Shearing Time
Shearing Time By Lindsay It was shearing time, thousands of sheep in the space of days would be moved through the yards, herded into pens, hauled across the boards and stripped of their fleeces. Sweaty shearers would curse and swear as they manhandled the sheep into place, rousies darted about sweeping the trimmings off the board, throwing the fleeces on the sorting table. The hum and buzz of the machines was constant, the clank of the press as wool was compressed into bales, ready...