Spring Break Photo Assignment

Laurel Shouvlin & Her Alpacas

In a dung-filled barn, down a long gravel road just North of Springfield, stands a short, stocky woman with light grey hair. She wears the traditional farmer’s uniform: boots, overalls, brown Carhartt coat, a baseball cap bearing the phrase “barn Goddess.” Suddenly, a faint, undistinguishable noise can be heard. The woman quickly pulls an iPhone from her breast pocket.

“Bluebird Hills Farm,” she answers.

This is Laurel Shouvlin, and she’s not your typical farmer.

Shouvlin, along with her husband Tim, own and maintain Bluebird Hills Alpaca Farm, which houses over 70 of the long-necked, furry, llama-like creatures known as alpacas. The alpaca is a curious animal: upon entering the Shouvlins’ barn, one is immediately greeted by 50 beady eyes, each eager to catch any sudden movements from its perch atop a three-foot neck.

Alpacas are native to South America, and are commonly found in Peru, Ecuador, Bolivia, and Chile. So why raise them in Springfield?

“I liked the idea that I could have livestock that I didn’t have to kill to make a profit,” says Shouvlin.

And, indeed, the alpaca produces much beyond meat. Alpaca fur, which is soft and stringy, and lacks the greasy lanolin that comes with sheep’s wool, can be fashioned into yarn that can sell for good money. Alpaca yarn can be used can be used to make anything from hats and scarves to doll hair. And the alpaca benefits from the use of its hair as much as the people who shear them do: keeping the animal’s hair short protects it from insects and diseases.

“If you did not shear them, they would die,” explains Shouvlin. “It’s a creature bred to produce fleece.”

Shouvlin’s journey into raising alpacas is a wild one. She graduated from Wittenberg University with an X-Ray Technician degree. After working as a physician’s assistant and holding various other jobs, she settled with her husband at Bluebird Hills, named by Tim for the birdwatching tours the couple once gave on the land. The alpacas came in 1997. The Shouvlins also participated in a community supported agriculture program, in which they grew and sold organic vegetables to Springfield residents. Competition ended the vegetables, however, and now the alpacas seem to be the last remaining product at Bluebird Hills.

Looking back, Shouvlin seems at peace with her alpacas. She knows each one by name, pointing out eccentricities and personality traits. She boasts much trivia about the alpaca, and even occasionally judges them in professional shows. She praises the exercise that caring for them requires. She often has local schoolkids come out to the farm to learn more about her somewhat exotic animals. She is very proud of her work with her animals.

“They kind of meet all of my needs,” says Shouvlin.

            This statement is very obviously true of Shouvlin. It is clear, after spending little over an hour with her, that Laurel is not into alpaca farming for the money it can make her. She is instead after a quiet life doing something she loves. And who knows? Maybe she’s found it, here at Bluebird Hills farm, raising these silly, exotic creatures.

Alpaca Story Rough Draft (Pretty much just the lead)

In a dung-filled barn, down a long gravel road just North of Springfield, stands a short, stocky woman with light grey hair. She wears the traditional farmer’s uniform: boots, gloves, overalls, brown Carhartt coat, a baseball cap bearing the phrase “barn Goddess.” Suddenly, a faint, undistinguishable noise can be heard. The woman quickly pulls an iPhone from her breast pocket.

“Bluebird Hills Farm,” she answers.

This is Laurel Shouvlin, and she’s not your typical farmer.

Blogging

Honestly, I really enjoyed the blog requirement for this class. Yeah, it could have been a little more structured (which is likely why most people did not do them all), but that's because this is new to Mac just as it is new to most of us.

I can see myself blogging in the future. It's a cool way to make people listen to what you have to say, if that makes sense. I enjoyed it, and I really think it's an important part of journalism today.

Tornado Warnings: Too Much or Not Enough??

This morning, a text went out to half of campus, warning students of their imminent doom. "Seek shelter immediately," it read. Shrieks of terror ensued, followed by a panicked rush to the lowest level within close distance.

20 minutes later, nothing happened. Another text read "Tornado warning cancelled." The entire campus sighed collectively.

Ok, maybe I'm exaggerating a bit.

But still, the tornado warning system seems to be a bit overblown. These warnings (often issued for storms in distant parts of the county) freak out much of campus for no real reason. I understand that safety is the main concern, but screaming "fire" seems a little unnecessary.

This being said, the text from Carl Loney came out a whole ten minutes after the tornado was reported. By this time, the entire Witt campus could have been in severe danger had a tornado actually come through in that time. Why wasn't the warning sent out closer to the report? When danger was actually a possibility?

Loney's email said that his information came from Channel 7, which lead me to believe that the Security Office does not use the National Weather Service as a resource. This seems almost like a game of telephone; the best way to get info is right from the source. Why doesn't Witt use technology like an Emergency Alert System (WUSO has one, for Christ's sake)? Strange.

I have no real opinion on whether the weather alert system is too much or too little. I'm positive students have opposite opinions, so I'm leaving it up to you! Get at me with those responses.

Scheduling... it sucks

Maybe I chose an "Easy Major." Maybe I need to add another minor. Maybe I just did too much planning ahead. Whatever it is, I seem to have a giant, gaping space between finishing my major and graduating.

I'm a communication major, journalism minor. Both of these programs are suffering from huge growing pains. Last semester, I was shut out of almost every COMM class I needed to take... as a junior! This time around, I managed to pick up my two remaining COMM courses.

Journalism has a total of 6 availible credits next semester: one is the half-semester Making News course, the other is Beginning Journalism. I've taken both of these courses.

Now I'm not exactly worried about not being able to finish my major or minor. In fact, I'm pretty sure I've already completed journalism. It would be nice, however, to gain a little more experience in the field of journalism (when was the last time Feature Writing or Opinion Writing were availible?).

So for now, I'll sit back and maybe pick up a few Sociology classes. They're about the only mildly interesting thing I can find right now... any suggestions are welcomed with open arms.

My Least Favorite Thing About Witt

It's hard to pick something that I "hate" about Wittenberg, for two reasons. First, I've been generally satisfied with my experience at Witt; I feel that most schools have their fair share of problems, so I don't think anywhere else would offer much more satisfaction than this school. And second, the problems Witt DOES have are ground to death by students. We've heard all the complaints about how annoying secret societies are, how superficial the administration is, or how bad the cafeteria food is. We get it, they suck.

So, these things aside, my least favorite thing about Wittenberg is unquestionably the staircase in from of Zimmerman Hall.

Seriously!

It sucks. The stairs are unevenly separated, so, when I walk down them from Hollenbeck to Reci, I always feel like one of my legs is working harder than the other. It's really frustrating.

If anyone shares my feelings toward this apparent flaw in Witt's campus design, please humor me. Comment and share your thoughts about this cruel bit of concrete.