SHEPHERD ON THE HEATH

From HÅNDVÆRK bookazine no. 13
buy your copy here

May 2025

I am about to make my second visit to Lystbækgaard, which is owned by shepherd Berit Kiilerich.
My first visit took place on what was perhaps the darkest, wettest day of February.
Today is brighter, although the sun struggles to break through the light cloud cover.
Along the motorway, the lupins are in bloom – despite their status as an invasive species, they are a visual treat.

I am revisiting the place because I could not possibly write about the shepherd without having met the sheep in the heathland where they belong.
During my drive, on Berit’s recommendation, I listen to a podcast, published by the Danish Land Development Service (DLDS): a conversation between Mette Løvschal, professor of archaeology at Aarhus University, and Mads Flinterup, head of Climate and Biodiversity at DLDS.
They talk about the heath as a cultural landscape – a changing landscape whose survival is deeply dependent on interactions between humans, animals and nature.
The professor outlines the heathland’s history and argues that we should not try to preserve it as it was during any particular historical period – because if so, which one would we go for? Rather we should consider what role we think the heath should play in the future.
Their exchange raises a challenging question: should the heathlands be preserved at all?
It is under pressure as we increasingly set moorland and farmland alike aside for rewilding in an effort to capture and store CO₂.

‘You can park at Præstbjerg Nature Centre,’ Berit told me in a text message before I left home.
‘Lise Hovesen is the shepherd this week. If you don’t see her and the sheep from the road, you can explore the heath – then you’ll be sure to find the flock.’ I found them.

Lise and two trainees are close to the road, in an area that abuts the fenced-in fold where the sheep spend the night.
The sheep have just got up from their mid-day rest and are busy feeding on grass and shrubs, gently but firmly guided along by Lise.

I sit down, and soon, a heavy, warm, friendly and curious sheep leans on me, looking me straight in the face. The contact makes a big impression on me, alienated urbanite that I am!
I chat with Lise, taking photos as she shepherds the flock.

Lise is an artist, with a degree in Fine Art from the University College Falmouth (now Falmouth University) in England from 2008.
Now she lives here, in West Jutland, working as a shepherd every second week.
She loves her job and tells me that even though it does not pay much, it is meaningful and merges perfectly with her personal and artistic interests. She calls her practice ‘Performing Life Art: Interspecies collaborations in regenerative land and community practices’.
Lise has many art installations and performances involving wool and landscapes on her CV. Currently, she is working on a project that will unfold at Lystbækgaard this summer.

I observe that once, shepherds were boys or older men with experience but no education, and sheep farmers made their living selling meat and wool.
Now, it is my impression that the experience industry and the art world make up a growing share of the source of income – and that shepherds are often highly educated women or young people about to embark on their studies.
‘You are right,’ says Lise. ‘In my practice as an artist, I seek to avoid the entertainment aspect. Instead, I invite people to join me in exploring the stories, songs and rituals that are associated wit the heath and the sheep.
Many people, including myself, dream of a life that is closer to animals and nature in a reciprocal, sustainable relationship. But we have also seen how hard Berit works and the toll that the labour takes. That does not quite match our dreams.’

While we talked, the flock, which currently consists of about 300 sheep, a few lambs and 10 goats, has eaten their fill and are now lying down to digest.
Later, after I leave, Lise and the trainees will drive them to a watering hole so they can quench their thirst.
Around 7 in the evening, the sheep are driven back and placed inside the pen where they are kept for the night.
‘As I understand it, there are shepherds in the field at night too, to keep the sheep safe from wolves,’ I say.
She replies, ‘Yes, for the past many nights, Berit has slept in her car out here to watch over the animals.’

February 2025

I arrive mid-morning. Because I spent the night with a friend just 50 km away, I was spared the exertion of a long drive in the pouring rain. Berit, on the other hand, just completed a very long drive – she went to Germany yesterday, with a friend, to pick up a dog.
Is she tired? ‘Not at all,’ she assures me. While she makes coffee, she tells me about great farm restaurant: Utspann in Bad Fallingbostel on Lüneburger Heide in northern Germany, where they ate on their return trip.

