I wrote last time about practicing “Enoughness,” a concept I learned in Robin Wall Kimmerer’s book, The Serviceberry: Abundance and Reciprocity in the Natural World.  The idea of recognizing when you have enough of something, when you have an abundance of something, or when you need something is a part of the book’s main idea of gift economies, a way of thinking about exchanges that is very old, very relational, and very different than the Western practice of transactional economics.

Gift economies create webs of life-sustaining relationships by using gratitude and reciprocity as their “currency.” The key, though, is that while a gift may be a tangible something, it doesn’t have to be. For example, if our neighbor shares with us eggs from her chickens, then the impulse I feel to return the gift may lead me to plow her driveway the next time I’m plowing ours. The connection we have ~ the relationship forged through gratitude and reciprocity ~ pushes the energy of the gift outward into a web that unites the community in which that relationship is seated. One would think that sheep would have a different take on this, but I don’t think so.  

Now I know that in western economic terms, there can be no transaction between a sheep and her shepherdess. The sheep can’t earn money, can’t spend it on commodities, can’t hoard hay in her stall for the coming winter. Those actions are reserved for humans who can earn money, spend it on commodities (even label objects as commodities), and hoard whatever they buy. We call that personal accumulation of wealth, and the focus is on the “I” ~ I need, I want, I can buy. 

 But what if we use the language of Kimmerer’s Gift Economies, where “wealth” is measured by having enough to share, “abundance” is measured by how much one can give away, an object is not a commodity one can possess, and the goal of exchanges is mutual flourishing as a strong community. In essence, everything is done for the “we,” not the “I.”  Creating and sustaining strong groups is definitely an idea that sheep can get behind! 

Our sheep live in two separate flocks. In one, Cricket, Mary, Bella, and Duchess; in the other, Sissy, Bandit, and Willa.  Duchess and Sissy are the determining factors for this split. Sissy is still head butting the others in the side (or trying to), and Duchess’s rupture is increasing on her right side. If Sissy tries to say hi to Duchess, she won’t be able to move out of the way fast enough, and he might kill her. Hence the two groups.

  When they’re in the pastures, though, they’re only separated by a fence of woven wire. They can rub against each other, touch noses, walk alongside each other if they want to, even head butt each other, although the wire tends to leave bloody tracks on their heads. I’ve watched them do all of these things in all possible combinations, which leads me to think that they really do see the whole group as their flock.  Duchess and Willa, though, greet each other through the fence the most consistently.

 As soon as Duchess is outside, she moves at her slow gait to the fence where Willa is standing. They gently touch noses, then their heads (no slamming of heads here; just a gentle touch), then they’ll walk beside each other, rubbing sides through the wire, until Willa remembers there’s hay in the rack. Time of day doesn’t matter, how long they’ve been separated doesn’t matter. Just the connection matters.  

We talk about sheep being prey animals, seeking safety in numbers, in being one of a crowd. But what if safety is only one component of a sheep’s community? What if joy comes from being one of the group? And friendship? And what if sharing life is one of the highest values a sheep holds?  No, I’m not anthropomorphizing sheep ~ I’m just asking us to consider ~ or perhaps, reconsider ~ why we would assume that community is reserved for humans. Traditional gift economies don’t make this assumption. Gifts come from all around us, from everything that inhabits this planet with us ~ water, oxygen, trees, insects, and other animals besides humans, like sheep. 

I’ve been watching Willa throughout her time here, and she has shown me the most remarkable transformation, one that offers me gifts all the time and that tells me that I’m part of her community. When she and Bandit first arrived, and for a long time afterward, both sheep would run away from me regardless of what I was doing (standing, walking, sitting); regardless of what I had in my hands (nothing, grain, hay, dandelions); and regardless of how long I’d been there. They just got away. They learned the routine quickly enough, but I just wasn’t to be trusted or accepted;  they were their own little community. 

Now, every morning, I go into the barn around 6:30 to bring everyone breakfast. When I open Bandit and Willa’s stall door to step in with hay in my hands, Bandit is still hesitant. She’ll move to the hay rack, but she doesn’t want to be touched.  Willa, though, will stand still  wherever she happens to be, and she waits. As soon as I put the hay in the rack, I’ll turn to her, hold out my hands, and say good morning.  Immediately, she comes to me for cuddles, her tail wagging and her eyes meeting mine.  When we’ve said a proper good morning, I’ll move out of the stall, and Willa will move to the hay and start eating. 

This greeting plays out every time Willa can get to me. I’ll hold out my hands, she’ll move to me, tail wagging, and we’ll chat and cuddle for as long as I’ll stay around. Sometimes on her way to me, she’ll give a little hop, just as a child does when her excitement is too much for her body to contain. I have no doubt that what Willa is feeling is joyful connection to a member of her community. Duchess is injured, so Willa gifts her with gentle touches; I give hugs, so Willa gifts me back with expressions of joy. She is grateful for her safety, for her care, for having a community. I am oh so grateful for her trust, her expressions of joy, and her being in my community.

What if this idea of a gift economy ~ of exchanges based not on accumulation but on gratitude and reciprocity as ways of strengthening our community ~ were the lens through which we viewed everything that came to us on any given day? My community would include not just the sheep, cats, dogs, and rabbits of Sundance, but also the goldfinches at the feeders all day that bring a reminder of Spring, the humans who stacked the bales of hay in our barn in the perfect way for me to use gravity to get them down, my husband who willingly does dishes so I can cuddle with the sheep…and the list goes on. Kimmerer writes, “Enumerating the gifts you’ve received creates a sense of abundance, the knowing that you already have what you need” (page 12). In other words, it helps you know when you have enough.