This blog is a little bit hurried today.
It is such a funny feeling to have to rush when normally we move along at a much slower pace than I see in towns.
We are grounded by the farm, grounded in a good way. It keeps you down to earth in the truest sense of the words.
This morning, we have to check our stock, feed the children, chickens and ducks, cat, the dogs. Sometimes we remember to include ourselves in the list if everything else is ok.
We are going to speak with a man today and must get ready, all spruced up.
The Farmer has gone to buy some proper water so we can offer the man a cup of tea without e coli in it. No amount of Abernethy biscuits can disguise the fact that you may have inadvertently caused illness to people not used to our water.
I am feeling a bit nervous as we may no longer be the people who live at the farm at the back of beyond, the people who live 100 years out of date, the people who still live in a feudal system.
We are the people who you never hear about and we are merely a drop in the ocean. We are many.
Others will hopefully learn about our way of life and the culture we contribute to.
I hope that it can provide other tenant farmers a platform to stand on and voice how they feel, how they live and how they are treated.
I don't want people to feel scared. Not in 21st Century Scotland.
I want to hold my hand out to them and say "It's ok, you are not alone. Others care deeply for you even although you cannot see them. Take my hand because I am not scared'.
The Farmer lends me his reassuring strength, he is not talkative but when he does speak, his words are calming and wise. I gather my strength from him and our family, his source is from the very earth that he works.
It feels like an electric shock when I see references to our situation on Twitter, Mumsnet, facebook, it brings us back to modern times yet we realise that finally, someone has listened.
Somebody listened and did something about it.
I feel like the burden which we have been carrying has lessened, it no longer breaks your back or reduces you to tears of frustration.
I'd better go and prepare.
It is going to be a big day.
The farm at the back of beyond.
Thursday, 1 September 2011
Wednesday, 31 August 2011
Your support
We are completely astonished and delighted by the incredible support given to us by many people who are outraged to hear of our situation and the plight of other tenant farmers.
It is a scary process, going public yet so many tenants cannot do this as the fear is real.
We have had enough.
We feel that every element of our rights as humans have been stripped bare and we have nothing to hide. We do not want the next generation having to tolerate what we have had to tolerate and fight.
It would not cross our minds to treat our animals the way we have been treated. They deserve better.
People living in sub standard housing, living in fear of recrimination deserve better.
All we ask for is our farmhouse to be wind and water tight plus some heat. We would like clean water too. It is not a lot to ask for.
Tonight, an invisible army walks beside us as we check the livestock, lock the gate then settle for the night. The warmth and protection is palpable and gives us hope.
On behalf of The Farmer, our children, every tenant farmer and myself, we thank you very much.
It is a scary process, going public yet so many tenants cannot do this as the fear is real.
We have had enough.
We feel that every element of our rights as humans have been stripped bare and we have nothing to hide. We do not want the next generation having to tolerate what we have had to tolerate and fight.
It would not cross our minds to treat our animals the way we have been treated. They deserve better.
People living in sub standard housing, living in fear of recrimination deserve better.
All we ask for is our farmhouse to be wind and water tight plus some heat. We would like clean water too. It is not a lot to ask for.
Tonight, an invisible army walks beside us as we check the livestock, lock the gate then settle for the night. The warmth and protection is palpable and gives us hope.
On behalf of The Farmer, our children, every tenant farmer and myself, we thank you very much.
Tuesday, 30 August 2011
Awful news
We are doing all we can to keep our farmhouse.
We live quietly, work constantly on the land, never default on the rent; not once in 120 years, regardless of good or bad years.
My husband's family have always maintained the house and buildings but there comes a point when a rotten timber will no longer take a nail or falls apart when painted. The material is deemed finished 'through fair wear and tear' then it is the owner's responsibility to replace.
The farmhouse roof has crumbled 'through fair wear and tear'. It has covered and protected the house since circa 1800, before that it was thatched. I think it is safe to say that the roof has lasted well.
