The one who got away.

Time has flown past so quickly. Days have turned into weeks and weeks into a new month.

Today, after much faffage, we decided to let the little stirks out to pasture. OK, I decided and The Farmer frowned a lot.
He frowned because 'traditionally' they go out on the 12th of May and only God knows the reason for this.

I have mended the trough for the field, filled it with fresh water from the only tap and possibly sweated several kilos carrying said trough and setting it all up. Everything was ready and they were jolly well going out whether it was the 12th or not.

It all went very well with seven out of the eight. They went out beautifully with merely a 'cush cush' as encouragement. They walked to the field and settled immediately.

Lazarus, the calf who was born with a leg deformity, ambled amicably beside me. We spent hours and hours with him when he was newly born, soothing his tight front legs and helping him to walk. We fashioned a hammock as a lifting aid as he became bigger and two would take the weight while a third would 'walk' him.
The work paid off and he eventually walked himself, very stiffly at first then became more fluent in his gait.
He and I walked together to the field and he seemed very content. I felt very proud of him and ruffled his coat.

The idyll was only fleeting because There Is Always One.

'The One' was a black and white feisty stirk who jumped over the hurdle and galloped off at speed.
"Please God do't let him go to the top field" I muttered.
My eldest son went to find him.

"He is up in the top field and I am going to just lie here and be sick because I ran up the hill after him". My son looked green.
Sure enough, there was a black and white dot on yonder hill. The furthest point of the farm and up the worst road in Scotland.

We had to go round shutting all the gates to the newly sown barley fields but the stirk had taken the path of least resistance and gone as the crow flies - straight across all the fields.

An hour or so later, we took a convoy of tractor, trailer, car and green son up The Bloody Awful Road And We Must Do Something About It, to the top field.
There was a stare off and I could hear 'Duelling Banjo' play in my head.

The Farmer was there for expert advice but warned not to lift gates or run which he broke almost immediately by lifting the gate and breaking into a trot.
The cow ran further down the field then hopped easily over one of the many horizontal fences which may deter the odd dandelion from growing but would not contain so much as a guinea pig never mind a hoofingly large stirk.

It got to the good bit in the 'Duelling Banjo's', the bit where you want to dance wildly and shout 'YeeHa!".
The cow ran back to the farm just as I managed to get stuck in the only tight bit of the fence.
My eldest son took hysterics at my getting stuck and I swore at the ground and flapped my way free, dignity long gone, cow long gone too.

The roles were now reversed. We were the specks on yonder hill while the stirk was at the farm. I imagined it was laughing or worse. Smirking. a Smirking stirk.

We hauled the sorry circus back down the Pits of the Earth road, our very eyes shaken out of their sockets by the deep ruts and finally returned to the big shed.

Smirk stirk was calmly munching oats.

Let's just say that another hour, which I will never get back, passed and we finally managed to get the stirk into the trailer only to drive it about 50 feet to the field.
It romped out and joined the Good stirks.

"I have just aged ten years" I said to The Farmer. Eldest son was beyond speech.

"Of course, you stood in the wrong place" said The Farmer. Calmly.

"Wrong place! I was standing near Inverness at one stage, what do you mean wrong place? That cow was possessed by Satan!"

"Stirk. It is not a cow, it's a stirk".....

When we got back to the big shed later on, a tiny calf had just been born. It had managed to take it's first faltering steps just outside the feeders and was wandering lost while it's mother mooed loudly.

We lifted the calf back beside it's mother.

"Don't even think about escaping'. I muttered to the calf. "Just because the first thing you saw was a runaway, don't you dare think it was setting a good example. And anyway, the top field has monsters lurking which eat runaway calves".

I will be watching that one in the future.

Striking gold

We have pretty much caught up with all the essential spring work. The crops are in and we wait for good weather to make them grow.

I thought we might try a second attempt at getting out for the day without being stopped by wind turbine lorries so we set off on a different route and arrived in the very heart of Perthshire.