We are in the café at Lystbækgaard.

Berit Kiilerich, b.1962,
trained as a shepherd in England. Before she bought Lystbækgaard, she worked as a shepherd in Ulborg State Forest District in West Jutland.

She bought the Lystbækgaard buildings in 1999 with start-up aid from the EU fund for rural development and established herself as a sheep farmer without land, instead making arrangements with landowners and farmers to graze the heath as a form of nature management.

The sheep graze the heath in spring, summer and autumn. During winter, Berit rents grazing, usually in local farmers’ seed-grass fields.
The sheep are shorn at Lystbækgard in an open-pen system.

Berit and her husband, Jørgen, who runs the farm with her, live in the main house. The former farm buildings now house a café, a shop and an exhibition and teaching space.

Along with her employees and trainees, Berit looks after the sheep and handles all the related tasks. She also operates the café and farm shop, which sells both meat and wool products.

In partnership with the volunteer association Lystbækforeningen (Lystbæk Association), with Berit as a very active member, Lystbækgaard’s farm buildings have been transformed into a visitor and course centre for wool, sheep and traditional crafts from the heathlands. Among other activities, the association also organizes a knitting café, courses and market days.

Berit tells me about the path that led her to Lystbækgaard. Ever since childhood, she has been fascinated with the heath, and from a young age, she was interested in making things from wool. At the age of 20, she applied for a shepherd’s apprenticeship with an elderly couple in Bjerringbro, in Central Jutland. They had returned from Thailand with money to invest and had bought a farm. The woman dreamt of establishing a school.
‘I had recently enrolled in an agricultural college, but I really wanted to work with sheep,’ says Berit, who got the internship and worked there for a year. She tells me that the woman was like a queen in her kingdom of sheep – which were a breed that she had personally bred for their wool. I get the impression that even if she was strict and headstrong, her delicate sense of wool and her connections to the wool craft environment were significant for Berit.

Connections and networks play a key role throughout Berit’s story. In addition to her years in England and Scotland, where she trained as a professional shepherd and shearer, her story includes a sprawling international network of contacts in the wool industry. She mentions colleagues in Austria, Norway, Sweden and the Faroe Isles and recommends book titles and topics for interesting stories. Currently, she is involved in the European Wool Association, where representatives from 17 countries work together to highlight the value of the original sheep breeds and about finding uses for wool from the different breeds.
‘As it is now,’ Berit explains, ‘the EU categorizes wool as an ABP: animal byproduct. It is considered a byproduct from meat production, in the same category as slaughterhouse waste. That also means that it is subject to strict restrictions, for example in relation to transportation. Naturally, it makes sense to take steps to prevent the spread of diseases, but considering what a valuable resource wool is, and how much wool is incinerated, there is room for improvement.’
We now have a slice of dark ryebread, brought home from Germany, with delicious goat cheese and a cup of coffee. ‘Sheep connect nature and people – to quote a German biologist,’ says Berit. ‘We have people visit from all over the world, who are full of admiration for what we do here. Locally – or, rather, from the authorities – I sometimes find that the understanding for our work is limited. But young people are interested, we have many trainees; the last ones we had were from Japan. People also come here to work on art projects. Right now, we have a visitor from Kolding School of Design. She is interested in the hand spindle and the old Faroese spinning wheel as part of her PhD studies. She is welcome here, but it is important that she settles in, spends some time here and experiences the beauty of pastoral farming. I intend to introduce her to an artist from Finland, who is also going to spend some time here, weaving.’ Berit points to an upright loom in the corner of the large, open space that serves as a teaching space, an exhibition hall for traditional tools for processing wool and a shop with yarns and finished wool products, including hand-knitted items and felted mats from a small factory in Austria that processes Berit’s wool through needle felting and other methods.

