Posie's blog

We are now offering beauty treatments of a particular kind on the farm....

2011-09-21T14:11:00.000+01:00

It appears we are now offering beauty treatments on the farm. Mist the sheepdog and Ruby the pup are both sporting beautifully shiny and glossy coats. After much pestering Mist finally gave in and decided to share her beauty secrets with Ruby....at least one egg a day apparently, but preferably more, and the fresher the better. Now I have been searching for Charlie's nest for a while, but could not locate those eggs anywhere. The other three 'ladies', Henrietta Eggberta, so beautifully named by youngest, and her pals, Joey and Frankie (yes youngest informed me when I questioned the origin of the names, that she loves the fact that you can use 'boys' names for girls) have all been laying away somewhere in the hedgerow.
Ruby the pup took the liberty of trying out her new found beauty treatment, and appeared the other day, not with a glossy shiny coat, but a sticky, gooey, egg covered coat, matted with the odd bit of egg shell here and there. Thankfully those eggs were fresh eggs, a must have tip from the sheep dog obviously, so we were at least not subjected to a week or so of rotten egg aromas in the farmhouse. Ruby has obviously realised her mistake and has not come home covered in egg again, but is laying egg shells all over the place when she relieves herself, and has been known to add a very particular scent to the farmhouse with the odd bit of wind in the evenings.
She did kindly lead me to one of the hen's nests, but being a trifle greedy she helped herself to all of the eggs, so the hen has taken her nest off elsewhere.

Meanwhile Charlie is not put up nor down by all of the fuss, in fact I rather suspect she positively encouraged those dogs, as she has now deserted Eggbert Henrietta, Joey and Frankie in the hen coop, and has taken to roosting in the dog kennel with Mist the sheepdog at night. However do not be fooled Charlie does not think she is a sheepdog, no that nutty hen is in training to be the happy farmer methinks, as every time he leaves the door open to his building work, Charlie is in there strutting about, clucking away expressing her approval of the new extension, inspecting the building works.
Horror of horrors, you don't think she thinks he is building her a new hen house do you???

Gobbled up by Sea Eagles....almost

2011-09-15T15:26:00.002+01:00

The morning started with a cat fight, literally. Spog, the cowboy, I mean cat, was standing guard in the middle of the single track road, I was alerted to his presence as I made my way over to the pottery in the sunshine. It was the high pitched yowls that did it, Spog positively strutting, prowling back and forth, circling, and looking ready to draw his gun at any moment. Suddenly Henrik appeared from nowhere, and darted across the road. Spog was like lightening on his tail, the air filled with the hissing, spitting and shrieking as Henrik cowered into the hedgerow and Spog stood over him, tail wagging, menacing eyes fixated. Of course I completely ruined the moment, venturing in, easing a very angry Spog out of the way with my foot, as I rescued Henrik and lifted him up over the dry stone dyke and into the garden. Spog was not impressed and spent over an hour prowling around the entrance to the farm, before finally giving in and arriving at the back door for some breakfast.

Youngest and I have taken to walking Ruby pup in the early evenings. We head across the field to join the path that leads to the tree swing and then onto Lilly Loch, where Ruby gets to dive into the cool waters after sticks.

Ruby is trying ever so hard not to chase those sheep, and is being discouraged by Meh Meh, the pet lamb, who now lives in the field with the other sheep. The happy farmer moved her and her wooden kennel into the field a few weeks ago. Meh Meh, joins the rest of the flock to graze during the day, but at night, or if the storm clouds gather, she can be found happily chewing the cud in her little kennel. This causes some entertainment for the children as she has grown rather a lot, and her huge belly and legs, hang out over the edges of the kennel as she continues to squeeze herself into her living quarters, a privileged sheep indeed. Meh Meh always makes a bee line for Ruby when she spies her, and refuses to be chased away by her, instead gently head butting Ruby if she gets over excited.

The other evening as we made our way through the field, youngest drew my attention to what seemed to be a large animal in the burn field. I couldn’t quite make out if it was a small roe deer sitting on its hind quarters, or a large group of hares all boxing. We walked slowly across the field and quickly made the shape out to be two very large eagles, sea eagles in fact. We stopped in awe, they were absolutely huge, one, on spying us, gracefully flew off and up into the air, however the other sat for seconds longer, and having read how a sea eagle attacked someone in Perthshire the other day, I did begin to wonder whether I shouldn’t turn and head back for the safety of the farmhouse. I really did not want to get gobbled up by one of these majestic animals, and I do tend to have an over active imagination, but just as my worries were bubbling up to the surface, the second sea eagle took flight, and joined its partner, we watched in awe as it soared off, high up above the hill, where it swooped and soared with its partner for quite some time, looking more like buzzards in the distance. Sea eagles have gradually been reintroduced to Scotland over the past few years, and I knew they were in the vicinity, so felt very privileged that they had chosen to swoop in on the farm, especially as they decided not to gobble me up in the process.

Until next time…..

Constantly tripping up.....

2011-09-01T17:07:00.000+01:00

We arrived home from the mainland to the usual chaos, children and luggage literally fell out of the jeep as we pulled into the farm yard. The race was on to release Ruby from the confines of her kennel, a squirming, wriggling black mass, wiggled her way among us panting happily, jumping up and clawing, her huge tongue hanging out as she attempted to leave slopperty kisses on one and all. Charlie hen came running, waddle running that is, across the yard from the flower beds which she had been helpfully 'grubbing' in.

Mist the sheepdog bounded across to join the welcome party and then as word got out that we were back those sleepy cats stretched and yawned before clambering from the tractor cab to find their way into the farmhouse kitchen for a saucer of milk and a bowl of food.

I struggled with the luggage from car to house, aware of an ever constant panting companion at my heel, a companion of the four legged variety, as Mist did the outside leg of the marathon and Ruby waited at the bottom of the stairs to take on the inside leg of the relay race. Charlie hen did her best to participate, and if the door was left open for a minute she could be found clucking around the farmhouse giving out those orders. It wasn't long before 'Meh Meh' the pet lamb had left the wooden home son has erected for her in a nearby field and joined in the welcome party, as we found ourselves constantly tripping over one animal or another.

The children of course abandoned the race fairly early on, in fact some did not compete at all, as televisions and computers were switched on and connections were resumed with cyberspace once more.

I have yet to decide which is more exhausting, or indeed more fun, leaving the farm for a few days, or arriving back home again. We were very fortunate as the happy chappy and the forester took charge of all of the animals in our absence, or vice versa, I haven't quite worked out which yet, and the holiday people duly arrived and got settled into their holidays in our absence.

The trip had been a difficult one, saying our goodbyes to a very dear and special friend, a friend who has on so many happy occasions smiled as she too was enveloped in love as the whole clan gathered to welcome her on her arrival at the farm.

Until next time......

Unattended baggage and the chain saw massacre...

2011-08-26T14:32:00.000+01:00

Life has been doing the unthinkable and getting badly in the way of blogging.....maybe that is a positive thing, but I am back. The summer months are flying by and the children are back at school already. Daily routines are being re-established, as we wave goodbye to all of the visitors and the sun shine dares to disappear behind the cloud and the evenings begin to once more draw in again.

The happy farmer continues his building project and is so near to completion now. Living in the farmhouse resembles a dentist's waiting room, not because it is neat, clean and tidy, far from it, but because my nerves are constantly on edge with the regular grinding of circular saws and drop saw. It reminds me of the chain saw massacre. I wince every time the drill roars to life, listening to the clanging of tools, the shouts of despair when things are not going accordingly, the deep sighs and the general reminder that it is no easy task. The saw has already claimed one finger, luckily not the happy farmer's, and certainly not a recent claim, but the memory of the happy potter feeding his finger to the jaws of that saw remain emblazoned on my mind.

As I drove youngest out of the farmyard and onto the single track road today to make the journey to school I could hardly miss the flattened tin of silver paint that had spewed its contents out across the road, and the discarded rucksack lying abandoned at the side of the road. I tried to get my head round the clues that had been left challenging me on the road ahead as we continued our journey. A walker, leaving the rucksack while he stops to get a perfect photo of the Paps, or to relieve himself behind the hedge. The walker then became a protester, rucksack on back, large can of silver paint in hand, ready to join the march, the words never leave baggage unattended rang out in my ears, as youngest left me at the school gates. On the journey home then my head was filled with thoughts of terrorism, bombs and protesters as I gingerly drove over the paint and past the abandoned ruck sack once more.

Of course the happy farmer had a much simpler explanation, work men heading to the morning ferry, in a rush, back door of van not closed properly and rucksack and paint fell out onto road. A five minute drive to catch the mainland ferry before it left our shores and the happy farmer's suspicions were confirmed. One happy workman grinned as he made his way along the ramp off the ferry boat to retrieve his rucksack out of our jeep, safe in the knowledge that his dirty linen would not be laid out in public but would accompany him home to the mainland.
Until next time.....

What's in a language......

2011-06-21T10:56:00.000+01:00

Exams over, and I have decided it is far more stressful to be the parent of a child sitting exams, than the candidate, especially when said offspring have thankfully inherited the completely laid back attitude to life their father the happy farmer has. This year my stress levels doubled as I had two teenagers putting me through my paces with their exams. I appeared to be the only one who suffered from exam stress in this house, which is a good thing, except when one teenager gets exam times totally wrong and is on the bus instead of in the actual exam. Lots of motherly flapping and the issue was soon sorted and said child was thankfully unfazed and sat the exam quite confidently, unlike mother who was a quivering heap of jelly on the floor at home. Other teenager then announces they have just realised they copied their candidate number down incorrectly on all exam papers and only realised their mistake when they could not log into their details on SQA website…more jelly wobbles and panicking, until I am reassured this is not going to affect the paper or mark. So finally the exams are over and I can pack my bag of nerves away for another year having endured lots of teasing from my laid back eldest two, who really could not work out what all of my fussing was about.

The laid back attitude continues when eldest daughter drops into the conversation as an aside remark that she has won the school’s award for Gaelic this session and will be presented with a £50.00 book token at the forthcoming awards ceremony. Truly proud mum is immediately texting nearest and dearest to spread the happy news, while eldest daughter is completely unfazed. It is a real asset that when success knocks at her door, she takes it in her stride. Her real sense of pleasure and success is not awarded by other people or how others perceive her; it comes from deep within, from a journey through her own talents and ability.

Eldest was only 7 when she decided she wanted to learn more Gaelic, having been immersed in the Gaelic culture by her Seanmhair and Seanair ( the happy farmer’s parents) who conversed in their mother tongue to my youngsters. For years she sat in the evenings with a local Gaelic tutor learning to converse in a language which inspired her. This year, not having studied Gaelic at school for a number of years, she opted to study Gaelic and sat her Higher Gaelic exam. In April I was invited to a conference at the local Gaelic college where there were children from across the island showcasing their Gaelic studies, youngsters of all ages, singing, performing and giving speeches in Gaelic. I watched with huge pride as my eldest daughter took to the stage with her peers, in front of the large assembled crowd, and gave a fluent presentation in Gaelic. It is quite something to see your own child converse comfortably in a language you know only a few garbled phrases in, and for me it was especially poignant as both her Seanair and Seanmhair have now passed on, but their mother tongue is living on through the future generations. They would have been so proud to see their granddaughter take to the platform, to know that their Gaelic heritage is being nurtured, preserved and is passing on to the younger generations. A language that is so vitally important, because locked up in the language is the humour, dialect, idioms and culture of generations of islanders, it is a language that for many years was persecuted, has struggled at times to survive and in recent years it has strengthened, and is today embedded in the present and the future of the island. My daughter now holds the key to her own island roots and heritage and for that I incredibly grateful and extremely proud.

Gle math agus slainte! (Well done and good luck).

Until next time…

Flying away in a hammock.....

2011-06-17T10:19:00.000+01:00

The weekend saw a gathering of teenagers and slightly older teenagers, invariably in their 50s, although Farmer T possibly 60s, as they gathered in the old byre to celebrate eldest daughter’s 16^th birthday.

Preparations for the day had been conducted in top secret as I had been warned that under no circumstances were there to be any balloons, decorations and fuss, just a small gathering of her friends. As she sat her final exam I enlisted the help of the younger two to help transform the byre, complete with streamers, and of course balloons.

As I traipsed between byre and farmhouse with goodies the line of helpers seemed to be ever increasing. First it was just me and the children, and then the dogs began to follow our steady stream back and forth, between farmhouse and byre. Charlie hen then joined the line, waddling closely behind her pal Mist the sheepdog, much to Mist’s annoyance. Finally it all got a bit too taxing when I found myself tripping over Sherbet the pet lamb too, constantly under my feet, bleating away, faithfully following backwards and forwards, until I could persuade youngest to go and mix a bottle of lamb’s milk and put her back in her pen.

The BBQ and party went well, teenagers tripping back and forth, happy farmer and Farmer T in charge of cooking and drinks, girlies sat in sunshine giggling away, and as the evening wore on, and the sun disappeared, fading below the horizon, we retired into the byre, to the disco lights and music. At some unearthly hour I made it back to the farmhouse where various bodies were sleeping in various corners, movies playing in one room with popcorn, lights out and snoring from another. The following day they all headed off to the beach for an afternoon of sunbathing and swimming. Oh to be 16 again.