We have asked that the roof be repaired, to no avail. We have asked for years.
Yesterday, a chap from the council came up to look and informed us that a demolition order be served.
There is nothing we can do as it is the landowner's responsibility.
I asked what would happen if we moved in 'in protest' and the answer was chilling.
Once the demolition noticed was served, we would have 28 days to get out. After the 28 days, we would be put into a B&B, probably in Perth.
The children may be removed to 'a place of safety', if we were to inhabit our farmhouse. Our farmhouse which we pay rent and full council tax for.
Our farmhouse with the polluted water supply which we cannot purify due to the landowner demand that our electricity supply be disconnected.
Our farmhouse and our home.
The Farmer and I are utterly stunned.
We have done nothing wrong but due to an unscrupulous landowner, we must take the brunt of a very unfair system. A very unfair system.
This is the 21st Century Clearances which happen by stealth.
Now is the time to insist that tenant farmers like us are given the chance to buy our homes and cease being vessels which feed these parasitic tics of landowners who cannot or will not fulfil their legal obligation.
Please support the tenant farmer.
We live quietly, work constantly on the land, never default on the rent; not once in 120 years, regardless of good or bad years.
My husband's family have always maintained the house and buildings but there comes a point when a rotten timber will no longer take a nail or falls apart when painted. The material is deemed finished 'through fair wear and tear' then it is the owner's responsibility to replace.
The farmhouse roof has crumbled 'through fair wear and tear'. It has covered and protected the house since circa 1800, before that it was thatched. I think it is safe to say that the roof has lasted well.
We have asked that the roof be repaired, to no avail. We have asked for years.
Yesterday, a chap from the council came up to look and informed us that a demolition order be served.
There is nothing we can do as it is the landowner's responsibility.
I asked what would happen if we moved in 'in protest' and the answer was chilling.
Once the demolition noticed was served, we would have 28 days to get out. After the 28 days, we would be put into a B&B, probably in Perth.
The children may be removed to 'a place of safety', if we were to inhabit our farmhouse. Our farmhouse which we pay rent and full council tax for.
Our farmhouse with the polluted water supply which we cannot purify due to the landowner demand that our electricity supply be disconnected.
Our farmhouse and our home.
The Farmer and I are utterly stunned.
We have done nothing wrong but due to an unscrupulous landowner, we must take the brunt of a very unfair system. A very unfair system.
This is the 21st Century Clearances which happen by stealth.
Now is the time to insist that tenant farmers like us are given the chance to buy our homes and cease being vessels which feed these parasitic tics of landowners who cannot or will not fulfil their legal obligation.
Please support the tenant farmer.
Sunday, 28 August 2011
New additions
The shepherd next door is leaving.
It is sad as he has only recently arrived in the area, the sixth in two years... says a lot about the employer rather than the shepherds.
Next door is a few miles away.
We rarely see our neighbours and besides, the shepherds tend to work long hours up on the hills. We had to ask the shepherd for some advice and after a few attempts, finally got him in.
He and his wife were lovely. I felt sad that they were leaving as I felt a real sense of warmth and friendship in the little while that we chatted with them.
They were very tactful and diplomatic about their reasons for going but I believe that what was left unsaid spoke volumes.
Anyway, we asked if they needed help and they asked if we would care for their ducks and also if we were needing another sheepdog.
Rosie is brilliant at catching escapee poultry and soon we had a car full of ducks, silently hissing and bobbing their necks as a warning, Muscovys all, companions for Bobduck.
I had this little bundle on my lap.
We have named her Grace and she is settling in very well. PieDog was a little miffed at first but he was given lots of reassurance and extra fuss. They are both tumbling around on the grass as I write, chewing one of The Farmer's socks. Brave dogs.
I am surprised that such a little dog can jump up and open a door but she can.
We are back to stair gates and all the safety measures we had when our son was little. I can never remember the day that these things were removed but possibly when he started climbing trees and unlatching safety gates.