Pastoral farming – could you explain what that implies? Berit shows me some old heath paintings and tells me, ‘Pastoralism or pastoral farming is the branch of agriculture that deals with livestock. The pastoral approach includes a mobility aspect, where the animals are moved around to find water and food. It is a form of slow-paced, low-intensity farming. It is important for young people to see and understand how food can be produced locally and what it entails. Food is our source of energy, after all. I’m not impressed by the idea of being a vegan and then importing pea flour or by anyone attempting to grow vegetables without including animal fertilizer – I mean, they need something to grow on.’

‘When we walk with the animals, we have set up a rotation system where we are constantly moving them based on what should be grazed down and what needs to be left alone to grow.
Unlike cows, which only eat grass, sheep and goats eat both sprouting trees, small shrubs, like common broom, for example, and the invasive dog rose, as well as grass and heather.
Sheep are also good at transporting seeds around in their wool, thus helping to spread rare species, such as arnica and orchids. Insects and birds buzz around the animals – it is a beautiful collaboration.’

‘When heather is about 20 to 25 years old, it loses its vitality and dies.
Every year, in early spring, we do a controlled burn in one or more sections of the heat. This involves setting fire to the top layer and acts like a shock to the roots that are still alive. In response, they form new shoots in order to survive. After one or two years, the flowering heather is back, which is good for the bees and other animals.
It takes many years to nurture a perfect heath – and, unfortunately, a very short amount of time to ruin it.’

‘Over the past two to three years, we have lost some of the land we used to have a contract for. The municipality leased it to a cattle farmer.
So I had to downsize my flock. I sold some of the sheep, including some that were bought by a woman in Germany who is going to use them for heath management. Others have been made into salami – that’s the great thing about livestock.’

After a short pause, she adds,
‘It’s all good. We shouldn’t have more animals than we can handle – I’m probably just growing old and grumpy!’

‘My daughter Ellen has begun to be interested in some sort of generational changeover. She trained as a cultural and nature communicator.
The communication aspect is growing increasingly important – for the economy of the farm and for society.’

It is time to feed the sheep that are being kept in a barn.
We walk through the barns, which are set up as workshops with facilities for different craft activities, ranging from hewer’s workbenches to weaving and plant-dyeing.
I ask whether they use wool in their own kitchen garden – I bring it up because I know about Sandra Villumsen’s work.
‘My daughter did a project for an exam about wool as a soil enhancer,’ says Berit and shows me an online post about the method. The post also mentions fertilizer tabs made of wool.
Berit knows that there are several manufacturers of these tabs – but not in Danmark. Ellen’s are Dutch, and she also knows about an English manufacturer.

After Berit has fed the sheep, before I leave, she shows me the wool store – a treasure trove for anyone who enjoys carding, spinning, knitting, weaving or felting.

Maj 2025

Jeg er for anden gang på vej til Lystbækgaard, som ejes af fårehyrden Berit Kiilerich.
Mit første besøg fandt sted på februars måske mørkeste og vådeste dag.
I dag er det lyst, men solen bryder ikke rigtig gennem det lette skydække.
Langs motorvejen blomstrer lupinerne – og til trods for at de regnes for invasive, frydes mit øje.

Mit genbesøg er arrangeret, fordi jeg ikke kan skrive om fårehyrden uden at have mødt fårene i hedelandskabet, hvor de hører til.
På vejen hører jeg – på Berits opfordring – en podcast udgivet af Hedeselskabet, hvor professor i arkæologi ved Aarhus Universitet, Mette Løvschal, er i samtale med selskabets klima- og biodiversitetschef, Mads Flinterup.
De taler om heden som kulturlandskab – et foranderligt landskab, hvis overlevelse er dybt afhængig af, at mennesker, dyr og natur interagerer.
Forskeren laver en historisk gennemgang af heden og taler for, at vi ikke skal forsøge at fastholde den i en bestemt historisk periode – for i givet fald hvilken? Men snarere, at vi skal interessere os for, hvilken rolle heden skal spille fremover.
I samtalen rejses spørgsmålet: Skal heden overhovedet bestå?
Den er under pres, fordi vi – for at fange CO₂ med henblik på at nedbringe det høje CO₂-indhold i luften – lægger både hede og landbrugsjord ud til vild natur, såkaldt rewilding, hvor man lader store arealer springe i skov.