Finally in the early hours of Sunday evening the happy farmer and I got to relax in the garden hammocks. We were joined a while later by the happy chappy and his brother. As I went to get drinks I suggested the happy chappy relaxed in a hammock, slightly cautious he remarked that he had not ventured into a hammock before, and would not know how to position himself without toppling off. Full of the joys of the hammocks I carefully advised him to place his bottom in the middle of the hammock and swing his legs across. Being ever so over zealous in following my good advice his backside missed the middle as he flung himself right over the edge of the hammock, flying backwards through the air, and landing upside down, legs splayed and hammock landing on top of him, and hardly a drop of his cider spilt, I was most impressed.

Until next time….

Nourishment comes from ripped carpets and body cream.....

2011-06-07T15:17:00.000+01:00

The blog, like my flower beds, has been suffering from serious neglect. Weeds have taken over, as the flowers have been burnt and battered by the May gales. The weather has been challenging and not what you would expect for the time of year. The island’s whisky festival was wild and windy and the whisky club that took over our holiday accommodation took over the farmhouse kitchen as well, as we all mucked in together to cook by candle light on the oil fired Rayburn as the harsh weather led to lengthy periods without power.

The farm house has been neglected too. The building project has taken over. It has been something of a mammoth undertaking, borne out of the necessity to diversify, to survive. The happy farmer decided several years ago to renovate the old farm steadings and transform what were ruins into comfortable living spaces once more. The old Millhouse and the original farmhouse into holiday homes which we let, and now, where the horses were once stabled, we will have more living space and further holiday accommodation. The old boiler house and what was once the stable for the Clydesdale, now houses a ceramic café. It is an undertaking which brings the farmer a lot of satisfaction as he rebuilds and renovates the old buildings where his great uncles and grandparents lived before him. He has worked his fingers to the bone, taking on all the elements of the building project himself, in between farming, from the brick work and slating, through to the plastering and plumbing, no mean feat when you are one man building alone. The latest part of his project is very nearly there.

Meantime the animals that share our living space are adding suggestions to the building and housing projects themselves. Ruby, the pup, has decided to helpfully join the farmer's wife in her quest, after several years of nagging, to convince the happy farmer that new carpet is required not just in the extension but in the existing farmhouse too.The pup has taken it upon herself to rip out the old worn dining room carpet,a project which has taken her a few weeks, but which is gaining momentum, with victory in sight when the happy farmer was overheard quipping that once the pup has got through her chewing phase new carpets are a must…yes yes yes smiled the farmer's wife, at last!! The happy farmer’s wife was most impressed to see the resident cats have now joined in her 'build a conservatory' campaign. The happy farmer gave an amused groan when he saw that his tractor cab has been invaded by cats sprawling out in the glass cab, three at once, all lounging around waiting for the day they have a conservatory to laze about in.

Comfort arrived in the shape of the most luxurious package last week, a gift from Ila spa, via Jane’s blog. A jar of the most silky soft, nourishing body cream, it is truly the most gorgeous cream I have ever come across and it arrived at a time when the weather was dismal and I felt as if the house was falling down around me with all of the building work. The cream has a soft, velvety texture with the light scent of fresh roses, which nurtures the skin long after application. It is a very soothing, relaxing cream, made from natural ingredients and has been a huge boost, "Central to Ila's healing potential is the higher energy or vibration present in its products. Each ingredient is chosen for its spiritual attributes as well as its physical and emotional benefit: ",

thank you so much to both Ila and Jane, it was very much appreciated.

www.ila-spa.com

Until next time.....

Ruby the Tiger leaps into action.....

2011-05-18T10:55:00.002+01:00

I have found the perfect solution to getting teenage son up and out of bed in the morning. ‘Ruby the Tiger springs into action’.

Ruby gets up bright and early and ventures out of her kennel and into the farmhouse for an hour or so each morning where she takes delight in winding up youngest before school. Her antics involve a predictable routine of running off with the school shoes and hiding them, trying desperately to share breakfast with her, and if all else fails, pulling the pony tail out of youngest’s hair with those ever snapping little jaws of hers.

The girls packed off to school, the happy farmer and I went in search of Charlie hen’s nest. Feathers all rumpled Charlie flew onto the arm of the bench this morning and proceeded to squawk at high volume to announce to all and sundry the arrival of a new egg. I still am at a loss as to why hens like to alert everyone to the fact that they have just laid an egg; surely it cannot be a good thing when predators, such as Mist the sheep dog, are lurking close by. Anyhow her distress signals were a most welcome sound to us as sure enough we found, neatly stored in a snug nest of long grass behind the vegetable propagator, a nest of twenty or so eggs all waiting to be mixed into the next batch of fresh baking for the pottery tea room.

Not wanting to advertise Charlie’s nest to the pup, Ruby was left in the farmhouse to her own devices whilst we were retrieving our ‘treasures’. Teenage son, who is on study leave just now, was deep in the land of slumber when he was awoken by the howling and yowling of an anxious pup, who thought she had been left home alone. Now teenagers can be pretty grumpy when awoken abruptly like this and a quick bark of ‘RUBY’, hailed from the depths of his ‘pit’, I mean bedroom, alerted one excited pup to the fact that she was not alone at all. She bounded up those stairs like a tornado, sprang at a rate of knots through the door, leapt several feet through the air, and landed with a clumsy splat on top of teenage son. Here she proceeded to cover his face in huge ‘slurpy’ big licks. Son was up, out of bed, and downstairs in an instant, with one smiling pair of jaws, belonging to a certain pup, clamped firmly to the leg of his jeans .

Luckily Ruby hadn’t been for her walk through sheep poo field this morning.

Until next time….

'Sheep Poo Field'

2011-05-17T12:32:00.000+01:00

Ruby is settling in well to life on the farm.

She seemed to have read the puppy manual from cover to cover before her arrival and until yesterday she had been the ‘almost’ perfect pup. Of course I may be ever so slightly biased here and have had my rose tinted specs firmly pegged on the end of my nose, naturally, but she has been doing really well.

I decided the other day to introduce Ruby to her lead and take her on the short walk to school, doing my ‘bag lady’ duty, as I carried all the school paraphernalia for youngest as she cycled off into the distance.

Ruby was the picture of perfection. She walked beautifully to heel, head proud and tail in the air. No pulling, no hindering, she kept perfect pace, and just snuggled in tightly to my heel as the ferry traffic hurtled past. School bag and packed lunch delivered I decided to walk Ruby back through the happy farmer’s field to introduce her to the sheep and lambs and let her have a run off the lead.

As she scrabbled through the gate you could actually see a huge grin spread across her chops, so excited was she by the contents of that field. She did not however even blink at the sheep, appeared not even to have noticed them. No, from the moment she entered that field her nose was glued firmly to the grass as she ‘hoovered’ up every piece of sheep poo she could manage to get between her jaws. It was a case of so much poo and so little time, as I shouted, she shovelled and rolled, delighting in the smelly fragrance, covering herself as thickly as possible in the gooey poo. So engrossed was she, that when she came nose to nose with a sleeping lamb it took her completely by surprise and she bolted in the opposite direction. The lamb jumped up and joined in the game, chasing after Ruby, bleating away. The lamb’s mother was not too impressed and began stamping the ground in a threatening manner, calling to the lamb, and the next thing I knew Ruby and I were both being chased by one lamb and a very angry sheep.

The happy farmer was highly entertained to see his wife and her dog getting chased across the field by a sheep and a lamb. Being a farmer's wife, I get it wrong every time when it comes to anything to do with farm animals, from bulls, cows, piglets, sheep and now lambs, I have been chased by them all. One of these days I will learn not to run, and one of these days Ruby will learn not to roll in and eat sheep poo….maybe.

Until next time…

The happy farmer's wife turned into an egg....

2011-05-10T11:47:00.000+01:00

The blog has been getting neglected.

Ruby has sprouted.

The extension is now complete upstairs and the final hurdles downstairs are being ‘jumped’. The happy farmer has spent many hours loosening and easing huge boulders from their resting place of several hundred years, in order to make an opening between our existing kitchen and the extension into the old stables. It is heavy duty, hard manual labour and he has succeeded in making a right mess of my kitchen in the process and I have succeeded in biting my tongue (not an easy task when everything has been covered in thick dust and my nest has become completely unsettled).

Visitors have come and gone during the process, easing the pain, with plenty of giggles and sociable evenings along the way, and adding to the guddle and the muddle that goes with the chaos of a nearly finished building project and a kitchen full of endless mouths to feed. The cooking was taken out of my hands and I was thoroughly spoilt.

Lambs popped out on an hourly basis in the fields and the happy farmer managed to squeeze in the lambing rounds in between building houses. The lambing team grew on a daily basis, and the trailer behind the quad bike was soon squashed full of children. The happy farmer was highly entertained at the youngsters’ attitude when the trailer was needed on an SOS mission to transport a sheep and her newly born offspring home to the barn and the young clan were told they would need to use an alternative method of transport to get themselves home, i.e. their legs. They were not a happy bunch, but a few fields later and they were all smiles by the time they reached the farmhouse kitchen.

The new pottery shop and tea room opened in the old byre and the happy farmer’s wife got caught up in loading kilns and serving cake stands oozing with home baking and freshly cut sandwiches to the visitors.

Marmite, the Highland heifer, continues her frequent visits to the local distillery village touting for business, and has even made special roadside appearances for the passing tourists’ cameras. She is hoping to attract more customers for the happy farmer’s wife.

Meantime the happy farmer’s wife turned into an egg….for Easter.

Until next time....

Marmite the Highland cow and her love of a good whisky.....

2011-04-01T17:30:00.000+01:00

Marmite, our cheeky Highland cow, has taken it upon herself to be a very sociable lady of late.

The other morning we got woken from our slumbers by the telephone ringing. To the happy farmer‘s delight Marmite was in the middle of the roundabout at Caol ila. Now before you get too concerned Caol ila’s roundabout, is not a busy roundabout, there really is not any traffic to speak of, it was built a few years back for the tankers, which carry waste from the distilleries, to park and then turn, as they dispose of the waste which gets piped from there out to sea. Marmite was trimming the roundabout when the happy farmer found her and sweet talked her into going back to her field.

Last night Marmite took it upon herself to once again hoppity skippety jump over the fence before skippety skipping over the cattle grid which leads into the village of Caol ila. I rather suspect she was on a visit to the distillery there. Word must have got out that they were interviewing tour guides for the summer season at the distillery yesterday; either that or she was after a nip of malt whisky for a night cap. She did not however quite make it as far as the distillery this time; she got distracted, spying the juicy grass on the village green. Caol ila is such a picturesque village, and Marmite took it upon herself to trim the village green for the happy residents, hoping to impress the distillery manager, who was looking for seasonal workers. Luckily for the happy farmer his outlaws, I mean in laws, reside in Caol ila, so a quick phone call, to inform him that Marmite was visiting the relations, and the happy farmer sped off to gather her up and take her home again.

Marmite was a bit perturbed to see the happy farmer, and flatly refused to be chased back up the hill, no the bold girl, chased round and round in a circle, before taking off through the woods and hoppety skipping back over a nearer fence, she does like to help the happy farmer with his keep fit regime!

Until next time…..

'Gnasher the crocodile'

2011-03-22T12:05:00.000Z

'Gnasher the crocodile', I mean Ruby the pup, is settling down well into life on the farm, judging by the way she licked and slurped all over Spog, one of the farm cats, as he made his way reluctantly past her and into the kitchen this morning. She is keen to befriend every thing that moves, and carries everything that doesn’t move around with her, that is if she can fit it between her tiny jaws. This morning saw her wobbling and tumbling her way down the stairs with an ever so large slipper clamped between those jaws, each time the slipper hit a step Ruby was blinded by fluff, thus making her journey precarious and challenging and ever so funny if you happened to be waiting at the bottom of the stairs to retrieve the slipper.

My days seem to be filled with endless feeding rounds just now. 'Gnasher', I mean Ruby has five small meals a day, and then there are the cats to feed, the other dogs, the hens and the children. The biggest task I face is convincing Ruby that all of the food on the farm is not for her stomach. She cannot understand why the cats are on hunger strike, the happy farmer has even replaced the sack of economy cat food with a sack he brought from the vet the other day; however those spoilt moggies are now turning their noses up at the non economical food too, whereas Ruby thinks the cat bowl belongs to her. I even caught her trying to get up on the kitchen table yesterday, and am in no doubt she was intent on a plate clearing mission having spied the children’s leftovers . Ground rules need to be established quickly with the ‘walking stomach’ here. The farmhouse is suddenly going to become super tidy and efficient and all in the name of keeping Ruby’s ‘gnashers’ firmly away from anything but her bowl!

