure right there. I would love to have a network of local friends who have sheep, goats, herding dogs, or all three. That's a big dream. And finally, I would like to learn how to really help my dog in her work, instead of mostly get in her way and confuse her, which I so often feel I am doing.

Is all that too much to ask? We'll see.