Useful Information

The Pondera County commissioners are an endless fount of information.

Some of it is even useful.

Once, I heard on the street that I was Pondera County’s biggest problem.

When I stopped in at the commissioners’ office to collect my plaque, I learned that a couple of sketchy companies were colluding to potentially pollute my groundwater.

That was useful information.

So when I stopped in to the commissioner’s office again the other day, I wondered what I would learn.

Commissioner Zane Drishinski said the sheep shearing crew planned to be at his house the next day.

This was useful information.

Shearing crews are nomads, wandering the state in communicative isolation, appearing out of the mist to harvest wool at their convenience.

They rarely give more than a day’s notice of their intent to arrive at my place.

I can’t blame them – so much of their schedule depends on weather, the number of sheep a producer has to shear and other producers’ schedules.

Yet I need to know when they expect to arrive as far in advance as possible because I need to round up a crew to help.

Zane’s information in hand, I texted the shearing boss.

Casually, he said he intended to be at my ranch on Monday – either in the morning or afternoon, depending on another producer’s schedule.

He promised to confirm.

He didn’t.

Vague information was better than none.

I scrambled to line up helpers.

On Mondays, most people work at a job that pays.

My shearing crew wrestles greasy sheep into the alley, finds stickers with their bare hands, lifts smaller ewes after they turn around in the too-wide chute or cooks -- for free, except my thanks and appreciation.

I called my mom first to ask if she would cook. Then I texted my brother, Roger, and my friend, Angela.

Despite helping in the past, none of them has blocked my number.

I don’t know why.

I knew my cattle-rancher friend, Colleen, was hosting a young man from France. Maybe Tom needed a sheep-related experience.

Before, I’ve sheared in the morning.

Afternoon shearing means the sun shines directly in a ewe’s eyes just as she needs to turn and walk up the chute.

While Tom and I wrangled sheep into the alley, poor Roger and Angela argued with every sun-blinded ewe at that corner.

As I pushed my leg into a 150-pound ewe who was trying to back up, I brainstormed ways to block the sun.

The shearers couldn’t wait for any new construction.

Instead, periodically Tom jumped a couple of fences to help Roger and Angela.

Then, as we pushed small bunches into the pen that led to the alley, he sorted black-wooled sheep from white-wooled without raising his voice or his hands.

Turns out, Tom has worked with sheep for most of his 21 years in France.

I will be eternally grateful to Colleen for providing this kind-hearted, skilled gift right when I needed him.

Despite the extra effort caused by blinding sunshine, we managed to keep the shearing chute full most of the time and that kept the shearers in a better mood.

One of them, who had been justifiably disgusted a few years ago when my alley delivery system dissolved into epic chaos, even initiated an informative conversation.

Fortunately, I was leaning against a ewe so I didn’t topple over.

He and the other shearers filled me in on sheep industry news.

Federal funding cuts are reducing coyote and other predator controls.

I need to sharpen my shooting skills.

More useful information.

After everyone left, I realized that when it comes to useful information, it’s all about who you know.

And whether they already blocked your number.