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.