The walking stomach doesn't just stop at Ruby either, yesterday I discovered that Mist, the sheepdog, had taken it upon herself to empty Charlie the hen’s nest of a dozen or so eggs and eat them all up. I had left a puckle of eggs on the nest to see if Charlie would become broody, Mist must also have spied them and then stolen them, payment probably for the fact that Charlie and the chicks have been strutting into her kennel bold as brass and helping themselves to her kitchen scraps. Poor Mist is ever so slightly wary of those hens, so she watches, drooling, as the hens tuck into her goodies. Today Mist helped her ever so greedy self to a whole nest of eggs.

The challenges of yesterday began early in the morning, when as I made my way out of the door armed with bin bags on the ‘joyful’ domestic duty of bin emptying, I was confronted by a large frolicking, bouncy Highland cow, bounding across the lawn towards me. I am not sure who got more of a fright, but I made a very hasty retreat into the farmhouse. Marmite, not content with the bale of silage the farmer had left out for her in the field, had taken it upon herself to mow the front garden again, guzzling away greedily. Safely indoors, I sent out an immediate mayday call to the happy farmer, one football was lobbed across the grass and one Highland cow took off at speed across the farmyard. Once the coast was clear I made my way out across the farm yard to the bins only to find one bemused and harassed happy farmer. Marmite had fled at speed but only as far as the tractor where she could be caught peeping out waiting for the coast to clear so the lawn munching could begin again in earnest.

Until next time…

The happy farmer has issues...

2011-03-18T12:52:00.000Z

The happy farmer has issues.

Trouble arrived in the form of a flat coated retriever pup, a quite demanding little bundle; she strutted into the farmhouse on Monday night and instantly began to lay down her ground rules, which seem to differ ever so slightly from our ground rules so battle has begun. After several sleepless nights listening to her demanding company throughout the night, yes none of this whimpering and whining, more of a full on constant yap of a bark, her sleeping quarters have been moved, she now resides in the nearly completed farmhouse extension during the twilight hours. The sitting room rug has become a playground, coal and pieces of wood have been retrieved from the log pile at the fireside, to be chewed and strewn across the floor. Boots, shoes and slippers are no longer safe, and the pile of school bags that habitually get dumped at the front door are now in imminent danger, as are all of the pieces of clothing lying strewn across teenage bedroom floors, just as soon as she can manage to tackle climbing the ever so large and challenging staircase.

The cats’ noses are out of joint, they have made it quite clear that in no uncertain terms are they wishing to entertain a small puppy and now glower from high places as the pup wriggles around like a little eel, chomping and chewing at anything that crosses her path. Just when the feline members of the clan thought it couldn’t get any worse, the happy farmer took it upon himself to invest in a large sack of economy cat food. It really is proving economic as the cats hover around their dishes turning their noses up at the happy farmer’s offerings.

Several days on and the pup has made her presence known and she is a very welcome new addition to the family, everyone remembers our last flat coat, who sadly dies a few years back at a very good age. It took a few evenings to come up with a name for the pup, and after much discussion may I introduce Miss Ruby Maisie Milly Molly Irn Bru Cocoa cola Shadow Sparky Black Bottle Josie Marjorie, Jetta, Dusty, Vali Smuts….known for short as Ruby…

Until next time….

My Meaty Beefy Big and Bouncy jogging partner...a Limousin Bull

2011-03-10T10:41:00.000Z

Whenever the happy farmer exits to the mainland I seem to get flung in at the deep end on the farm and you can guarantee that is the time when everything seems to go a little bit pear-shaped.

I set off across the fields for a run with the sheepdog, having packed the children off to school at some unearthly hour. I was happily jogging along, lost in my thoughts, the rain very refreshing and the rich vibrant colours of the landscape good for the soul, when I was abruptly brought back into the moment as I was confronted by a very large jogging partner of ginormous proportions, just over the other side of a very small dry stone dyke from me. A stocky Limousin bull was travelling alongside on the single track road going at a fair pace, obviously enjoying his freedom, as he had an excited and threatening bounce to his jogging step. Panic took over, I quickly turned, and fled, the jog becoming a sprint any long distance runner would be proud of, back down the slope and out of sight. Fumbling wildly in my pockets I found my mobile phone and sent an instant distress signal to the happy farmer on the mainland. A few seconds later and my jogging partner was identified as one bull belonging to Farmer T.

The advice given in response to my SOS message was to run back to the farmhouse, whilst being careful to avoid said bull. I took off at some pace, scaling a barbed wire fence and heading into the bracken, a bit of a big diversion, but I did not want to draw attention to myself or the sheepdog, which for some reason was pinned to my heel. Trying to sprint through bracken is quite a skilful technique, one I haven’t quite mastered yet. I could no longer see my jogging partner but as my feet kept getting tangled in the roots of the bracken I suddenly realised that the field gate I would be heading for was open, and said bull could well be making his way into the field to confront me, or at the very least our paths could cross as I had to venture across the single track road he was bounding along, to access the farmhouse.

I sensibly decided to abandon the happy farmer’s advice, after all he really could not appreciate the extreme danger I was facing, indeed he did not seem to understand what all of the fuss was about, but had dutifully promised to contact Farmer T to get him to come and claim back his prized animal. I meanwhile abandoned the field of bracken and re traced my steps heading in the opposite direction to the bull, and raced through the fields to my parents’ cottage, darting across streams and hillocks, trying to keep my balance and maintain an athlete’s pace as I avoided the track, just in case my jogging partner had decided to follow suit, cursing the country way of life as I went, wishing I was back in the concrete jungle and safety of the city.

I arrived, a sweaty, heaving blob, having abandoned the sheepdog, somewhere in the fields, to fend alone against any impending dangers.

I was greeted with a cup of coffee and a chance to regain my composure, before I headed home, having borrowed my parents’ car. I cautiously drove back up the single track road to the farmhouse hoping I was not going to have a collision with my jogging partner.

All seemed quiet. There was no sign of the bull as I ran like lightening from car to house. I ran up the stairs to get an aerial view of the farm to see if I could spy either the missing sheepdog, or the trespassing bull. No sign of the sheepdog, but to my horror, beside the trampoline, in the back garden, at a happy standstill was the bull, grazing away contentedly. Another mercy call to the happy farmer, now in a mainland city away from the perils of the country, and I was reassured that Farmer T was in fact on his way to rescue the bull from the terrorised farmer’s wife so country life could return to some kind of peace and tranquillity.

I gingerly made my way across to the cottages to warn our guests that there was a bull on the loose and that they should keep their youngsters indoors until Farmer T and his ‘pest control’ lorry had been. The cottage people informed me that they had had an entertaining morning. They relayed the joys of country living to me and remarked how lovely it had been to wake up to the sight of what they had considered to be a pet bull in our front garden first thing in the morning, munching away on the grass, and where else in the world would you wake up to such a sight. Good job I had been blissfully unaware of that as my teenagers made their way out across the farm yard to the school bus first thing then.

Sometime later, the rescue party arrived in the form of a big float, transportation for the enemy, and Farmer T with a bucket of food. The bull of course followed Farmer T into that float like a pet dog, far better behaved than missing sheepdog, and was duly transported away back to Farmer T’s pastures.

When the rain clouds gave way to sunshine later on, I was out and about again, in the happy farmers ever so big wellingtons, waterproof trousers held up by ‘hoicking’ the elastic over my shoulder, feeding hens and chasing the sheepdog back to barracks, and once again country life seemed more appealing. The happy farmer was not off the hook though, as the children and I made our way to the village store for sweets, there was a cow, on a neighbouring farm, lying at a funny angle with a calf half born, obviously in some discomfort. I stopped myself from clambering over the fence to give her a hand, as if I could, instead I sent another mayday signal to the happy farmer on the mainland who gave a call a farmer to go to the ‘poor cow’s’ rescue….you never do fully escape your work….

Luckily a mobile phone allows the happy farmer to jump regularly to his poor cow’s rescue!!

Until next time…

Celebrations

2011-03-08T13:25:00.001Z

Spring is teasing, the daffodils are opening along the road, the crocus and snowdrops are in full bloom. It is however raining and snow is forecast, just when you dare to dream of summer time. Nothing can dampen our spirits though, or take away from the sense of relief and delight that our primary school is no longer on any closure lists.

The day after we received the notification youngest handed me a letter saying I was to attend the school the following afternoon as they had important information to share. When I asked what it was about she shrugged her shoulders and feigned ignorance. As she got out of the car the following morning a little smile spread across her face, "don’t forget you’ve to be in school this afternoon".

I duly turned up at the school after lunch and was met by two pupils who ushered me into a classroom along with a gathering of other parents. We sat intrigued before we were called into the hall. There, lots of smiling faces beamed up at us from behind tables neatly laid with juice and trays of home baking, and the words ‘Surprise’ sang out as we entered the room. Some of the pupils had been busy baking at their cookery club and a celebratory tea party had been arranged. Youngest had of course known all along. Two of the older pupils stood up, welcomed us to the tea party and said very simply ‘we wanted to say a big thank you, we couldn’t have done it without you’, and do you know I don’t think there was a dry eye among the parents, because it was so heartfelt by everyone in the room. The teamwork of the last couple of months has served to strengthen us as a community and make us appreciate the most important things we have, our happy, healthy young people.

Until next time….

Our fantastic school at the heart of our community....

2011-02-26T16:23:00.001Z

We have been through a tough time as a community in recent months our treasured primary school appeared on the council’s proposed list of school closures and was put forward to go through a consultation process with the possible closure planned to happen in October this year.

As parents we were thrown into turmoil, to see little ones in tears at night about the thought of losing their school, wondering how the staff would manage to carry on with Christmas pantomimes and planned school trips, when the future lay ahead of them in an uncertain light, daring to imagine the worst scenario and how it would impact on our children’s education and on our community, which has seen a gradual erosion of facilities over the past few years.

At our primary school, the children, encouraged and led by the staff, have taken ownership of their school and its surroundings. Having set targets, they enlisted the help of parents, members of the local community and local businesses and we soon found ourselves involved in their planned days of action. The children worked with the community painting, digging, fencing, planting and of course enjoying refreshments, and the grounds were developed into a large, welcoming space for imaginary play, complete with a recycled Wendy house and a climbing wall. An active learning area was created, with raised beds, where the children now grow their own produce, developing and learning about the mini eco system surrounding their raised beds, a gardening club is run by a local couple, who have a fantastic horticultural knowledge. One poly tunnel got demolished by the strong gales; a sturdier model lies in the shed awaiting the go ahead to be constructed. A nature area encourages wildlife and many species of birds to visit our school. The children have made bird feeders, with the help of visiting specialists from the RSPB; nesting boxes have been erected with cameras inside so the children can watch, from their laptops, as nesting inhabitants nurture their young.

Across the road from the school grounds there is a path leading to woodland and a nature trail leading past several Lochs. The children regularly go on nature walks. In the late summer they collect brambles, returning to school to weigh them, the pre fives bake scones, P1-4 bake bread and P5-7 make the bramble jelly, and then having completed their sums around this project, and having learnt about the related health and hygiene of food preparation, the whole school have a huge feast from their pickings and labours, leaving school with healthy happy smiling faces.

As parents we are regularly invited to workshops with our children, to participate in their learning, as they guide us through presentations and scenarios on topics such as first aid and healthy living. Many of the fathers are on the RNLI crew; one father is the coxswain. The close proximity of the school to the lifeboat station means these dads are able to participate fully in their children’s education, carrying their pagers with them, they attend assemblies and workshops, safe in the knowledge they can be at the life boat in a moment’s notice.

We are incredibly fortunate; we have a strong and committed leader, an enthusiastic and dedicated staff, our school building is in a very good condition. Our HMIe report was glowing; the Child Care Commission inspection led to the school gaining two excellent marks, Gaelic is taught to every year group. The school has exceeded targets set in reading, writing and maths. The smaller school roll means that our children get valued one to one time with their teachers, that they are part of a strong community where they mix freely across the age ranges, the older ones looking out for the younger members. Each child has their own learning log, in which they share their success and achievements, note the areas they wish to work on and list their next steps. The school is an achieving school, in so many ways.

Why then, when they have something so right could the council consider closing this school down?

Over the past few weeks we have had visits from various councillors and an MP.

On Thursday we got the wonderful news that Keills primary school has been removed from the list of proposed school closures….

Until next time….

Treading on egg shells....ever so quietly

2011-02-08T16:08:00.000Z

I was walking on egg shells this morning. The sun was splitting the skies and we woke to a field full of barnacle geese grazing away. The happy farmer was delighted, as in the winter months ‘goose counters’ travel around the island in a land rover counting the geese in the fields on the various farms.

Today the goose counters were coming our way, and the geese were actually present and correct for once, finally timing their visit to coincide with the goose counters’ visit. The counters call by most weeks. However the geese seem to have this well sussed and appear to take great delight in playing a game of hide and seek with those counters, much to the frustration of the happy farmer. They fly in, a huge black cloud of them, circling in the skies, before swooping down to land in the fields, and always when there are no counters to be seen. They seem to time their tasty bite to perfection, always flying away well before the counters’ land rover cruises up the single track road, or at times choosing not even to make an appearance on the day the goose count is due. In fact those geese seem to have a positive aversion to the goose counters, or so it seems on our farm, and yet those geese hardly bat a wing when I run past through the fields.