We are all back to wearing one slipper or odd socks, a familiar pile of them 'rounded up' and chewed by Grace.
The ducks are overjoyed with the permapuddle and the grain store. Fat little ducks.
We are just waiting for the rough weather to pass and hopefully we will get started on the harvest soon. Sheds are being scrubbed out, combine worked on, paperwork ready.
All would be fairly straightforward if BT had not put a new phone pole at the end of the road. They never told us, just put the thing up (although we still have no phone) - we cannot get past with the combine.
Some of the new farm additions are very welcome.
Others however.....
It is sad as he has only recently arrived in the area, the sixth in two years... says a lot about the employer rather than the shepherds.
Next door is a few miles away.
We rarely see our neighbours and besides, the shepherds tend to work long hours up on the hills. We had to ask the shepherd for some advice and after a few attempts, finally got him in.
He and his wife were lovely. I felt sad that they were leaving as I felt a real sense of warmth and friendship in the little while that we chatted with them.
They were very tactful and diplomatic about their reasons for going but I believe that what was left unsaid spoke volumes.
Anyway, we asked if they needed help and they asked if we would care for their ducks and also if we were needing another sheepdog.
Rosie is brilliant at catching escapee poultry and soon we had a car full of ducks, silently hissing and bobbing their necks as a warning, Muscovys all, companions for Bobduck.
I had this little bundle on my lap.
We have named her Grace and she is settling in very well. PieDog was a little miffed at first but he was given lots of reassurance and extra fuss. They are both tumbling around on the grass as I write, chewing one of The Farmer's socks. Brave dogs.
I am surprised that such a little dog can jump up and open a door but she can.
We are back to stair gates and all the safety measures we had when our son was little. I can never remember the day that these things were removed but possibly when he started climbing trees and unlatching safety gates.
We are all back to wearing one slipper or odd socks, a familiar pile of them 'rounded up' and chewed by Grace.
The ducks are overjoyed with the permapuddle and the grain store. Fat little ducks.
We are just waiting for the rough weather to pass and hopefully we will get started on the harvest soon. Sheds are being scrubbed out, combine worked on, paperwork ready.
All would be fairly straightforward if BT had not put a new phone pole at the end of the road. They never told us, just put the thing up (although we still have no phone) - we cannot get past with the combine.
Some of the new farm additions are very welcome.
Others however.....
Monday, 22 August 2011
The shearing
It was very late this year but we finally got the shearing done.
PieDog was thrilled to do the job he was born to do, namely rounding the sheep up and getting them into their pen. He was a joy to work with but we need to do a bit more training on the part when he is supposed to come out of the pen. He sat gleefully, waiting for the sheep to join him and studiously ignored my windmill arm actions and cries of "GET OUT OF THE PEN, PIE, OUT NOW".
It is always a faff rounding up the sheep but we got there. Eventually.
The shearer turned up fairly late at night. He has been busy shearing all over Scotland but it was worth the wait as he is a superb shearer and very couthy with the sheep.
We set up at the side of the field; a wooden board for the shearer to stand on, the shearing gubbins and big battery for power, wool handler to wrap the fleece, The Farmer on standby incase of emergency.
My sheep are enormous. Wensleydale are long legged, long necked, bulky sheep. They are not easy to clip as their skin is soft and papery plus they have masses of wool everywhere. (some breeds of sheep have no wool on their legs or heads and are easier to clip).
The shearer clipped the wool from the first two sheep but the third, a massive hogget, deftly kicked the man quite firmly on the ankle.
"Oh, there was no need to do that" he said quietly.
So the hogget kicked him again and brought the poor man down.
The Farmer switched the shearing machine off immediately as the blade snaked wildly over sheep and shearer. We helped the shearer to his feet and he steadied the big hogget. I noticed that the backside of his trousers had been ripped during the fall.
"That was very uncouth" the shearer said to the hogget.
