Or to be more accurate, it wasn't the shearing that was the biggest job - it was gathering them all first.
Our hill extends to around 526 hectares (1,300 acres) on paper (but I'm pretty sure if you include the ups and downs of all the steep gullies it must be double that) and rises rapidly from 800 feet to over 2,200 feet at the top.
It's a 'black' hill, covered in heather and scree with extensive peat hags, and can only support around 300 Blackface ewes.
This means gathering is a bit like looking for needles in haystacks and so involves every quad bike, dog and teenager we've got available.
It was an absolutely glorious morning when we all set off at first light: it's got to be early as the sheep simply refuse to move once it gets too hot.
We only gather three times a year, and it's something I always look forward to as it gives a completely different perspective of the farm.
This shearing gather is probably my favourite as the heather is in full bloom, the whole place is buzzing with insects and there are birds and butterflies galore, as well as there being a plentiful supply of blaeberries to eat on the way down.
My young dog loved the experience and I was really pleased with how well she worked on her first time out on the open hill.
Our farm lies about 25 miles due south of Edinburgh and as you get higher up the hill you can see further and further, with views well over the Firth of Forth on a clear day.
I often think about the shepherds who have walked these hills in the past, many of them probably never travelling more than a handful of miles away, and yet being able to see the big, wide world out there.
I wonder if it inspired any of them to pack their bags and head off to look for a new life.
The nearest peak to the steading is called Canada Hill, and it has been suggested that this might be because people climbed up to wave their loved ones off as they sailed away from Scotland towards North America. I'm not sure whether this is true or not, but I could certainly believe it the other day with the sun glinting off the water behind Arthur's Seat.
After five days of trekking up and down after awkward old Blackies, who are determined they're not going to have their fleeces removed, we eventually managed to get the majority down to the farm and into the sheep pens.
The day of shearing itself was a breeze in comparison, and it's a relief for both the sheep and all of us to have the job done and out of the way for another year. It's just a pity that the money for the wool won't even pay for the teenage help and the bike fuel, let alone the shearers.
The Scottish Borders were renowned for their textiles in the past and it would be fantastic to see wool regain its place as a versatile, sustainable raw material once more.
Those shepherds of the past could never have imagined how today's throwaway society would stop valuing the material they spent all their lives and energy producing.