I was warned by the happy farmer not to make any noise that might disturb our welcome guests as I left to take youngest to school. I duly opened and closed the front door with great care and warned youngest to be really quiet as we made our way to the jeep. Door quietly closed we crept along the front of the house when suddenly the air was filled with loud squawking and cackling and the din of flapping wings as hundreds of geese flew up from the field and into the sky just as we got ever so quietly into the jeep. Youngest and I looked at one another, me in horror, her with a huge grin on her face. We need not have worried though, those geese were just teasing, merely stretching their wings, as they flew up into the sky, gabbling away, before sauntering ever so gracefully back down into the field once again. I quickly drove off to the school, and on my return the geese were still in place, thank goodness and not too much later the land rover made its way up the single track road and I could at last relax knowing those geese had been counted and were all present and correct, exactly where they were meant to be for the goose counters’ visit.

Until next time....

A lodger at the back door...

2011-02-05T13:47:00.001Z

We have had a very bedraggled lodger camped at the French windows throughout the day, looking extremely sorry for herself. Charlie hen is moulting. She is beginning to look positively bald. Her feathers are falling out everywhere. The dog kennel resembles a war zone. Feathers litter the floor there, but don’t be deceived, the bold hen took it upon herself, when the weather got wild, to take refuge in the dog kennel snuggling up behind Mist the pup. Often Mist can be seen, a scowl on those chops, tucked up outside in the pouring rain such is her disdain at her new kennel mate.

Charlie has stopped laying eggs just now, but why she chooses to come off the lay and lose all of her feathers when the weather is so harsh and cold is beyond me. Usually you would see her surrounded in her feather duvet, as she fluffs the feathers all up around herself to keep warm in the rain and gales. Just now though her feathers are scant and she has huge bare patches where new feathers are beginning to grow. She looks so uncomfortable and itchy as she continually pecks at the old feathers. She isn’t endearing herself to the happy farmer either, he is less than impressed with all of the ‘parcels’ she deposits at the back door as she refuses to go foraging just now, preferring to wait for scraps from the children as she huddles into the door frame. I can’t say I blame her either and Mist seems to have joined her lately as well. The two of them sit, poised, with noses and beaks pressed firmly against the French windows, come rain hail or shine, as they watch the various comings and goings in the farm house kitchen.

Charlie did manage to keep laying an egg a day throughout December and for most of January. Even in the snow and ice we still found frozen eggs. Mist the pup has been enjoying Charlie’s eggs as well. I saw her carefully checking the nest when she thought we weren’t watching, pretending to have a pee nearby, before sneaking a quick peek into the roll of fencing wire Charlie was using as a nest. Mist only took an odd egg though, so we can cope with that, so long as she doesn’t get too greedy when Charlie comes back on the lay. No wonder Mist is so enthralled with her feathered pal.

Until next time….

A 'Deer' Old Time....

2011-01-31T11:21:00.000Z

It was a case of a mad dash round the farm house, flinging PJs into an overnight bag and dishing out instructions, as the younger family members grabbed a quick bite, before quickly changing from school uniforms into the appropriate attire for a Burn’s supper. Finally all loaded into the jeep; we hurtled off down the brae to catch the last ferry across the Sound to the Isle of Jura, grabbing our resident American whisky journalist along the way.

The ferry berthed under the glare of an orange spot light, into the tiny deserted port of Feolin, and we were transported into another world. As we began to make our way along the meandering single track road, enveloped in complete darkness, we were confronted with some twenty deer or so, the car headlights picking out their eyes and the faint silhouettes of the stags’ antlers. It gradually became a case of dodge the deer, as at various points along the way a hind or a stag would jump out in front of the jeep, as they made their way down off the slopes and onto the beach in search of a healthy bite of seaweed.

We reached Craighouse, jeep still intact thankfully, in spite of a few near misses. Luggage was unpacked into the hotel and then after a swift ‘half’ at the bar we headed for the village hall, a bustling hive of activity. Tables laid, accordion and fiddles playing, and tartan throws adorning a picture of The Bard, Robbie Burns. We were ushered to the top table as the ‘kilted clad’ happy farmer had the honour of ‘toasting the lassies’. Following a welcome from the chairman, the haggis was piped in and duly attacked with a knife, before grace was said and the feast of haggis, neeps and tatties began. I needn’t have worried feeding the younger ones; they happily cleared their bowls of soup and discovered that haggis was quite tasty after all. More words from the chairman followed, and then a recital of the ‘Immortal Memory’, before the happy farmer stood up to do his bit, and so the evening proceeded, a haze of toasts, speeches, piping, singing, and recitations, the ceilidh was in full swing and youngest was completely flaking, happy, but tired. We scooped her up in my coat and the happy farmer gave her a piggy back to the hotel where she was tucked up in bed with a book and some supper.

The happy farmer left us to return to the hall, which was by now in full swing with the ceilidh band playing, tables cleared and partners grabbed for the ‘Gay Gordon’s, the Scottish country dancing began in earnest.

Son arrived back sometime after midnight, daughter, in the wee small hours, but the happy farmer didn’t get in until around 5.00am. I have completely given up on waiting for him to grow up and act his age, I think he is rightly choosing to grow old disgracefully. As one of the points in his speech went, ‘Women are frustrating creatures, the age old question they ask after you have had a night out

‘What time did you get in last night’, your truthful response, ‘the back of midnight’, ‘No it wasn’t, it was 2.33am’…….why did they bother asking the question to begin with?’

A hearty breakfast at the hotel and we were soon home on the farm. The happy farmer was out greeting the animals, stood at their various posts, the highland cows, bellowing away by the fence. The hens, having flown from the coop, were waddling through the field, slipping through the gate, and making a hasty dash towards the farmhouse. The tupps, with their throaty bellows, stood by the troughs. The happy farmer was delighted to see he was most successful in the latest round of his continuing battle with his errant teenager, Marmite the lawn mower, having barricaded in the damson bushes, ever resourceful with his old tractor and a wooden pallet…

Until next time…..

Marmite the lawn mower....

2011-01-22T17:29:00.001Z

I looked out of the window to see Marmite the lawn mower busy at work, trimming the grass in the front garden. Who needs their grass cut in January you may well ask, but then you see Marmite is very particular, and will go to great lengths to make sure our garden is kept well clipped.

Marmite is one of the happy farmer’s group of girls, one of the four legged variety, a resident Highland heifer, who simply cannot resist a tasty bite, especially at this time of year. Keeping a close eye on her mother, Treacle, she too has mastered the art of pirouetting over the cattle grid on a daily basis in search of tastier delights than the ones on offer in her home pastures. Every morning mother and daughter follow their well practised routine of skipping daintily over the grid which is there to deter the cattle from sauntering onto the single track road.

It doesn’t get better than a cold January morning, lying cosily between the sheets, surveying the view whilst I await a welcome morning cup of tea from the happy farmer who is hard at work in the kitchen, Marmite busy out cutting the grass. This morning the happy farmer even took it upon himself to lay on some added entertainment. Whilst watching our Highland cow, I suddenly became aware of one scantily clad happy farmer making his way across the front garden, in his under garments and flip flops, waving his arms in the air, a well practised dance routine, which had little effect on Marmite. That is until the happy farmer grabbed a nearby football to lob at her. Marmite on seeing this frightful vision lifted her head, took one look and bolted in the opposite direction, out onto the road, past the pottery, galloping to what looked like home before swerving sharply to the left, spying another opportunity, another garden needing a wee tidy up, she fled into the cottage gardens.

Sometime later, cup of tea in hand, a slightly disgruntled happy farmer arrived in the bedroom. What was annoying him the most was the bit of ‘cattle herding’ that I completely missed, dash it. Apparently when Marmite took off into the cottage gardens the happy farmer was forced, by impassable muddy puddles, to come back to the house and ditch the flip flops, for a more sensible pair of wellington boots. Now the image of the happy farmer running around, waving his arms, shouting, in underpants and wellingtons can only be left to the imagination, luckily the holiday cottages didn’t have guests this week.

Until next time…

An Irish Jig....

2011-01-17T11:12:00.001Z

The happy Farmer arrived home in much better spirits than expected. In fact there was a huge grin on his weather beaten face as he recalled the afternoon’s events.

The happy farmer had duly arrived at Farmer T’s welcoming kitchen. Farmer T could be found sat in his kitchen having coffee, following several visits from busy farmers already. Several cups of coffee later, and the whole farming world was put to rights, and the two ambled out into the storms to see if they could locate a spare tractor tyre. Farmer T took the quad bike and the happy farmer took the jeep to go round the farm yard. Farmer T made off towards the lower yard with the happy farmer following behind in the comfort of his jeep. The happy farmer then watched as a ‘jacketless’ Farmer T, having been soaked in the tail end of a shower, was pelted with great golf balls of hail stones which proceeded to fire from the skies above. Of course Farmer T’s new jacket happened to be lying in his tractor back at the shed. Eventually the quad bike sped off back in the direction of the shed, and the happy farmer found his friend, sat in his tractor cab, soaked to the skin and cursing, still not a tractor tyre in sight.

The two farmers finally re emerged from the shed and managed to locate the spare tractor tyre. Farmer T stood the tyre up and was busy inspecting it when there was an almighty clash of thunder, which made him jump a foot in the air. Having just managed to regain his composure, there was a flash of lightening followed by more thunder, followed by more jumps from Farmer T.

The happy farmer much later, a huge grin on his face, gleefully recalled what he could only describe as Farmer T’s new take on the old Irish jig, as his friend leapt into the air several times, all the while holding onto the tractor tyre, as the thunder roared from above, the happy farmer bent double and speechless as he watched on helplessly.

Jig over, the tyre was loaded into the back of the jeep and one happy farmer sped off down the road, managing the school run on the way home, having thoroughly enjoyed his afternoon’s entertainment at Farmer T’s.

Until next time….

Torn tractor tyres...

2011-01-12T11:30:00.000Z

The happy farmer is cursing. He discovered a stretch of fencing that needs to be fixed. He spent the morning battling away in hail storms fixing stobs into the ground. I helpfully suggested he leave the fence until the weather had calmed down. Not heeding my advice however, he promptly went out and set about locating a length of telegraph pole to use as a post for swinging the gate off. He was planning on using the loader on the front of the tractor to lift the pole onto the trailer to save his back, the mod cons of farming! However as he drove alongside the pile of poles, he did not see the sharp spike sticking out from one of the poles. The spike managed to rip the whole side out of the tractor tyre, hence the ‘cursing’.

At least the happy farmer will now get shelter from the storms as he heads off to Farmer T’s to get another tractor tyre, and then he can spend a happy afternoon fitting the new tyre in the comfort of his shed, shelter from the wild weather at last!!

Until next time....

2011-01-07T10:36:00.000Z

Rain and gales lashing the farmhouse, a day for curling up at the fireside and hibernating in the peace and quiet now the last of the Hogmanay revellers have sailed away on the ferry.

The cows still need to be fed though and undeterred by the harsh winter weather youngest, dressed to kill, in full bling and fashion, was determined to go out on the trailer for her weekend ritual of feeding the highland cows. The happy farmer looked down at his youngest, her trendy new clothes from Christmas, hidden under a fashionable pink coat, topped off with a matching pink beret, pink leather boots, beads, bangles and several huge sparkly rings.

‘I really don’t know if you should go out in the trailer in that coat, have you not got an old jacket?’ he enquired.

Youngest raised her eyebrows and in an exasperated tone responded ‘Honestly dad you really do know nothing about fashion…’

A little while later the pink beret of the ‘fashion princess’ could be seen peeping over the hay bale on the trailer as the tractor made its way over the hill to the waiting herd.

Farming rituals that involve muscles

2010-12-23T09:53:00.000Z

Sunday evening in the winter is paper time for the boys. The mainland ferry brings the papers to the island late on Sunday afternoon and the happy farmer heads off to the village stores to buy his papers and invariably meets up with Farmer T and then they tend to pay a visit to the local hostelry for what is supposed to be a quick and light refreshment before heading home.

The ‘refreshment’ on a Sunday has become another deeply embedded weekly farming ritual which has quickly gained support from the Jura ferryman, the beady eyed woodcock, the roddy exterminator and a few other likely characters. Invariably the wives have now become integrated into the Sunday ritual too, but only in the form of having to ferry them to and from the paper round on Sundays. The ‘ritual’ generally involves a few pints, a few local characters and invariably forgetting to bring those papers home, although recently since the kids have started to add various necessities of the sweetie variety to his shopping list this service has somewhat improved, as while a bit of nagging from the wife puts him neither up nor down, sweets left behind opens up a whole new dimension when it comes to moans and groans.

Last Sunday the paper ritual was further enhanced when walking into the pub the happy farmer walked into the middle of a culinary experience. The ex local game keeper and a gathering of local characters were hosting a cooking competition of local produce. On the menu was beady eyed woodcock with his pheasants and venison, all smoked, grey lag from an upstanding character, to a general display of game and seafood from chefs, and dishes presented by an odd visitor. The judges consisted of a factor, an ex factor and a man who knows his lamb chop casseroles well. The competition was taken very seriously by both competitors and judges, with the happy farmer and Farmer T getting to sample each dish. A platter of muscles cooked in a thai sauce won first place. The happy farmer arrived home very full complete with recipes, papers and sweets....another farming ritual that involves 'muscles'

Until next time.....

