I’m not sure if it’s accurate to describe the beginning of 2021 as an unsettling time. We’ve had nearly a year to adjust to the myriad ways in which COVID-19 has upended the way we live and interact with one another. We’ve had four years to understand the combination of authoritarianism, mendacity and ineptitude that defined the Trump Administration.

That means we can’t say our settled expectations have been shaken up by the dismal events of recent weeks. I surely knew it was a lie when President Trump said last May regarding the release of the COVID vaccine: “Our military is now being mobilized so at the end of the year, we’re going to be able to give it to a lot of people very, very rapidly.” I also surely should have seen the events of January 6 coming. My sister warned in 2016 of the similarities between Trump’s movement and the road to Nazi control in Germany, and she’s been right every step of the way. Watching the Capitol last week, my friend Doug messaged me “Reichstag 1933″.

Yet even if I should not have been surprised by current events I still find my mental state to be deeply unsettled. Perhaps the greatest indication of that is my recent drive to get things settled.

I always assumed that if I have a downfall, it will be the result of one of my least admirable traits, procrastination. Faced with difficult choices or unpleasant tasks, I am generally a master of drift. As I see it, ignore a problem long enough and it just may go away.

But lately, I’ve been on something of a tear to address outstanding issues and to resolve persistent problems. Perhaps it is COVID. I fear that if I succumb to the illness I will leave an awful mess to be dealt with. But whatever the reason, I am working my way through issues I have avoided, and finding a certain satisfaction in getting things in order.

One such current issue, that I’ve left drift for many months now, is the fate of my two rams. One, a naturally polled (hornless) white ram is Rumi, named after the 13th century Sufi poet. I have him because Troy and Victoria (my nephew and his wife), when they had plans to live here and build the herd, wanted to breed in a direction that produced more white wool than most of our production had been up until then. Having visited Rumi’s tomb in Konya, Turkey, several times, I felt Troy and Victoria’s choice of name for this ram was fitting. Rumi the poet wrote beautifully on the nature of love. Rumi the ram is an avid lover of his ewes, but he has a gentle disposition. In my imagination, he has a certain Rumi-like sensuality.

The other ram, larger and black with curved horns, is not here by plan at all. I had been contacted by a farm in Massachusetts which was looking for a ram with a classic Karakul look: one born with entirely black wool that will, except for face and legs, turn with age to one or several shades of gray or brownish gray. I reserved one such ram lamb for them. They rejected him, however, when it turned out he had a small cap of white on his forehead that to them destroyed the pure Karakul look.

When the next batch of lambs came around, I chose the one I thought was the best candidate for this other farm: a large totally black ramling with large testicles (a sign he’ll be a good breeder), a classic Karakul Roman nose, and excellent posture. Troy named him Nâzim, after Nâzim Hikmet, a twentieth century Turkish poet, novelist and playwright. For symmetry, I guess.

Unfortunately, by the time Nâzim was ready to sell, the other farm had already purchased a ram. Troy lined up another sale, which ultimately fell through as well. I was stuck with two rams, something we’d always avoided having before to avoid fights for dominance.

The difference between Nâzim and Rumi is more than the difference between black and white. Nâzim has grown considerably larger, and his disposition is far more aggressive. He will dominate two or three food bowl