When Tara Klager traded the suburbs for forty acres in the shadow of the Canadian Rockies, she meant to raise a rare breed of sheep and maybe write about it. Then two fragments of worked stone surfaced in her pasture, and the tidy story she thought she was telling came apart in her hands.

Prairie Wool is what grew in its place: the story of a woman, a small flock of endangered Border Leicesters, and a patch of ground that holds far more than grass. Moving between the lambing shed and an archaeological dig, between the long history of wool and the vanishing tall-grass prairie, she asks what it means to belong to a place—and what we owe the land, the animals, and the people who came before.

Wry, curious, and unmistakably Canadian, this is a book about getting lost on the way to something better, and the slow, unglamorous work of finding home.