2010-12-15T14:54:00.000Z

Saturday brought a hard frost, with clear skies, the sun hanging low in the sky. The happy farmer finally got his ridging finished on the roof of the extension, finally the roof is on, slates in place, it will hopefully last for many years to come.

The BT boys arrived in the afternoon and joined the happy farmer as he got to work with a post hole borer in the horses field. Months of relentless nagging from eldest daughter, and the constant promises that the minute the extension roof was finished, finally saw the happy farmer making progress with the beginnings of a horse shelter.

Son arrived home from football training in a blaze of glory. Last night, at the annual presentation evening of the Boys Football Team, he was awarded the trophy for runner up as the under 14s most improved player. A curry bubbling away on the Rayburn I managed to persuade him and youngest to join me on a stroll to the woods in the late afternoon. The skies glazed over with a purple pink hue we made our way through the fields and across the road to the track that leads to Lily Loch, son kicking a football along the way. Disaster struck when the ball went flying off the track and down the waterfall of the burn that feeds the sewage plant. It was mother who saw herself, kitted out inappropriately in tights and skirt, scrambling down the bramble laden steep slope to the pool where the ball had managed to lodge itself, followed by son, who hung onto my jacket for dear life as I reached out across the burn to grab a long stick with which to free the ball as it dislodged and made its way further downstream. The huge grin that met me when I handed over the rescued ball made it all worth while, and thankfully those tights escaped relatively unscathed.

The Loch was frozen solid so as the sun set in the sky. We skimmed pebbles across its surface, son’s pebble winning the distance competition by far. It was a challenge to see who could throw a heavy stone hard enough to shatter the ice. Finally we headed home in the dusk along the track and back to the warm glow of the farmhouse where the happy farmer and the BT boys were sampling this year’s sloe gin. It takes many days of sampling you understand to get the flavour just right.

Until next time…..

2010-12-10T11:10:00.000Z

The first weekend in December we awoke on the Saturday morning to find the landscape transported into a winter wonderland with a thick carpet of white snow. The happy farmer groaned as the youngest squealed with delight. Intermittent blizzards for the remainder of the day ensured a great weekend of down hill tobogganing, with not a sledge in sight; improvisation and ingenuity were called for. Early attempts had the kids sliding down the hills in bin liners, these were then replaced with metal trays, the lovely Edinburgh castle tray my mother in law had bought me years ago came into its own as they shrieked and squealed, slipping down the slopes at some speed before turning a few spins as it sped to the flatter levels. The roar of the quad bike signalled the happy farmer’s sledging invention, a thick piece of rubber matting with a rope attached to the front for extra steerage.

On Saturday such was the thickness of the snow and the fierceness of the blizzards that when I set out to drop eldest from the hairdressers I made it to the top of the village before giving up, abandoning my trip, and heading home again. The happy farmer is much more experienced at driving in awful conditions, and as my wheels spun once again as I hit the breaks I was glad to make it back to the safety of the farmyard with no collisions. The happy farmer took over the expedition in the jeep instead, only to find that just beyond the village there was not an inch of snow to be seen, the roads were completely clear, and the fields bare.

Sunday then saw us inviting friends and children from other corners of the island where no snow lay to come and spend an afternoon sledging. The happy farmer loaded the children into the trailer on the quad and sped off to the steep field, my friend and I preferring to walk across the fields, crunching our way through the snow.

Having grown up in the town, there was always plenty of thick snow in the winter months, but in no time at all it would be full of footprints and tyre marks, before turning to toffee coloured slush and ice. I can remember looking longingly into the gardens of the pensioners, who didn’t venture out in such conditions, their gardens crisp and white. It used think it such a waste of good snow. Our own garden of course would be a mass of footprints, with snow heaped up to form a snow den. Each year we would try our best to build an igloo, my brother carefully moulding blocks of snow, bossing me around, as I dutifully got frozen fingers heaving it into position. We never quite had enough snow or skill to master the roof. I would sit out for ages in the dark in my snow den, with a cold wet bottom and frozen fingers, chuffed to bits to be in my ‘new home’, until eventually I could bear the freezing temperatures no more and would retreat into the warmth of the house hoping for more snow in the night. We used to spend many evenings sledging down the hill, its surface flattened and smoothed by all of the cars during the day, made the perfect slippery surface for sledging down at night, as it formed a magical carpet, the snow glistening and glinting in the light of the street lamps.

I stood and watched at the weekend, as my children and their friends began to form happy childhood memories of their own as they raced one another down the steep field on metal trays, rubber matting and bin liners, their cheeks rosy and their gloves cold and wet.

Until next time….

2010-11-08T11:11:00.001Z

At last a week of autumn sunshine, showing off the island at its best with the most spectacular sunrises and sunsets. The golden hues of an autumn landscape perfectly complimented as the sun casts its rays across the Paps.

Days of wind and rain have turned the fields into slosh, making the daily run ever more challenging. As I make my way across the fields it looks like we may be in for a good ‘tupping’. The happy farmer has the sheep and tups separated by a gate for now. As I approach the edge of the field I see a couple of those ever so flirty girls standing, their bottoms hoisted up at the gate bars, teasing the tups, who had gathered on the other side and were pacing, frustrated, back and forth trying to find a route to the ladies.

The geese arrive in the fields in their hordes to feast on the remaining grass before the winter months take hold. The happy farmer makes the most of the occasional dry hour here and there trying desperately to get the roof on the extension finished, the weather has held him up a lot over the past few weeks, and with only a couple of rows of slates still required on the back he is making frustratingly slow progress. To add salt to the wound he has watched the geese from his roof top perch, as they peck away at the last of the crops, only to watch them take flight, circling in the skies and heading off to other pastures, leaving the fields quite deserted when the goose counting land rover pulls up on the farm. The ‘counters’ binoculars poised mark a zero count on their form and yet again those hungry geese have evaded them, meaning a cut in the slice of goose money the farm will receive at the end of the year.

The cottages have been bustling with activity late into the season, our guests have braved the weather and were even left storm bound on the island with others stuck across on the mainland as ferries were cancelled due to the high winds. It all adds to the holiday experience apparently as the supermarket shelves lie devoid of bread and groceries.

The weather on bonfire night didn’t let us down though, however the happy farmer almost did. A day spent at an island funeral as the farmer bid farewell to another of the island’s great characters, he arrived back mid afternoon, just as the light was beginning to fade, funeral attire shed, he was out fixing the lift pump on his old lady tractor. The pump which supplies fuel to the engine had chosen its time well to break, just when the strong arm of the old lady was required to assemble and load wood into a pile for a bonfire. Sleeves up and arms covered in diesel, daylight fading rapidly and an old character turns up at the farm. A policeman from yesteryear, visiting the island for the funeral, turned up. The happy farmer was delighted. Bonfire plans were abandoned as characters young and old sat round in the warm glow of the farmhouse kitchen, bottles produced, as the light finally faded completely, and an impromptu ceilidh began, Gaelic songs, tales of past times, stories of the island long shrouded in the cloaks of time. The smell of soup, baked potatoes and sausages gently warming on the stove, as excited children arrived home and joined the gathering.

Much later undeterred the happy farmer, with the headlights of the car shining on the grass beside the pottery, built the bonfire and lit the barbeque ready for the celebrations. We sat as the fire crackled and spat, on picnic benches, warming ourselves with mugs of hot soup and other treats. Our cottage guests and friends arriving to join us as fireworks and sparklers were lit. Happy faces of children squealing with delight as I ran for the shelter of the pottery as yet another firework chased me indoors!

Until next time….

2010-11-02T10:27:00.000Z

The air is filled with excitement as youngest is busy emptying the entire contents of her drawers over her bedroom floor as she rifles through clothes to find just the right outfit for the school’s Halloween party. The air is heavily scented with the smell of nail varnish and hairspray as eldest and a friend transform themselves into beauty queens for the high school’s Halloween dance, catching the bus at the very last moment.

Hours later they come bursting through the door, giggling and chatting.

The next day I wave two tired and groggy teenagers off to school.

I drop youngest off at her school gate, she is full of beans, complete with cow girl outfit, smiling and giggling as she makes her way along the path.

Hours later I collect a shattered white faced tired little soul, heavy bags, complete with apples and party decorations, dragging at her heels. The cowgirl outfit just won’t do for the evening’s guising, and now nothing seems quite right, of course to suggest that she may be just a tad tired is met with a gruff response, so I tenderly try and make helpful suggestions for another outfit, each suggestion being met with more and more tired and frustrated responses. In the end I back off, and it works as several hours later the most beautiful little cat purrs down the stairs, with a big smile. Eldest did a fantastic job of the cat make up. The door goes and two more little cats arrive, and the three of them stand in an excited row as bags of goodies are distributed and a final photo taken before they head off together to the village for a few hours guising.

Until next time.....

2010-10-25T14:08:00.000+01:00

We have been living out of suitcases for the past few weeks, with a string of mainland parties to attend, coupled with dental visits and trips to relations. At last youngest got a chance to visit the pet shop and choose a couple of goldfish to replace her beloved Raisin and Tieger, and son was able to buy a companion for his show fish, Orangina.

Seanmhair (Gaelic for Grandma) was eighty on 17^th October and being a very ‘with it’ Seanmhair she celebrated in style at a Glasgow curry house, hosting a lunch party for forty family and friends. The room decorated with helium balloons as young and old reminisced and tucked into huge platefuls of delicious curry. Cousins of all shapes and sizes, but the most talked about, arrived, looking as wide as he was tall, complete with an ever so slightly short kilt and a shopping trolley, filled with heavy hard backed books for his train journey from Edinburgh to Glasgow, the one and only cousin Archie. A true gentleman and an exceedingly eccentric character. A fun packed hectic time was had by all; son donned a kilt for the first time, making his Seanmhair exceptionally proud. Uisdean and Donnie MacCalman serenaded Seanmhair with their Gaelic songs, as she blew out the candles on her birthday dumpling baked with her own fair hands as no one makes a clootie dumpling quite like Seanmhair! The partying continued well into the evening as Seanmhair and the younger grandchildren (she has 13 grandchildren from her seven offspring!) headed back to the flat while the remaining revellers headed on into town to celebrate further.

After a rather late night, the following day saw us heaving heavy bags and belongings from the flat to the jeep, and heading off up the road for the ferry, heavily laden with suitcases, shopping, children and of course the three new goldfish sloshing around in their Tupperware container at the back of the jeep. Two minutes into the journey and a text came from the Calmac ferry company to say due to the severe weather conditions all ferry sailings were cancelled until further notice. Faced with three tired and disappointed children, not to mention the adults, and a jeep loaded so full that not an ounce of spare space existed, the thought of having to abandon our journey home was not one we relished. We headed first to auntie’s for a morning coffee and then onto the friend’s for a big cooked brunch. The jeep still heavily laden, we contemplated another night on the mainland, when a text came through to say the ferry may sail that evening. We decided to make for the ferry and headed up the road through driving rain, the wind lashing the sides of the jeep as we made our way through the mountains and over the Rest and finally across to Kennacraig. I gingerly stepped onto the ferry, dreading the journey ahead of us, only to find the seas had calmed down quite a bit, and the sailing was all in all a very pleasant one. We finally headed off the ferry and up the road, sprits truly lifted as we saw the glow of the farmhouse, and arrived to a roaring fire, Grandma and grandpa had been there before us.

Until next time....

Those flirty girls jump the fence.

2010-10-17T15:42:00.001+01:00

The autumn is creeping up on us, the landscape is changing. The mellow colours of the summer months are being replaced with the vibrant bronze and golden autumn hues.

Jars of pickled beetroot line the cupboards and the last pea pods have been plucked from the vegetable patch.

The happy farmer is away at the sheep sales hoping to purchase some more tups for the farm. I am left to feed the hens and the dogs and of course the children! The hens have settled well into their new enclosures, the speckled chicks from summer are now nearly full size and are happily weeding the new hedgerow by the burn and seem delighted with their ‘wigwam’ roosting box, the other ladies are getting along well in their ‘dog’ free enclosure and Hetty has accepted them all willingly. Charlie hen is happy roaming around the farmyard and venturing into the fields with the sheep first thing in the morning, her nest precariously close to the edge of the single track road, but hidden away in the long grass, she continues to provide our youngest with an egg a day for breakfast.

Fudge our highland cow is heavily in calf, so we check her everyday. She appears to be making the most of her situation, teasing the happy farmer, as with her huge pregnant frame, she chooses to teeter on the very edge of the hill, just above a cliff face to get the very tastiest bit of grass.

The happy farmer was confronted with a couple of unexpected calves among our other small herd of Highland cows as he gathered in the sheep off the hill the other morning. It seems that two of his ‘flirty girls’ out the hill took it upon themselves to jump the electric fence and join Farmer T’s bull and his cows for some ‘outdoor sports’ before rejoining their playmates, so we now have two cross limousine highland calves much to Farmer T’s delight!

