Bellwether

By Christine Tailer
HCP columnist

We drove south across the river. The sky was gray. Rain speckled the windshield, though not enough to turn on the wipers. We were headed down to horse country to pick up a beautiful bronze bell.

We knew that the bell had been cast at the Vanduzen foundry in 1902.

I could tell that we were getting close. Both sides of the road were lined with tidy wooden fences. Long drives wound through well manicured pastures and lead to mansions that stood beside spacious stables. I thought I could move right into one of the stables and feel right at home, no need for the mansion. Greg and I were quiet. We simply looked at the world we were passing through.

The gray sky provided an understated complement to the mansions. Horses lazily grazed in the pastures, most were black or chestnut, and all which were all stately, long-legged creatures.

The rain began to fall faster. Greg turned on the wipers, and it occurred to me that we would soon be getting quite wet as we loaded our new bell into the back of the truck.

And then in a flash, I knew that the gray sky and the wet windshield were bellwethers for the rainy task that lay ahead. What an apt word for the day. We were on our way to bring home a large bronze bell in wet weather that had been foretold by the sky. I reached for my phone to search for bellwether's exact definition. I was correct. A bellwether is an indicator, or predictor, of something. I continued reading, and realized I did not know the word's origin.

I learned that the term dates back to the eleventh century and refers to the lead sheep in a shepherd's flock. The shepherd would string a bell from his dominant wether's neck, and now that I have raised sheep and goats, I know that a weather is a neutered male. The other sheep in the flock would naturally follow the dominant male, and then, if the flock happened to roam over the hills, and out of the shepherd's sight, the shepherd need only follow the sound of the bell to be reunited with his flock. Thus, the wether with the bell foretold where the sheep would be found. Over time, the term bellwether grew to encompass the foretelling of anything likely to occur.

We pulled up in front of the barn and met the bell. It rested on a thick wooden frame. Its casting was perfect. Its patina was lovely. After chatting for a while with the seller, he hoisted it into the air by a thick cable that hung from his tractor's front-end loader. I raised the clapper all the way to one side and let it fall back against the other. Oh my! The bell rang loud and clear, much more so than I had imagined. Its note lingered and flowed in waves across the fields. Its sound filled my heart.

The three of us got to work loading the heavy bell into our truck. Greg strapped it down for the drive back across the river.

The sky was still gray. Rain still speckled the windshield, though not enough to turn on the wipers. The whole way home, I dreamt of the bell's clear note echoing up and down and all across the creek valley. It had been such a perfect day to be bring the bell home, and I must let you know. If ever you are feeling in need of a bellwether as to what tomorrow might bring, stop on by the creek, ring the bell, and you will know that its clear note will carry you easily into the coming day.

Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.