“Du kan parkere ved Præstbjerg Naturcenter”, instruerede Berit i en SMS, inden jeg kørte hjemmefra.
“Det er Lise Hovesen, som hyrder i denne uge, og hvis du ikke kan se hende og fårene fra vejen, kan du jo udforske heden – så finder du flokken.”
Jeg fandt dem.

Lise og to praktikanter er helt ude ved vejen på et areal, som støder op til den indhegnede nattefold.
Fårene har netop rejst sig fra deres middagshvile og er travlt optaget af at spise græs og småbuske, mens Lise venligt, men bestemt, giver dem retning.

Jeg slår mig ned og har ikke siddet længe, før et tungt, varmt, kælent og nysgerrigt får læner sig op ad mig og ser mig direkte i øjnene. Som den fremmedgjorte bybo, jeg er, gør det et stort indtryk.
Jeg småsnakker med Lise, mens jeg fotograferer, og hun hyrder.

Lise er kunstner, uddannet i Fine Art på University College Falmouth i England i 2008.
Nu bor hun her i Vestjylland og arbejder hver anden uge som fårehyrde.
Hun elsker sit arbejde og fortæller, at selvom lønnen er lav, så er gerningen meningsfyldt og smelter sammen med hendes personlige og kunstneriske interesser. Hun benævner sin praksis: Performing Life Art – Interspecies collaborations in regenerative land and community practices.
Lise har mange kunstinstallationer og performances, som involverer ulden og landskabet, på sit CV. Lige nu arbejder hun på et projekt, som over sommeren skal folde sig ud på Lystbækgaard.

Jeg siger halvt til mig selv, halvt til hende:
En gang var hyrderne unge drenge eller ældre mænd med erfaring, men uden uddannelse, og at være fårebonde var et erhverv, som baserede sig på salg af kød og uld.
Nu er det min fornemmelse, at oplevelsesindustrien og kunstverdenen i større og videre udstrækning udgør grundlaget – og at hyrderne ikke sjældent er højtuddannede kvinder eller unge på vej ind i en uddannelse.
“Du har ret”, siger Lise. “Jeg søger i mit kunstneriske virke at undgå underholdning – snarere inviterer jeg til, sammen med mig, at gå på opdagelse i de historier, sange og ritualer, som knytter sig til heden og fårene.
Vi er mange, som drømmer om at leve nærmere dyrene og nærmere naturen, i et gensidigt, bæredygtigt forhold. Samtidig har vi set, hvor hårdt Berit har arbejdet, og hvor meget det hårde arbejde slider. Helt sådan drømmer vi ikke om, at det skal være.”

Flokken, som i dag består af ca. 300 får, nogle få lam og 10 geder, har – mens vi har snakket – spist sig mætte og har lagt sig for at fordøje.
Senere, når jeg er kørt, vil Lise og praktikanterne drive dem ned mod et vandhul, så de kan få stillet tørsten.
Inden de går hjem ved 19-tiden, skal fårene tilbage og lukkes ind i nattefolden.
“Jeg har forstået, at der også er hyrder på marken om natten for at undgå ulveangreb”, siger jeg.
Hun svarer: “Ja, de seneste mange nætter har Berit sovet i sin bil herude for at passe på dyrene.”