The lambs have been separated from the sheep and moved off the hillside and into the fields, ready for auction next month and so the farming cycle continues, as new tups arrive next week.

Until next time……

2010-10-04T11:06:00.000+01:00

Disaster, Roy, the sheepdog sat with his ears back looking ever so slightly guilty, Mist, his partner in crime, sheepishly hidden away in the hedge, well out of sight. White feathers scattered everywhere and the remains of one white chicken discarded close by. Carnage broke out while we obliviously went for an afternoon stroll in the woods. On our return we are greeted with a scene of total devastation and two very guilty looking offenders sitting as if butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths.

I run to the hen enclosure to find more feathers and no white hens, only the Blackrock and Isa Browns remain, and even they have to be gently coaxed out of hiding.

The hens have been venturing into the garden over the past few weeks, much to the happy farmer’s frustrated delight. The dogs have been stalking them around the hedges and borders, but up until now the hens have been holding their own, seemingly unfazed by all the attention, even making their way through the French doors and into the farmhouse kitchen on occasions.

Today the garden tells a different story. Dogs chastised and put away for the evening we need to move the remaining hens to the other enclosure, away over the road, where they will no longer venture into our garden under the watchful eyes of the dogs.

The children get a bucket of hen food and the happy farmer gets the cage to load the hens into. A solemn white hen appears from the garden hedgerow, feathers cruelly plucked from her behind, and then the cries of an excited child as a second is discovered on poppy hill. We gently coax them all into the cage and carry them across the field to their new enclosure, Hetty our older Blackrock greets them, but luckily is accepting of them and they appear to settle well into their new enclosure.

Our guests later relay to the happy farmer how they had been disturbed by a knocking on the back door of their cottage, they looked out to see a white hen tapping the door agitatedly with her beak, they opened the door and she strutted right in, made a beeline through the cottage and demanded out at the front door, they were highly entertained, especially as Charlie has been paying them daily visits. The white hen on the other hand saw it as an opportunity of survival and in a smart move escaped the sheepdogs cull!!

Charlie hen meanwhile cannot see what all the fuss was about and boldly struts her stuff around the farmyard and garden completely unfazed by those naughty dogs.

Until next time…..

2010-09-28T09:17:00.001+01:00

They say show day marks a change in the seasons, with the passing of the show the nights gradually draw in and there is a noticeable chill in the early evening sun. The children go back and the long days of summer become distant memories.

Our hens have been settling in well. The happy farmer sent for a variety of breeds and we have temporarily placed them in the chicken run in the field behind the garden.

Last week we loaded Charlie’s chicks into a cage on the back of the quad bike and took them to their new home in the happy farmer’s newly established hedgerow beside the burn. They will not come into lay until next spring, so for the time being we have placed them in grub rich pastures where hopefully they will claw away to their hearts content, digging at the ground, weeding the happy farmer’s hedge as they go. The hedgerow is fenced on both sides to stop the livestock having a hearty chew, a week with the sheep having access to it and the hedge row would be no more. We placed a trough for the chicks and one of the happy farmer’s wigwam style shelters for them to roost in at night.

Charlie mean while has long since abandoned the chicks and is back to her happy hunting grounds of the farmer’s wife’s flower beds. She struts around the farmyard during the day, and roosts in the fuschia bush at night. She is a regular visitor to the cottages and has become increasingly tame, taking it upon herself to venture into the farmhouse if the door is left open for too long. This morning the happy farmer was greeted by the dog sleeping on her chair in the kitchen with Charlie perched up beside her. If it is a sunny day Charlie will roost on the bench at the front of the farmhouse, even being brave enough to venture onto the happy farmer’s lap if he has stopped for a coffee break. The happy farmer grins and bears it with little choice, Charlie’s popularity is growing by the day, as is his patience.

Until next time…..

Tieger the goldfish

2010-09-18T10:27:00.000+01:00

‘Tieger is lying on his side in the fish bowl, but it is okay because he is not floating, so he must be all right. He will just be having a wee rest.’

Youngest daughter has nagged us for another pet goldfish for the past year or so, ever since her beloved Raisin, also a goldfish, died.

So her face was a delightful picture when one of the stall holders at the local show charged a hefty sum to throw three balls into a bucket to win a goldfish. Several attempts later and with more than a little apprehension I agreed to take the goldfish that she had won home. The stall holder assured me that her fish were all very healthy, as I handed over the cash for two goldfish bowls and parted with extra money for a goldfish for my son.

Youngest of course was desperate to go straight home after the purchases, never mind that eldest daughter still had several classes to compete in with her horse then. Luckily Grandma stepped in and gave her a lift back, as I stood anxiously watching eldest jump a clear round in the gymkhana events, at least I could get a break from doing the rounds of the bouncy castles and trampolines though, and when we did eventually load Hansel the horse into the trailer everyone left the show field exhausted but happy.

Youngest and son were at home busy collecting pebbles and getting water to room temperature to acclimatise the latest additions to our ever growing menagerie. The last week has seen Tieger becoming one of the most photographed goldfish around. Her bowl has been carefully decorated with colourful felt tip pen designs and a collection of carefully selected toys has been placed around the bowl to provide stimulation and amusement. Youngest has even been hassling the happy potters to let her go into the pottery to make a castle out of clay for Tieger to play in, so when she announced Tieger was lying sideways up in the fish bowl today alarm bells began to ring in my head. On closer inspection my worst fears were confirmed, Tieger was dead. Youngest was completely devastated. We tried all we could to muster some comfort by pointing out very positively that in fact Tieger had lived for nearly two weeks, Raisin only lasted two days, that was when youngest looked at us and said

‘Duncan said Raisin died because I took her out of the water to stroke her. I only stroked her because I wanted to know what she felt like…’

Luckily we still have Orangina, son’s ‘show’ fish, for another day at least….

Until next time….

2010-09-15T13:17:00.000+01:00

A gorgeous hot day, my brother was up visiting with my sister in law for the weekend. My brother being a bit of an action man somehow managed to convince us that an overnight camping trip to Bholsa would be a great idea. Bholsa is situated on the north west coast of the island. It is a remote and wild piece of unspoilt coastline that can only be accessed by boat or on foot. That is one of the amazing things about this beautiful island you can access remote, unspoilt terrains in an afternoon.

So, backpacks filled at the ready we headed off, getting a lift to Bunnahabhain, and then heading out across to the North West coast, through the hills and past the lochs, across an unforgiving terrain of hillocky grasslands and thick high ferns. Although the walking was tough the unfolding views made it all worth while in the late afternoon sun. As we carefully picked our way across the land, what looked like a roe deer in the grass turned out to be a golden eagle, we watched in awe as it took flight, its huge wing span spread out majestically as it soared away from us into the distance. We saw deer and mountain goats and had to watch our footing as we came across several adders basking in the sun. An army of ticks made their way up our long walking socks, looking for a route to flesh. Wild bilberries grew intermittently in the grass, staining our fingers purple as we gathered them along the way. Eventually the hills gave way and spectacular sea views unfolded once more as we looked out across to Oronsay and Colonsay, the islands lit up in the warm glow of the late afternoon sun.

Finally several hours later we had arrived at Bholsa. The beaches covered in smooth white pebbles, caves and natural arches carved into the jagged rocks that surround the coastline, waterfalls gushing down off the hills and the gentle ebb and flow of breaking waves.

We set up camp on the shore on a patch of well grazed grass. My sister in law and I pitched our small tent, my brother and nephew were opting to sleep out under the stars in their survival bags. We then scoured the beaches for driftwood to make a fire. Bholsa is a very atmospheric place, the coastline carved out by the unforgiving storms that batter it during the winter months, debris from old ships and boats litter the shore, wood well weathered and worn by the sea, old creels, buoys, rope and an odd battered shoe lie abandoned brought in by the incoming tide. My brother fancies himself as the next Bear Gryllis and lighting a fire without matches was the order of the day. Steaks were laid our on flat stones, near to the flames, and potatoes wrapped in foil were placed in the fire, wine and whisky were poured and we sat for hours just listening to the sea, enjoying the last of the day’s sun, in the warm glow of the fire.

We awoke next morning to swarms of midges after a damp wet night. With midge nets on, we hurriedly packed away the tent, making sure to cover up the remains of our fire; we left the beach as we had found it on arrival. Packs on backs we headed up a gorge and back onto the hillside. A billy goat stood on a rocky crag watching us, waiting for us to depart his domain.

The sun broke through and the clouds cleared to another scorcher of a day and more adders. The hill loch provided a refreshing stop to replenish our water supplies, dehydrated from the previous night and the growing heat of the midday sun it was a slow hard slog back up through the hills and across to Bunnahabhain. The views remained breath taking, as we took one last look out across the sea before heading into the hills.

As our lift arrived, tired and footsore, we clambered in, just as the heavens opened and the rain lashed down in torrents for the rest of the day….

Until next time….

Patience is a virtue

2010-09-14T10:50:00.001+01:00

Work on the extension continues. After final adjustments and much huffing and puffing the roof trusses are finally ready to erect on the farmhouse, and the extension will have a roof at last.

The trusses arrived a few weeks back causing a major traffic jam into the bargain. The lorry delivering them had to reverse all the way up the single track road to the farm in the late afternoon, holding up the school bus and a land rover. It was the closest we get to traffic jams and road rage on the island. The bus driver didn’t mind at all, neither did the landrover driver, but the landrover passenger…well he was getting a bit hot under the collar, being new to the island and not completely in tune with the West Highland rhythms of life. The happy farmer couldn’t resist going over, tongue in cheek, to apologise and enquire if the passenger would like to assist with unloading the trusses. He was highly entertained at the gruff response of

‘If there’s a traffic jam here I’ll soon sort it out’,

Said passenger sat firmly on his bottom, stress levels rising, only adding to the happy farmer’s huge grin. Patience is a virtue.

A wee while later and those trusses had all been unloaded, as in true island style everyone around suddenly appeared from nowhere and mucked in together to unload the lorry, drivers from waiting cars included, which only seemed to add to a certain passenger’s frustrations. The happy farmer did give him a hearty wave, as road cleared again, he proceeded on his way.

The plan was that the trusses would be on the roof within the week but as is often the case in life, all does not go completely according to plan. The trusses were ever so slightly angled too high; due to our island location transporting them away back to the mainland for resizing was out of the question. Each individual truss had to therefore be adjusted by hand, a time consuming process for the frustrated happy farmer, luckily he is a skilled, patient character.

Having spent a time consuming and frustrating week readjusting each truss by hand, finally he is ready to tackle the roof, a project he wants finished before the winter storms come lashing down.

Duck Pond Invitation

2010-09-02T13:05:00.000+01:00

I awake and look out of the bedroom window to see one abandoned tractor blocking all views of the flowerbeds I have spent months weeding and planting, waiting for that burst of colour that, if I could see beyond the happy farmer’s machinery, is there.

Happy potter apparently burst a pipe on the loader of the tractor in our absence, and the farmer’s old lady spewed black oil all over our yard before the happy potter managed to drag her and abandon her in front of the flowerbeds – welcome home then!

The tractor sat for the first day, the happy farmer was too busy checking the animals and getting things back on track.

The second day came and after much ear chewing from the happy farmer's wife the morning was spent tackling the old lady’s machinery, getting those tractor parts back in working order. Of course it doesn't go according to plan, and a lot of huffing and puffing from the old lady and the disgruntled happy farmer and much oil later, and eventually a smile was put back on that happy farmer’s wife’s face. The old lady chugged gracefully away from the flower bed and back across the farm yard well out of the happy farmer's wife's sight. Flowers back in full bloom and insight. Two smiling ladies then!

Word must have got out that she was once again in fine form, and I am talking the tractor here, as a little while later, just when the happy farmer was about to get on with some of the other much needed tasks around the farm, he got an invitation. The pleasure of his company and that of his old lady tractor was requested immediately to go and spend an afternoon towing a tractor and topper out of a local duck pond, courtesy of the local gamekeepers.

One happy frustrated farmer arrived home much later with one muddy tractor and two happy game keepers each with big smiles and huge thirsts. The rescue operation had been a success!

Until next time….

Beachy days

2010-08-31T11:22:00.000+01:00

15^th July

Tearing the happy farmer away from his various projects on the farm is a bit like trying to strip woodchip wallpaper off an old plastered wall, pretty impossible. However Sunday arrived and unfortunately for the happy farmer he had no choice whatsoever when his happy family made him abandon all farm projects and head to Saligo Bay.

It did take most of the day to drag him away from the farm, but in the late afternoon we unloaded the jeep at the beach and walked over the hills to see the Atlantic rollers breaking on the sandy bay. The rich aroma of steaks being cooked on the camp fire, which our friends had made from gathered driftwood, mingled with the salty sea spray, made his effort more than worthwhile. You can’t beat sitting in the sun, eating warm steak and listening to the sound of the waves crashing on the shore …bliss.

Much later we dragged ourselves from the beach feeling full and satisfied.

Until next time….

