The Alpacas of Stormwind Farm

Chapter 2

Breeze and Harley

The very first alpaca cria I saw was a tiny female named Carolyn. She was red with a white tuxedo pattern, only a few months old, and I tried to buy her on the spot.

“She belongs to our boarder, Tom,” the farm’s owners, Hugh and Carol Masters, explained.

“I’ll buy her,” I said.

“She’s not for sale,” Hugh told me.

Thirty seconds on my first alpaca farm . . . and my heart was broken. I had never, ever seen a more adorable creature in my life. David and I had bred and raised one litter of Afghan Hounds as well as several litters of Whippets. Although Whippet puppies are hellions and not to be raised by the faint of heart, all our puppies were cute. But nothing compared to this perfect, little alpaca!

“She almost looks like she’s not real,” I whispered to my husband.

“I know,” he said and lapsed into uncharacteristic silence, a sure sign that he also was awestruck by Carolyn’s beauty and seeming perfection.

We first started to inquire about alpacas in 1995. Prices paid for the animals, compared to those of other livestock such as fiber goats or sheep, were high at that time. This was simply due to the laws of supply and demand that govern a free market system. Demand was steadily growing, and supply was not keeping up. True, very few people had heard of alpacas in those days. Thanks to a great national marketing program, this was quickly changing. Breeders of llamas had paved the way, and alpacas were catching up in name recognition among the general public. The number of alpaca farms located in our home state of New Jersey was growing, but most breeders had tiny herds, and not many animals were for sale.

Our plan was to purchase a bred female and a gelding as her companion. We decided to be cautious and not commit additional funds to our new venture. A starter herd of two alpacas would have to satisfy us for the beginning. To acquire the irresistibly cute Carolyn, however, I was more than ready to throw our original purchase plan overboard without a second thought.

Carolyn was boarded at Serenity Alpacas. The New Jersey farm was beautiful and immaculate. All alpacas looked well cared-for and grazed calmly on green, spacious pastures. We had met the farm’s owners, Hugh and Carol Masters, at an alpaca festival held in Pennsylvania.

Our first encounter with an alpaca breeder immediately after our arrival at the festival site had been somewhat of a shock and a disappointment. I had approached the first breeder we saw and told her about our purchase plan and budget.

The woman looked at me briefly, raised an eyebrow, and pursed her lips. “I sell only packages of four to five alpacas,” she said, turned her back to me, and walked away.

“Snob!” I hissed and made a mental note to remember the face and name displayed on a tag pinned to her jacket.

Another encounter like that, and we may have left the alpaca festival to raise sheep or fiber goats. Feeling rebuffed and a little forlorn, I decided to join David. He was drinking his second cup of coffee in front of a vendor’s food stand.

I already had my purse unzipped and was fishing for a dollar bill when my eyes fell on a tall, slender woman. She was leading three haltered alpacas across the festival grounds. We smiled at each other. Within a minute, Carol Masters had introduced herself, her husband Hugh, and their three alpaca males. Conversation between us flowed easily. Neither Carol nor Hugh seemed put off by our budget. They invited us for a visit to their farm. Located in Hunterdon County, a mountainous region and an easy drive from the flatlands of our South Jersey home, it had a beautiful view of the Musconetcong Valley.

We gladly accepted the invitation. The visit went well, but that day, despite my impulsive offer to purchase Carolyn, we were not ready to buy alpacas. I was sure, however, that we would return. With a last glance at Carolyn, my first alpaca love, we departed, full of excitement over what the future held for us.

The immediate future meant completing our new house on the farm. Our eight acre farm had been planted in soybeans. We had to start from scratch with all plans for a house, barns, pastures, and a dog yard. Many decisions had to be made. To save money, we acted as our own contractor. In addition to hiring subcontractors, we also put much sweat equity into building the house. Our nerves at times were stretched to a breaking point over building delays, poor workmanship, tardy deliveries, and disappearing subcontractors. Early on, I had a very small taste of what was in store for us. After only three days of working, the first set of masons left the job site to go on a hunting trip.

“I thought that is only supposed to happen in New England,” I wailed.

“Guess again,” our son Ben said. He seemed familiar with the recreational practices of the local trades people. “Why in the world did you start the job at the beginning of hunting season?” Ben wanted to know.

“How does he know so much about this stuff?” I asked David suspiciously.

My husband shrugged and refused to answer, leaving me to contemplate the mysterious brotherhood of men. Why did a pair of New Jersey masons feel compelled to exchange their trowels for guns in the middle of a paying job? I didn’t get a chance to ask them. They upset the building inspector for some reason and were never seen again.

Every day was an adventure, none of it was easy, and we learned a lot. Finally, after two long years of hard work, the house was finished. Exhausted but also elated, we moved to the farm. The time had come to buy alpacas.

My plan was to buy the alpacas before we built a barn, put up fencing, and purchased any supplies for the animals.

“That is putting the cart before the horse,” a friend warned me.