Februar 2025

Jeg ankommer først på formiddagen. Fordi jeg har haft nattelogi hos en veninde bare 50 km borte, har jeg været sparet for anstrengelsen ved at køre langt i silende regn. Berit, derimod, har stadig en meget lang køretur siddende i kroppen, hun var i Tyskland i går sammen med en veninde for at hente en hund.
Om hun er træt? – “overhovedet ikke”, bedyrer hun. Mens hun brygger kaffe, fortæller hun om en skøn gårdrestaurant: Utspann i Bad Fallingbostel på Lüneburger Heide i Nordtyskland, hvor de spiste på tilbagevejen.

Vi befinder os i Lystbækgaards café.

Berit Kiilerich, f. 1962,
er uddannet fårehyrde i England og har blandt andet, inden hun købte Lystbækgaard, været ansat som hyrde i Ulfborg Statsskovdistrikt.

Berit fortæller om sin vej til Lystbækgaard. Hun har siden barndommen været fascineret af heden og af fårene, og hun har tidligt været optaget af at fremstille ting selv af uld. Som 20-årig søgte hun hyrdeelevplads hos et ældre ægtepar i Bjerringbro. De var kommet hjem fra Thailand med penge på lommen og havde købt en gård. Kvinden drømte om at lave en skole.
“Jeg var netop startet på landbrugsskole, men fårene trak”, fortæller Berit, som fik pladsen og arbejdede der i et år. Kvinden var som en dronning i sit rige af får, hører jeg – i øvrigt en race, hun selv havde fremavlet for at få den bedste uld. Jeg fornemmer, at nok var hun var streng og eneherskende, men også at hendes fine fornemmelse for ulden og hendes tråde ind i miljøet omkring uldhåndværket har været af stor betydning for Berit.

Tråde og netværk fylder i det hele taget i Berits fortælling, som foruden årene i England og Skotland hvor hun uddannede sig til professionel fårehyrde og klipper, inkluderer et vidt forgrenet internationalt kontaktnet inden for uldindustrien – hun taler om kolleger i Østrig, Norge, Sverige og på Færøerne og anbefaler bogtitler og emner til interessante historier. Aktuelt er hun engageret i European Wool Association, hvor repræsentanter fra 17 lande arbejder sammen om at synliggøre værdien af de oprindelige fåreracer og om at finde anvendelse for de forskellige racers uld.
“Som det er nu”, forklarer Berit, “er uld i EU’s system listet som ABP animal byproduct, bi-produkt fra kødproduktion, i samme kategori som slagteriaffald og dermed underlagt strenge restriktioner, for eksempel i forbindelse med transport. Det giver naturligvis mening at undgå smitteoverførsel – men med tanke på, hvilken ressource ulden er, og hvor meget uld der bliver brændt, bør det kunne gøres bedre.”
Vi har nu fået et stykke rugbrød, hjembragt fra Tyskland, med en god gedeost og en kop kaffe. “Fårene binder naturen og menneskerne sammen – det er der en tysk biolog, som har sagt”, siger Berit og fortsætter: “Der kommer mennesker fra hele verden, som ser med beundring på det, vi laver. Lokalt, eller rettere fra myndighedssiden, kan jeg indimellem opleve, at forståelsen for vores arbejde er lidt mere sparsom”. Hun fortsætter, “men de unge er interesserede, vi har mange praktikanter, de sidste var fra Japan. Vi har også nogle, som kommer for at arbejde på kunstprojekter; lige nu har vi en fra Designskolen Kolding, hun er interesseret i håndtenen og den gamle færøske rok; hun er i gang med en ph.d. – hun må gerne komme her, men det er vigtigt, at hun forbinder sig, er her i længere tid og oplever det smukke ved det pastorale landbrug – jeg tænker at koble hende på en kunstner fra Finland, som også skal være her i en periode – hun skal væve”. Berit peger i retning af en opretstående væv, som står i hjørnet af det store åbne rum, der både fungerer som undervisningslokale, til udstilling af gamle redskaber til forarbejdning af ulden og som butik med garner og færdige uldprodukter. Både håndstrikkende, men også for eksempel filtede måtter fra en lille fabrik i Østrig, hvortil Berit sender sin uld og får den nålefiltet.

