Well, we weren’t the best. We merely needed fleece. Were the sheep bred? Yes. Fed? Frequently. Yet they grew depressed.

Wherever they went, bellwethers, rebels, they preferred elsewhere. (They’d never even left west Tennessee.)

They deserved better.

Hence we levelled trees, extended fences, pledged fresh scenery: when the creek melted there’d be plenty weeds.

We sweetened them, see. Were they restless? Yes— they knew they weren’t free— yet the center held. We were very blessed.