I've
been asked, "Do you drive a buggy?" and "Are you allowed
to do this kind of work?" a thousand times over the years,
but "What's with the sheep?" has by far been the most
asked. An honest question, requiring a simple answer. So, for brevity's
sake, and to preclude any further embellishment of the story, I offer
it here — once and for all.
In 1975, after having spent almost ten years in advertising and design, my wife and I packed up our then two children and headed west to Ohio. Our intention was to live quietly amongst Old Order Amish, Mennonite and Conservative Quaker neighbors. We wanted to be in a place where, when you said "marketing", people thought you were going to the farmers co-op. And where "You need more Ram", meant it was time to buy a more potent male sheep.
We were fully prepared for the rigors of northern Appalachian farm life, having been raised in Chevy Chase, Maryland, an affluent bedroom community in the suburbs of Washington, D.C.
Before I left, I determined that our farm would need a letterhead, envelope and business card. I felt certain that any respectable sheepman must have stationery. What a stroke of luck that I happened to be a graphic designer as well as a budding sheep tycoon!
A venerable master die cutter fashioned the brass die used to emboss my stationery. He presented it to me as a going-away gift. As he handed it to me, he quipped, "Here, hang on to this. You can probably get a few bucks for it to pay your way back to Washington, 'cause there ain't much money in sheep."
So, in the dead of winter, in a driving snowstorm, it was on to the Pennsylvania Turnpike and up over the mountains to Ohio — a wife, children, dog, and box of letterhead by my side.
When we got there, we bought our livestock. Some of the most beautiful Suffolk ewes you ever saw were out in the fields by Spring. Alfalfa was starting up nicely, and before too long, sixteen hundred black raspberry bushes shot forth with more fruit than any of our Amish neighbors said they had ever seen before. Pretty soon, our yard and field were a buggy parking lot. At 35¢ a quart, in four hours the entire field was picked as clean as if locusts had been there.
I remember showing Henry Miller, and Amish Elder, my letterhead at the time. He just looked puzzingly at it, as if to say, "What on earth would a fellow need one of these for out here in Guernsey County?"
Everything was starting out fine. My designer's eye was drinking it all in. The right side of my brain was pumping away. My grandmother Schum, with her Pennsylvania German accent had always called me, "Kleine Schwärmer" — which translates to "little crazy dreamer." She also used to say, "Remember, a nightmare ist also a tream."
I found that out soon enough. Fortunately, I was able to pick up freelance design work in Marietta and Columbus. Finally, I had to admit that I was in way over my head. After a year, we called it quits, sold the sheep, tractor and farm. And, after a tearful farewell to our dear Plain friends, we headed back to the land of 2% milk and low-fat microwave dinners.
I threw the letterhead away and kept the die in the bottom of a drawer for a number of years. I couldn't bear to look at it.
After working as the Design Director at the National Archives for three years, I decided to start my own company. But what to use for a logo?
My wife said, "What about that old sheep die in the bottom of your sock drawer?"
I asked, "Why sheep?" She said, "It's a beautiful image and it reflects old-fashioned craftsmanship, which says a lot about what we believe. Besides, people will remember it."
That was more than a quarter century ago and I'm still grateful for her suggestion to use it as our company's symbol. It has met with universal acceptance.
There
are a number of lessons to be drawn from this little story. For me, after
the experience of 38 years in advertising and design and a year on the
farm in Ohio; I've learned two things: First, if the grass looks greener
on the other side, it's probably because it's Astroturf. And second,
to follow the old Pennsylvania German adage, "Bloom where you are
planted."
Guy Schum
President and Creative Director