Det pastorale – vil du forklare? Berit fremviser gamle hedemalerier og forklarer: “Pastoralisme eller pastoralt landbrug er den gren af landbruget, som har med dyr at gøre, og det pastorale inkluderer et mobilitetsaspekt, at dyrene flyttes for at finde vand og føde. Det er en form for langsomt-kørende, lavintensivt landbrug. Det er vigtigt, at de unge ser og forstår, hvordan man kan fremstille fødevarer lokalt, og ser, hvad det kræver – det er jo fra fødevarerne, vi får vores energi. Jeg giver ikke meget for at ville leve som veganer for så at importere ærtemel, og at dyrke grøntsager uden at inkludere gødning fra dyrene er omsonst – de vokser jo ikke af sig selv.”

Billedtekst
Berit fortæller, hvordan hele pelsen kan klippes af fåret i et stykke og derefter bearbejdes, så det får en filtet bagside og dermed fungerer på samme måde som et lammeskind – et såkaldt vegetarskind.

“Når vi vandrer med dyrene, har vi sat et system op, hvor vi hele tiden flytter dem rundt – afhængigt af, hvad der trænger til at blive spist, og hvad der absolut skal have fred til at vokse frem.
Fårene og gederne spiser – i modsætning til køer, som kun spiser græs – både spirende træer, småbuske, gyvel for eksempel og den invasive hybenrose, foruden græs og lyng.
Fårene er også gode til at transportere frø omkring i deres pels og dermed sprede sjældne arter som arnika og orkidé. Insekter og fugle summer omkring dyrene – det er et fint samspil, vi har gang i.”

“Når lyngen er 20-25 år gammel, mister den sin livskraft og dør.
Vi laver hvert år i det tidlige forår kontrolleret hedeafbrænding på et eller flere felter. Man brænder det øverste lag; afbrændingen virker som et chok på de rødder, der stadig er levende. Derefter begynder de at spire for at overleve. Efter et til to år kommer der på ny blomstrende lyng, som blandt andet bierne nyder godt af.
Det tager mange år at få en hede til at blive perfekt – og desværre meget kort tid at ødelægge den.”

“Vi har de seneste to-tre år mistet en del af det areal, vi tidligere havde kontrakt på. Kommunen har lejet arealet ud til en bonde, som har køer.
Jeg har derfor skåret ned på bestanden. Nogle får har jeg solgt – blandt andet er en del gået til en dame i Tyskland, som skal bruge dem til hedepleje. Andre er blevet til spegepølse – det er det gode ved dyrene.”

Og efter et øjeblik:
“Det skal nok gå det hele. Vi skal heller ikke have flere dyr, end vi kan overkomme – jeg er nok bare ved at blive gammel og sur!”

“Min datter Ellen er begyndt at interessere sig for en form for generationsskifte. Hun er uddannet kultur- og naturformidler.
Formidlingsdelen bliver vigtigere og vigtigere – både for gårdens økonomi og for samfundet.”

Det er blevet fodringstid for de får, som står under tag.
Vi går gennem staldene, der er indrettet som værksteder med mulighed for forskellige håndværksaktiviteter – her er alt fra snittebænke til væve og faciliteter til plantefarvning.
Jeg spørger, om de i deres egen køkkenhave anvender uld – det gør jeg, fordi jeg har kendskab til Sandra Villumsen
“Min datter lavede et eksamensprojekt om uld som jordforbedring”, fortæller Berit og viser et opslag frem med anvisning på, hvordan man går til værks. På opslaget er også omtalt gødningstabletter fremstillet af uld.
Berit ved, at der er flere forskellige producenter af sådanne – dog ikke i Danmark. Ellens er fra Holland, og hun har også kendskab til en engelsk producent.

Da Berit har fodret, og inden jeg kører igen, ser jeg uldlageret – et mekka for alle, som karter, spinder, strikker, væver eller filter.