Summer Days

2010-08-30T12:19:00.000+01:00

30^th May 2008

Weeks of hot sunshine have left the ground cracked, but the weeding has been a doddle and all the young vegetable plants and seeds have been carefully planted, the potatoes and onions are well on, but there have been visitors, daily. When I venture into the patch they are nowhere to be seen, but leave their marks in the shape of small burrows, hollowed out through the furrows. Rabbits have never visited before, but the rabbit netting just isn’t stopping them this year. The happy farmer is now dealing with the problem for me, hopefully it gets resolved, it would be soul destroying to have done all of the digging, weeding, planting, not to mention the careful nurturing of seedlings in the cold frame, to see the fruits of my labours ‘nibbled’ away.

Charlie bless her has hatched ten chicks, two black and eight yellow, youngest daughter is delighted, and lovingly feeds them and checks their water when she gets home from school each day. The happy farmer has placed a hen coup and a pen in the front garden for Charlie. She is an excellent mother, proudly clucking and cooing over those chicks. The rabbit netting prevents Spock the pottery cat helping himself to one of those chicks.

On a sad note we lost one of the Highland cows yesterday, the happy farmer spotted her dead on the hillside. Her body has been taken away, but as we looked out the rest of our small herd had gathered closely around the spot where she had been lying and stood there for most of the day. Do cows hold funeral wakes? ‘Another dram for Morag then…..’

I have taken to cycling out the hill just now. An injury to a ligament in my foot has left me unable to run. I attempted to cycle along the road, but felt very wobbly and unsure so resorted to the farm tracks, which proved highly amusing, as my bike is no mountain bike. Pedalling up the stony hills and then through the muddy ditches proved challenging, but in the end very rewarding…..

Until next time…

14^th July 2008

We arrived home off our holidays to a beautiful, calm summer’s night. The poppies , cornflowers and roses are in full bloom and the house is quiet and empty. Give it five minutes though and the rooms are ransacked by the return of excited children tearing up the stairs, eager to reclaim their space, emptying luggage out of bags to find those all important holiday purchases, leaving a trail of debris in their wake. The kitchen table is bursting with shopping acquired from the mainland supermarkets and a heap of bags and suitcases is growing at the foot of the stairs. I trundle back and forth unpacking food stores, loading up the fridge, only to find the happy farmer and eldest daughter have abandoned me to catch the final moments of ‘T in the Park’, a televised pop concert.

Following suit and still very much in holiday mode I climb over the bags and abscond to the holiday cottage for a welcoming glass of wine with friends who arrived off an earlier ferry. Later we amble over to the farmhouse kitchen, luggage still lying abandoned, and sit and enjoy the craic into the wee small hours, as they say in the Hebrides, ‘amerac…amerac…’ (tomorrow tomorrow)…….and the hassle of unpacking melts away to the back of my mind as I catch up with friends and a beautiful island sunset.

Until next time.....

lambs and hens

2010-07-28T21:31:00.000+01:00

21^st May, 2008

The weather has been fantastic for the past month, each day the sun has been shining and the skies have been blue. The happy farmer has been able to turn his attentions from the frustrations of an appalling lambing to his building project and is really making progress with the extension. The walls are all built and he has been busy coating them with cement, as his tractor radio blares out across the farmyard. What an achievement in years to come as each brick has been carefully laid with his own bare hands, every bit of the building his own work.

We lost a lot of lambs this year; the weather was cruel, bringing icy cold winds and frequent hail storms. To make matters worse all of the sheep the happy farmer had brought at the market last autumn were ‘yelled’. They did not produce one lamb among them. Those girls have spent the last few months in the fields, getting extra attention and daily rations from the happy farmer, as he prepared them for lambing. They were in tip top condition. When he gathered them all in at the end of lambing, not one lamb among them, to dose them and jag them, his face was a picture, as each of the yelled ewes gleefully skipped and jumped high in the air as they left the fank for the hill. Much later I heard him on the phone to Farmer T offering to sell him some sheep, fantastic sheep, guaranteed to give you an easy lambing………because they don’t carry lambs in the first place!!

We have been ever so worried about Charlie chicken over the past weeks. Lola, her constant companion, was lying dead, perched up on the fuchsia last month. Those two chickens went everywhere together, on a hot day you could see the pair of them sunning themselves on top of the flowers in the troughs at the door of the Millhouse, or digging for bugs in the newly seeded flower beds that border the farm yard.

Charlie cut a lonely figure without her companion, and began following us everywhere. We were heartened then when one of the Blackrock hens left the hen run in the field, and flew over to the farm yard, abandoning the other hens to join Charlie. For a week she followed Charlie everywhere, even giving up the comfort of the hen house to perch precariously on the fuchsia bush with Charlie at night. Charlie however was having none of it, the seemingly lonely chicken did not take kindly to her new companion at all, and fluffed up her feathers and squawked threateningly every time the black hen dared to come any where close to her. After a week or so of persevering, the black hen gave up and went back to the hen house, leaving Charlie alone once again.

The farm yard seemed empty when Charlie suddenly stopped appearing too, but there was great excitement when we found her sitting, all puffed out, on her nest behind an old iron gate. Charlie was broody. We carefully swapped the eggs for some fertile eggs provided by the hens in the run, and yesterday when the happy farmer pulled back Charlie’s fluffed up feathers there was a small yellow chick among the rest of the eggs lying in the nest. Hopefully by now there will be a few more additions, but we will leave Charlie in peace so as not to disturb her from the nest, but she is no longer alone, and this time she will enjoy the company.

Until next time….

2010-07-20T16:52:00.000+01:00

A sunny, blustery morning, I grabbed the happy farmer’s flip flops and waded across the lawn, washing basket tucked under my arm, towards the washing line. The strong breeze sweeping hair across my eyes, as I blindly paddled forth. I looked down to see the water and mud oozing ever closer to my socks. Of course the battle was completely lost as I decided to down the washing basket and pop out of the garden to the kennels to let the sheep dogs out for a run. I did skilfully manage to totter around the edges of the muddy puddles, but then got completely caught out in the swampy mud as the runny gooey clods finally touched base with my socks, drenching them in muddy slime.

Only the happy farmer could possess a pair of pool side rubber flip flops, better suited to those hot summer days in the south of France, for nipping outdoors on his hebridean sheep farm. Only the happy farmer’s wife could be daft enough to slip those ever so large ‘boats’ onto her feet to venture outside to hang out the washing………..only today the ‘boats’ completely sank!!

Until next time.....

Easter Sunday, 2008

2010-07-19T11:11:00.000+01:00

We were woken at 6.00am as youngest raced through the house following the clues that would eventually lead to a stash of Easter eggs. She was thrilled the bunny had left another lovely card; my artistic talents didn’t let me down then. She couldn’t get over the fact that the bunny had munched his way through most of the fat carrot she had lovingly left out for him beside her home made card.

The hens eggs were in demand today, the local shop had completely sold out, so we had visitors looking for eggs for their children’s’ egg hunts. Luckily Charlie and Lola, the hens in our yard have been busy and the farmer returned from his morning rounds with a ‘puckle’ of eggs in his bucket.

Youngest had been quite upset yesterday as the children from the holiday cottage had managed to catch Charlie and were walking around with her nestled in their arms. She obviously had never thought of that one, and Charlie hadn’t been cuddled in such a way since she was a tiny chick last year. Much later on as I was busy in the bedroom getting ready to go out, the door flew open,

‘Look whose come to visit you mum’

Youngest arrived in the room, Charlie gently cooing away in her arms, a huge grin across her face. Luckily Charlie appears none too fussed by her adventure into the farm house. I looked out later and there she and Lola were, perched precariously on the branches of the fuchsia, roosting away.

The following day Charlie was busy holding court in the pottery showroom entertaining the visitors. The happy potter away on the mainland with his girlfriend, Charlie had flown into the role, and as the happy farmer went in to serve the visitors there was Charlie perched up on the shelf amongst the pottery clucking away to our guests….

Until next time….

2010-07-15T13:16:00.000+01:00

March 2008

Youngest arrived home from school on Friday completely perturbed

‘A boy in my class says the Easter bunny doesn’t exist; he says it’s just your mum….’

I looked at her, wondering what to say…However she quickly came to the rescue when she added

‘Well I told him, I said to him, don’t be silly, of course there’s an Easter bunny…I mean how else did I get a beautiful card from him last year… I mean my mum couldn’t possibly have made such a beautiful card….she wouldn’t know how…’

And then she promptly went off to retrieve the card she had carefully laid away from last Easter, a beautiful hand embroidered bunny adorned the front cover, and no I didn’t make it, but when I join the local quilting group next month…well who knows where my new found skills will lead me…

No pressure for the Easter bunny producing a spectacular creation this year then, as youngest proceeded to cover the kitchen table with an assortment of felt tip pens and crayons as she set about creating another beautiful card for the Easter bunny this year…

Until next time…

2010-07-03T16:48:00.000+01:00

10th March 2008

The happy farmer loves the hens again…..they have been forgiven for digging up the troughs of plants and the borders, in fact they were even given extra food supplies this morning. The reason, well a nest full of the freshest eggs, laid behind an old rusty gate near to the happy farmer’s shed. He arrived back from the morning feeding rounds, his arms and pockets filled with eggs and a grin from ear to ear.

The morning brought another lamb and a newborn Highland calf, all safely delivered into the world and happily suckling from their mothers despite the blustery weather and bitter cold storms that continue to linger on.

Youngest has been happily rescuing frogspawn, as we walked back along the fields through the farm we came across several clumps of jellied frogspawn abandoned in the wet grass, sure to perish when the sun finally comes and dries out the land, so she scooped it up and took it back to the farm yard where the happy farmer supplied her with an old feed bowl full of water. The rest of the day was spent scouring ditches and puddles for chickweed, lets hope the frogspawn hatches into tadpoles. Youngest checks it eagerly each morning before school.

The happy farmer went out last thing in the pitch darkness to baton down the roof on the lean to shed he built last summer, with forecasts of gales and rain he was taking no chances, waking the pottery cats up as he went. Much to his amusement he found them curled up together, fast asleep, warming up the seat of the tractor, never short of comfort zones, they had taken refuge from the wild weather in the hub of his tractor.

Until next time…..

2010-07-01T15:15:00.000+01:00

4^th March

The happy farmer has come to the conclusion that it’s a great life if you live on a farm. He went out of the door this morning to begin the feeding rounds and was met by our two lodgers, busy clawing and digging up the flower beds. The hens have taken to roosting in the fuchsia bushes outside the cottages, much to the amusement of our guests, and having flown down from their cosy perches were indulging in a bit of ‘gardening’. No amount of coaxing could persuade them that the hen house might actually provide a bit more warmth and shelter from the winter storms; no we have two hens who have determinedly sat out the long winter nights, roosting precariously high up on the branches of the fuchsia bushes that line the farm yard, through all of the wild winter storms. They must have good sea legs up there in the gales!

The happy farmer is secretly perplexed that those two ladies are still around; he was convinced they would not survive the harsh winter weather when the two of them turned their beaks up at the hen house he carefully constructed for them. Luckily the other ten or so hens have remained in their quarters, for the time being. These two characters however have happily greeted the farmer at the doorstep each day, clucking at his feet demanding their breakfast, leaving parcels where he treads. If the sun shines at all you can find them digging and burrowing into the various troughs of bulbs, or the flower beds, uprooting the contents as they go, making themselves a cosy nest to bask in a little warmth from the winter sun.

Walking into the shed the happy farmer is greeted by the pottery cats, stretching and meowing, as they stir in the cosy nests they have made in the hay bales.

Mudcap, the Highland cow, gleefully manages to tiptoe across the cattle grid each day to help herself to a fresh bite of grass at the side of the single track road. We are of the understanding that she was a ballerina in a former life and is now heading for stardom as a super model. She happily poses for the clicking cameras of the passing tourists making their way along the road to the nearby distillery, and gives a nod and a wink to the distillery boys as they drive past on their way to work.

This morning the happy farmer had to take a second glance as he made his way through the sheep on the quad bike to feed the gathered flock.

‘There’s a lamb’ he thought….’THERE’S A LAMB?!’

Lambing isn’t due to start for at least another four weeks ….and so the happy farmer arrived home, the first ‘bleating lamb’ of spring tucked under his arm……

Until next time…..

2010-06-27T15:23:00.000+01:00

25^th February

Eldest daughter was highly entertained by the early morning visitor to the farm. A neighbouring bitch on heat was circling the dog kennels trying desperately to find a way in through the fence. The sheepdog had his nose glued through a gap, heavily panting away, trying equally hard to find a way out. Luckily there was no way in, or out…..but glad to see ours are not the only dogs to go visiting in the neighbourhood, even if ours seem to prefer the neighbouring hens to other people’s dogs!

A lull in the too frequent stormy weather allowed the happy farmer and a trailer of children to make their way through the fields on the quad bike to feed the animals. Visiting auntie was happily perched on a bale of hay among them, as they made their way around the highland cows and over to the horses.