The hogget eyed the shearer with the look of a teenager who was having his first shave.
'Uncouth' finished me off.
I nipped round the side of the sheep trailer and had a silent weep of laughing, made worse as it would have been impolite to laugh. I tried to look solemn when I came back to roll the fleece.
"Why are you laughing, Mum?" asked Rosie, undiplomatically. She was standing on the other side of the gate with her little brother and my friend, Pandora; a wool spinner extrordinaire. I had promised Pandora the best fleece as she creates the most amazing yarns.
"I had a midge in my eye", I lied. Well, sort of lied as the midges were out in force and we were all being bitten.
The rest of the shearing went without incident apart from having to take the tractor round for lighting. We were all a bit miffed when it became noticably dark around half past nine. Mutters about the impending winter were bandied about and we all tried not to think about the change in the season.
We finished up, loaded the shearers equipment into his truck, carefully stored the newly shorn and still warm fleeces into a safe place and returned the sheep to their field. They looked completely different and it was hard to tell them apart.
The entire shearing had been done very quietly. The shearer's clippers almost silent, unlike our outmoded and outdated ones which sound like an angry swarm of hornets. The sheep were silent and the very evening itself held its breath. Everything was still apart from the clippers and shearer's muscly arm.
We had all been able to converse normally during this shearing.
Not uncouth at all.
PieDog was thrilled to do the job he was born to do, namely rounding the sheep up and getting them into their pen. He was a joy to work with but we need to do a bit more training on the part when he is supposed to come out of the pen. He sat gleefully, waiting for the sheep to join him and studiously ignored my windmill arm actions and cries of "GET OUT OF THE PEN, PIE, OUT NOW".
It is always a faff rounding up the sheep but we got there. Eventually.
The shearer turned up fairly late at night. He has been busy shearing all over Scotland but it was worth the wait as he is a superb shearer and very couthy with the sheep.
We set up at the side of the field; a wooden board for the shearer to stand on, the shearing gubbins and big battery for power, wool handler to wrap the fleece, The Farmer on standby incase of emergency.
My sheep are enormous. Wensleydale are long legged, long necked, bulky sheep. They are not easy to clip as their skin is soft and papery plus they have masses of wool everywhere. (some breeds of sheep have no wool on their legs or heads and are easier to clip).
The shearer clipped the wool from the first two sheep but the third, a massive hogget, deftly kicked the man quite firmly on the ankle.
"Oh, there was no need to do that" he said quietly.
So the hogget kicked him again and brought the poor man down.
The Farmer switched the shearing machine off immediately as the blade snaked wildly over sheep and shearer. We helped the shearer to his feet and he steadied the big hogget. I noticed that the backside of his trousers had been ripped during the fall.
"That was very uncouth" the shearer said to the hogget.
The hogget eyed the shearer with the look of a teenager who was having his first shave.
'Uncouth' finished me off.
I nipped round the side of the sheep trailer and had a silent weep of laughing, made worse as it would have been impolite to laugh. I tried to look solemn when I came back to roll the fleece.
"Why are you laughing, Mum?" asked Rosie, undiplomatically. She was standing on the other side of the gate with her little brother and my friend, Pandora; a wool spinner extrordinaire. I had promised Pandora the best fleece as she creates the most amazing yarns.
"I had a midge in my eye", I lied. Well, sort of lied as the midges were out in force and we were all being bitten.
The rest of the shearing went without incident apart from having to take the tractor round for lighting. We were all a bit miffed when it became noticably dark around half past nine. Mutters about the impending winter were bandied about and we all tried not to think about the change in the season.
We finished up, loaded the shearers equipment into his truck, carefully stored the newly shorn and still warm fleeces into a safe place and returned the sheep to their field. They looked completely different and it was hard to tell them apart.
The entire shearing had been done very quietly. The shearer's clippers almost silent, unlike our outmoded and outdated ones which sound like an angry swarm of hornets. The sheep were silent and the very evening itself held its breath. Everything was still apart from the clippers and shearer's muscly arm.