The landscape here is stunning, dramatic mountains, gentle rivers, abundant with wildlife and best of all, the sun was shining. Grass looked plump and green plus the trees have woken from the long winter dormancy and were shyly showing off their new leaves.

It makes your heart fill with sheer joy to see the beauty in the land.

We took a picnic and went panning for gold. Everyone would get soaked and filthy but it would not matter, besides, we may strike lucky and find a huge nugget (then retire!).
There are the tiniest flecks of gold in the river silt. Really miniscule. (about the size of a full stop).
If I took a hankering for a gold filling like a pirate has then it would take years of picking up the tiny flecks. My teeth may all fall out by the time I saved enough flecks for my pirate look.

The Farmer dozed in the sun while we splashed in the water. He is so tired but I think sleep and rest is one of the best tonics available.
We found lots of iron pyrite which twinkled in the sun, giving false illusions of having found treasure.

The birch trees, which are truly magical, belied their name of 'silver birch' and shone with a hint of gold.

The land was providing us with a wealth beyond money. What price to relax in the sun while the river washed away worries, soothed sore feet, kept the children happy (and cleaned a whiffy dog).
The land is slow and ancient, practically untouched since glacial times. There are areas without houses or even grazing animals, only acres of heather, trees and stillness.
Your heart slows to the beat of the earth. Very healing.

Later, once we realised that we had not realised a fortune in gold flakes, we headed home.

We headed for the cowshed where the remaining herd of pregnant cattle remain. They were content and lying down, enjoying the warm breeze wafting through the shed.
The sun had dipped a little and the shed was bathed with a warm light.

A tiny new born calf lay in the straw.

I felt so relieved that the mother cow had delivered without any problems and all was well. She stood protecting her calf and lowed very softly to it.
The Farmer was delighted.

Our Good Friday had given us so much.

More priceless than gold.

Tilting at windmills

I am wracked with guilt today.

The cattle were sold this morning, well, they were taken away in a huge lorry to the market to be sold. They are not going for slaughter but going to a new farm. One which has lush grass and kindly nature, I hope.

The lorry came at 6am so I was up at 5 to be super ready, rechecking that they had their passports - all the cattle have a movement passport each so they are traceable via their eartags.

The lorry arrived and I was glad that the driver did not use a stick to move them - the cattle have never had a stick near them and I hate to see one used.

My eldest son was already helping to move them into the cattle float and they went in with no trouble.

I felt completely hellish once the float drove away.

The Farmer was still asleep.

Later on, we decided to go to Aberfeldy and take the children to the park plus we would go there via the long way or scenic route as it was such a lovely day (and to take our mind off things).

We got halfway to Aberfeldy then the road, normally very quiet, was blocked completely by a huge convoy of lorries carrying enormous turbines.

It is very disparaging to discover that your road is blocked by windmills both physically and mentally. Sometimes it is easy to feel like one of the Quixotes of this world, eternally fighting injustice through chivalry (or hard work) yet for what?

The winners are the land owners, not those who live and work under the blades. We are the people who pay extra for our electricity in order to subsidize the wealthy land owners.
It is one of the greatest cons today.

The land owners who 'own' us as tenant farmers, who grow fat on the back of our work, our rent, our knowledge of the land..... those who care not one jot of our wellbeing.

Our family trip was spoiled in more ways than one so we turned up a side road and went home.

Tilting at windmills was postponed for another day.

Dippy Dora wakes up.

We are starting to get into the swing of things now, my eldest son and I.

He has taken to calling himself "The Farm Biatch" and I am supposed to assume the role of Farm Manager.
Now, I see a manager as someone who is efficient, neatly dressed with perhaps a clipboard and sadly I do not tick any of these boxes just now.
The Farm Biatch is an ex Drum Major and has a voice which can probably be heard in Penzance. He has no tolerance whatsoever for anything other than 100% commitment to the work.

I was caught dreaming several times today....