We had all been able to converse normally during this shearing.
Not uncouth at all.
Thursday, 18 August 2011
Adding insult to injury.
We had an important visitor today.
Someone with clout came to see our house. The house, mind, not really us.
I felt ashamed that I could not offer a cup of tea, Highland manners. The lack of electricity or eColi rich water sometimes puts people off. We mostly boil a kettle on a fire outside or travel a bit to fill a flask with clean, boiling water so visitors are not poisoned.
Anyway, the visitor was offered tea but declined.
House was duly looked at, notes taken, visitor made to leave. All well and good.
What stung me to the core was an almost throwaway comment regarding the visitor having to ask permission to visit us. They did not need our permission as we had invited them.
They asked the owner's permission... then commented on how patently obvious it was that we were disliked and despised, by the agent working for the owner.
How unprofessional.
How humiliating.
How purile, unprofessional and foolish you made yourself look, Agent of the Owner.
If you need someone to tell you to grow up, you scunnering wee nyaff, then you know where we live. I will happily say it to your face and not behind your back.
I might even throw in a fish to go with the chip on your shoulder.
Someone with clout came to see our house. The house, mind, not really us.
I felt ashamed that I could not offer a cup of tea, Highland manners. The lack of electricity or eColi rich water sometimes puts people off. We mostly boil a kettle on a fire outside or travel a bit to fill a flask with clean, boiling water so visitors are not poisoned.
Anyway, the visitor was offered tea but declined.
House was duly looked at, notes taken, visitor made to leave. All well and good.
What stung me to the core was an almost throwaway comment regarding the visitor having to ask permission to visit us. They did not need our permission as we had invited them.
They asked the owner's permission... then commented on how patently obvious it was that we were disliked and despised, by the agent working for the owner.
How unprofessional.
How humiliating.
How purile, unprofessional and foolish you made yourself look, Agent of the Owner.
If you need someone to tell you to grow up, you scunnering wee nyaff, then you know where we live. I will happily say it to your face and not behind your back.
I might even throw in a fish to go with the chip on your shoulder.
Tuesday, 16 August 2011
Talking of farm fashion....
....I took a notion for a balaclava.
It is just the thing for chilly mornings and bad hair days. The main thing is that nobody sees you.
I had no idea that there were so many balaclavas out there. Most of them are for motorcyclists but alas, I will never do the ton in the Massey, so do not need a bug guard to protect my mouth.
There are balaclavas with skeleton faces and dripping zombie features printed on. Why this is needed is beyond my ken.
Or ones with just eye holes and an open bit for your mouth, leaving the wearer with a permanent look of surprise and menace. A woolly gimp mask....might scare the postman.
Then I found it.
Jings!
With special ear flaps for mobile phones.
Never mind that we don't get mobile phone reception here, you could just roar and shout but your head would be warm and you would hear everything.
No zombie features or gimp masks there, just thick scratchy wool and lugs.
Ban hoodies and issue these instead.
Urban troubles sorted.
It is just the thing for chilly mornings and bad hair days. The main thing is that nobody sees you.
I had no idea that there were so many balaclavas out there. Most of them are for motorcyclists but alas, I will never do the ton in the Massey, so do not need a bug guard to protect my mouth.
There are balaclavas with skeleton faces and dripping zombie features printed on. Why this is needed is beyond my ken.
Or ones with just eye holes and an open bit for your mouth, leaving the wearer with a permanent look of surprise and menace. A woolly gimp mask....might scare the postman.
Then I found it.
Jings!
With special ear flaps for mobile phones.
Never mind that we don't get mobile phone reception here, you could just roar and shout but your head would be warm and you would hear everything.
No zombie features or gimp masks there, just thick scratchy wool and lugs.
Ban hoodies and issue these instead.
Urban troubles sorted.
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