The first 'mini sleep' was when I had to cut the net off the bales. Farm Biatch would then run at the bale with the stabby forks and lift it into the cow shed.
I drifted off in a sleep deprived stupor instead.

"COME ON DREAMY DIPPY DORA" "THE COWS ARE WAITING". He roared over the noise of the tractor.
I cut the net and just avoided becoming a kebab on the forks alongside the hay.

The silage was next.
It is quite satisfying to slice open a big fat bale of silage. Very satisfying to be frank.
I cut and bailed these bales one lovely day last year and now, months on, the black plastic is sliced open and the pungent smell of fermented sweet grass is released. It is full of nutrients and the cattle love it.

Of course, while I was standing remembering the day last summer when I bailed with the Red Kites whirling around the sky above and the very sandwich I ate whilst sitting in the sun...FB had jumped out of the tractor and deftly sliced open the bales of silage.
I had that fleeting feeling of someone else cracking open the seal on a new jar of coffee - vaguely miffed because I never got to do it and missing the newness and the fleeting aroma.

"What is wrong with you today?" roared FB.
"I am just sleepy, Rosie and my head is all full of the things which have to be done".
"Oh great. I'm not Rosie" barked the Farm Biatch.

I shuffled through the shed following the tractor like a lone seagull.

My next job was to open the big metal gates to let the tractor in but not let the cattle out.
They were in there thinking about it.

There is a square which is cut out of the metal which is supposed to be the bit for the bolt but it is exactly my height for peeping into.
I peeped.
I peeped just as a cow kicked the metal right beside my ear.
I sort of died for a split second even although the cow was on the other side of the door.

Farm Biatch was impatiently revving the tractor and I had to open the door but feared a stampede. The evil brown cow would squash me with a hoof the size of a dinner plate and besmirch my nice fresh summer top with cowpoo.

We managed but it was all a blur. FB was not impressed with the quality of my work and the fact that his mother was now a completely gibbering wreck.

I sat with the sheep for a while. They are gentle and docile and are rather disdainful of the uncouth cows.
I cuddled one of the newborn lambs and felt it's soft coat against my cheek. This was more powerful than valium and reached further than hot, sweet tea.
The lamb's mother bleated softly and I swear she looked concerned at me but it is hard to tell what a Wensleydale is looking at through the wild fringe of dreadlocks.

We are now back in the house, fed, calmed down and resting. The Farmer is feeling the cold so I lit the fire and there is a nice smell from the oak limbs which were cut yesterday. A good heat too.

Tomorrow, I will try to be alert and efficient even if it means painting wild starey eyes on my eyelids a la disco goers circa 1980's. I will drink coffee and wear earplugs and be ready for the evil brown cow.

The children are just back from a long walk. They have rosy cheeks and smell of fresh air.

"I'm as tired as a bumble bee" said the little one as he kicked his wellies off in exactly the same manner as his Dad. Sock a foot long once the welly comes off.

I know how tired a bumble bee feels.

A difficult decision

I think the reality hit this morning when a large wodge of damp straw trapped me by the welly.

The bulk of the work here is done to keep the cattle.

We plough a field then go over it again with the harrows. We return and sow the crop then back again to harvest. All the hay, silage and straw go to feed the cattle.

They are brought in to the big shed before winter begins (it comes early here) and the bulk of the day goes in to feeding, watering (the water pipe usually freezes so it is a manual job), laying down fresh straw for bedding and making sure they are ok and healthy.

They stay in the big shed usually until the middle of May when the grass begins to grow. (It arrives late here). The calving begins during the last days of April and the cows with their new calves stay in a separate shed for a few weeks so they can have special attention.

My husband is very good with his cattle and they are calm and responsive to him.
Wild and unresponsive with me though.

He is not going to be able to calf or indeed do any work at all with them in the forthcoming weeks. Even if he resumes full health soon, the work is too heavy and unpredictable for someone who has had a recent heart attack.

I phoned the auctioneer today and he is coming up to see the cattle then talk to The Farmer next week. We have to be realistic and look at what we can and cannot do. It is very sad.

Perhaps once we have had time to think about the next few months and the winter slog then we can decide how to make our workload a little lighter.

In the meantime, my eldest son and I are busy getting the big sheds cleaned and ready for the calving. We are both insensible with tiredness.

No rest for the wicked.

My dream of sitting quietly in the sunshine with the family lies as shattered as I feel.

First of all, Piedog ran down the track and on to the road in front of an oncoming and fully laden tractor at about 7 am. I was right behind him but not nearly as fast as he was and apart from a real swearing from the farmer (to me), Pie was fine.
I think I may have been a tiny bit sick having to burst into a sprint so early.

The day got worse from that moment.

The Farmer felt a bit unusual and very tired - I think he overdid things yesterday plus the tablets are bound to have an odd effect - anyway, he was bundled back to bed to rest.

The little one sprayed Febrese into his mouth while I was helping the Farmer upstairs. Much wailing, more running, this time for water and cloths. He was fine but stank of sandalwood for a while.

Rosy took an almighty strop. Perhaps one of us had looked at her sideways or breathed wrongly but she stormed off to her room in a huff.

The cattle managed to squish themselves into a tiny corner of the barn where the haybales are stored and were jam packed like sardines. Mooing, slavering sardines. The son who did not smell of sandalwood managed to get them all sorted out and calmed down then repaired the barrier which they had trashed.
ASBO cows.

The rest of the day has been a blur of domestic drudgery - cooking, washing, bleh...

The little one managed to get Olbas Oil in his eye.
Pie ran down the road again....

The Farmer is fine this evening, good colour, well rested and fed and feeling fine.

I, however, look, feel and no doubt smell like something which has been dragged through a hedge. If I had the energy, I would throw Olbas Oil in my eyes and run wildly down the farm track but would probably get flattened by the same grumpy farmer who braked for Pie.

Luckily, I have not the energy left to do it.

I am going to put the children to bed and get everything settled then sit and stare at the wall for a while in a vacant way. It is all I am fit for.

Tomorrow, we need a stockman, stonelifter, shepherd, poultry keeper, cook, laundry person, nanny, nurse, mender of huffs, dog trainer and perhaps a chocolatier to keep morale up.

I am tempted to concentrate only on the latter.... ;)

A bit of R & R

The Farmer is home.

He was operated on but is well enough to be back on the farm.

It has been a crazily busy time and this week has flown past so quickly with lambs being born, long trips down to Dundee and back, a million things to cope with....

Truthfully, I hated the journey to Dundee. It is such a fast road and sometimes I was scared of falling asleep at the wheel or zoning out and hitting someone. Luckily it did not happen - I think you run around on pure adrenalin and have chameleon eyes.

The hospital is vast.

That entire building in the picture is Ninewells Hospital. It is not a place I ever liked despite doing part of my training there a thousand years ago, it seems.

My eldest son and I have sort of coped in The Farmer's absence. We coped in an "Oh my God, are we doing this correctly" Heath Robinson way.

The lambing is now finished after Bella produced one tiny lamb. It sits in a Sphinx like manner and I admire it's zen calm.

The weather has been kind and the little lambs are loving the heat of the sun.

Our little boy has been unable to sleep at night which is completely understandable but his sleeplessness has left me feeling shattered during the day.
He saw the whole incident on Monday and tightly held my hand as the ambulance tentatively dodged the potholes on the farm track. (we filled them in)
He did not say anything but his eyes showed so many emotions. I hope he can heal too, given time and reassurance.

We have begun the long, slow process of recovery, rest and a change of diet. I completely blame the pies which The Farmer could pack away as if they were going out of fashion. Their fat content closed his arteries completely and stopped the blood flow to the heart.

I am going to rest with my husband and children. We have done lots of the full on, manic work, emptied sheds of dung, ploughed all but one field, seed is ordered, potholes done, fences mended.....

Yes, it is time to sit quietly for a while and just enjoy the Spring sun with my Farmer and our bairns.