Later we headed to the beach in search of shells and driftwood. The sun shone for the most part and the cliff faces provided welcome shelter from the odd malingering shower as we braved the sea breeze, a seal in tow and four swans, as we scoured the beach for our treasures. No driftwood unfortunately, but a bag full of shells and we wandered home contented, where tea and pancakes fresh from the range quelled our appetites. I unfortunately had to do the baking as my youngest and busiest little baker was down visiting her Seanmhair (grandmother) busy mixing a birthday dumpling for Friday, and youngest’s birthday.

Today the storms are raging again, battering the farmhouse once again and the interior is being turned into an obstacle course. The happy farmer frustrated at not being able to get on with his building work outside is busy fitting a shower into one of the bedrooms. The problem with these projects is that they seem to take over the whole house, a bit of wood here, some rusty nails there and of course the pile of discarded jumpers, coats and gloves from the morning’s feeding rounds, not to mention the wellies and the ever so big boots….

Until next time…

2010-06-22T10:40:00.000+01:00

9^th January.

A night of wild storms, the wind was lashing the farmhouse; the slates were dancing on the roof, as they clattered away in the gusts. I hid under the duvet, listening to the thunder and lightening, wondering what damage was being done outside, as the power flickered and then it was blackout.

Bleary eyed children headed off for school in the darkness, the wind, decreasing gradually. Happily daylight brought very minor damage, a skylight blown in on the pottery, a cement mixer upturned in the yard, and a few plants out of their pots, lying strewn around the place. These buildings have stood for hundreds of years, what hasn’t been securely tethered to the land has blown away many moons ago, we were very fortunate. I should have taken a leaf out of the happy farmer’s book, he spent the night fast asleep with just the odd snore reminding me that he was completely oblivious to the storms and doesn’t believe in wasting good sleep time worrying about the weather.

The happy potter arrived at the farm, grinning from ear to ear. He arrived home from the mainland yesterday, having just announced his engagement to his girlfriend. The pottery cats were delighted to see him, having sneaked into the farmhouse kitchen for some company in his absence. Feeling very at home this morning the bold Spock, aka pottery cat, was caught actually growling through the French doors at the sheepdogs, and they were in turn looking mighty sheepish….

Until next time…

Hogmanay 2007

2010-06-19T20:50:00.001+01:00

The farmhouse has been bursting with friends and family as Christmas has merged into Hogmanay which in turn has merged into a blurry time of partying with the first footers that traditionally call at the house to welcome in the New Year, a Scottish tradition which can go on for some weeks, as the festive season continues well into the New Year. Bottles of whisky are tucked into tractor cabs as the farmers feed the beasts in the fields and offer a dram to anyone they happen to meet along the way. Visitors come and go, never empty handed, always with a bottle or some cake, carrying on an age old tradition of ‘first footing’. A welcome awaits you at any door as the islanders celebrate Ne’er Day and the Old New Year, a time of tremendous hospitality, of feasting and fun.

The farmhouse kitchen has been a hive of activity food constantly coming in and out of the Rayburn providing feasts for all of the troops along the way.

Christmas now seems a hazy blur of excited children. Youngest so thrilled that santa got her just what she wanted, that he had received her letter, the one she wrote weeks ago, and then made extra copies to send, just to make sure he got it. A breakfast of smoked salmon and champagne, Christmas lunch, turkey with all of the trimmings, as children, grandparents, the happy potters, girlfriend and family gathered around the table, a fire roaring in the background.

Then the revellers arrived, the Bt boys, over for a few days work in between the festivities. My brother with his party of ten and a dog…did I mind? He asked me last week! Friends over from the mainland to join us for an island Hogmanay, and so the social gatherings continued, jaunts to the beaches to blow away the cobwebs in the wild and blustery weather, followed by hearty meals, with more mouths to feed than usual.

Forty of us took in the bells at the farm, the happy farmer letting off a stream of fireworks as we all huddled in the cold night air, and then danced until the ‘late’ small hours, managing a few hours of sleep before more first footers began to descend, and so the socialising continued, the food and drink kept flowing, until the ferry arrived to take them home, and the stragglers had to return to work and the school routines took over once more…..

Until next time….

2010-06-17T10:21:00.001+01:00

December, 2007

At last the days of wind and rain have given way to clear sunny days. Youngest daughter jumped around the bed with glee this morning watching the huge pink ball of the sun rise from behind the purple hills.

The happy farmer is confined to barracks with the flu, as is Farmer T. They slave away in the lashing rain and gales only to be bedridden when the sun finally emerges. The extension walls are growing taller, although not as tall as they would have been had the weather been kinder.

There is a buzz in the air, the tree is all decked out with tinsel and decorations spanning the years we have been together, the angels and paper baubles from the children’s early primary years, the crystal angel from our baby’s very first Christmas, the white teddy bear my ‘pantomime’ pupils bought me when I first started teaching, the African decorations our friend sent over and the wooden teddy bears from our Russian holiday guests. All of these coupled with strings of tinsel in bright colours that don’t match. Youngest has had a field day carefully arranging it. The happy farmer and I have had an even bigger field day trying to tidy it up a bit, if spotted youngest gives us a row and starts again with her creative talents.

The happy farmer was out sorting a stob that had sprung in one of the fences today. He was bemoaning the fact that the ugliest sheep on the farm is taking advantage of the gap under the fence and frequenting pastures new at every given opportunity. She has taken to parading herself up and down the main road. Taking advantage of the better weather she has been spotted ‘sunning’ herself on the tarmac. The happy farmer is worried a sunbathing sheep may cause an accident and so has gone off to sort the damage. I was highly entertained at the thought that he rates his sheep in terms of their looks; you would have thought a more attractive one, maybe the one with the long curly eyelashes, could have taken herself off for a suntan instead?

To add to the festive spirit three more of the ‘ladies’ have let themselves into the happy farmer’s succulent hedgerow and are happily nibbling and nipping away, giving the hedge a trim, as they treat themselves to a little light girlie lunch.

Until next time…..

5th December 2007

2010-06-12T09:18:00.004+01:00

The happy farmer is delighted; the sheep are sheltering from the wild weather. Tucked up beside the hedgerow he planted a few years back. All huddled together, squashed along the very edges of the field. Every season we see the huge benefits of the hedge as it provides a new habitat and shelter for a haven of wildlife. The various bushes spring to life in the summer months, as blossom unfolds, and are laden with berries in the autumn months. It was an experiment, one which was doomed to fail by many a passing local farmer, but today the hedge continues to thrive, now well established, it has completely transformed the journey along the single track road leading to the farmhouse.

The gamekeepers were up visiting at the weekend, an assortment of Wellington boots greeted me at the door, the happy farmer’s old rubber efforts looking decidedly sad amongst the classy makes belonging to the gamekeepers. In the farmhouse kitchen a serious competition was under way and the happy throng were busy slugging away at the happy farmer’s flagon. The gamekeepers’ own flasks and bottles were placed on the kitchen table, corks removed. The beady eyed gamekeeper’s bottle was winning the competition, closely followed by the first class gamekeeper’s and the happy farmer’s home made brews. It was a very tough decision, one which demanded quite a few more slugs of sloe gin from each bottle just to make sure of the correct choice, until many sloe gins later the flavours all seemed to merge together and it was decided that they all tasted rather magnificent as the wee miniature tasting glasses were duly filled for the umpteenth time. I sense another of those ‘annual occasions’ emerging as they regaled tales from the countryside, swapping recipes along the way, such is the vast array of knowledge of the keepers. Of course today it was many hours and by the end I did have a bit of a job making sense of the knowledge they were imparting, but when one arrived with the most delicious home made pork and mutton burgers the following night I was beginning to look forward to more sloe gin. Here's hoping the Jura ferryman and the first class gamekeeper call by and help us to fill our freezer with their bountiful supplies of sloes.

Until next time....

27th November 2007

2010-06-11T15:44:00.005+01:00

The farm yard is strangely quiet; those pigs have gone off to their happy hunting ground. They have been such characters about the farm, and we will all miss them, dogs included. Mist and Roy, the sheepdogs spent hours on end with their noses glued through the spars in the fence, watching the pigs’ every move. The pigs in turn played up to them, happily goading them, snuffling at them, and on occasions much to the dogs' annoyance, completely ignoring them.

It is a comforting thought to know that the pigs had a very happy time while here, they had a lot of freedom and a tremendous amount of love, and they will be coming ‘home’, even if it is a journey to the happy farmer’s freezer. He can at last relax once more, safe in the knowledge that most of his hedge has survived, and the majority of his fences are still intact, that is until NEXT time!!

The happy farmer continues to make good progress with the extension, carefully pegging out neat lines to follow, as he gradually builds up the walls, each block carefully secured in place. The hens, as ever, are keeping him company, continually trying his patience, as they parade across the neatly set concrete, clucking and chattering away to him as he works. Their contribution is to paint the concrete white, leaving little dainty ‘parcels’ here and there for him to step in.

Until next time....

13th November 2007

2010-06-09T13:08:00.002+01:00

The happy farmer was dancing around the kitchen this morning, an amusing sight, as with rolled up newspaper in one hand, cursing away; he yet again failed in his attempts to swot a poor fly with the newspaper.

‘It’s got a charmed life that fly, do flies have nine lives?’

Myself, I am all for insect rights, and smiled wryly, as giving up, he opened all of the windows and the doors, in the hope that his little friends would decide to leave the comforts of a farmhouse kitchen for the delights of the stormy weather outside.

Gales and heavy squalls continue to lash our island home. It truly is a time for hibernating round a roaring fire at night. The happy farmer has been busy today running a single wire in the back field to accommodate eldest daughter’s horse, the biting cold weather, coupled with a greedy Clydesdale for company, has led to her horse losing a bit of weight. Several days of constant nagging from teenage daughter and the farmer was out dutifully thumping in posts to enable the horse to be moved to a more sheltered area, still rich with ungrazed grass. Eldest daughter will be thrilled to bits and so will Hansel the ‘happy’ horse!

A break in the weather allowed us to have our bonfire on Sunday evening. The children had spent the weekend gathering old palettes and bits of wood and together with the happy farmer had it all neatly assembled into a huge pyramid. Sunday evening and the bonfire was lit, fireworks were set off, and the youngest jumped up on the picnic benches outside the pottery and began her song and dance routine of ‘diamonds’ are a girls best friend’, as in the Sheila's wheels car insurance ad, for the gathered clan. Under the stars and the moonlight it was one of those special, magical moments.

The first course of brick work has been laid for the extension to the farmhouse, each brick neatly cemented in place by the happy farmer, today the cement base was poured, and tomorrow we will be able to do a ‘tap dance’ routine on it!

The tups are working away, although we have already had our first casualty, I told you the males were weak, Mr Texel had only been out for a couple of days before the happy farmer noticed he had developed a rasping cough, quickly he took him indoors to the luxury accommodation suite, a pen with straw, in the far corner of the shed. A jag in both legs to ward off pneumonia and a few nights of pampered treatment and that tup was ready to go get those girls once again!

Until next time....

7th November 2007

2010-06-08T10:54:00.000+01:00

The time has come to gather the sheep off the hills and put them into the fields with those tups. A gloomy, dark, blustery day with biting cold showers, the sort of day when the last thing you feel like is a jaunt out in the open, let alone up that hill. However once out there it amazing how refreshing it is and then the sheer bliss of returning to the comfort of the farmhouse kitchen and a mug of piping hot soup.

I took the stick with me on my run up the hill, and changed my usual route to encompass the slopes off to the left and around the back. The sheep eyed me warily, chewing the cud, reminding me of a bolshie teenager, gum clamped in jaws, before with one last stare they reluctantly headed off in the other direction, down towards the burn.

A soft whistle and a wave of the stick, and they were away, following one another neatly in a row. Sheep are easier to gather at this time of year, they seem to sense the mating season is upon us and flock together, without the usual tearaways or gang leaders. I gradually followed those girls down off the hill to meet the other flocks coming across the bog land, happy farmer and sheepdog in tow, through the gate and into the ponies’ field, before they filed neatly into the fank, all present and correct.

The happy farmer placed them in various pens in the fank, a quick manicure for those requiring some last minute preening, the boys gathering eagerly at the fence, their noses in the air, waiting patiently for the happy farmer to ‘bring on the girls’. The happy farmer meanwhile carefully selected which sheep will be going where. The cross sheep to the Suffolk tups, their lambs will be heading for market. The blackface sheep to the Texel tup, again for market and then Mr Blue, our Blue Faced Leicester tup, will get the honour of the older ewes on the farm, and their offspring will be kept on the farm for future breeding.

The library van called by in the afternoon. I had company as I browsed the shelves of neatly stacked books, Spock, the three legged pottery cat, hopped on board, and prowled around the van. I looked to the librarian to enquire as to whether animals were welcome in the library, while he, the cat, not the librarian, took himself off behind the counter, jumped up onto the Driver’s seat and promptly curled up for an afternoon nap.

Until next time….

3rd November 2007

2010-06-07T10:22:00.002+01:00

I have been busy planting the 150 bulbs that our friends brought over from Holland when they were visiting, digging up the weeds and pulling out the dried strands of poppies and cornflowers as I carefully placed bulbs deep into the soil. It was a cloudy damp day, but nonetheless good to be outside after days of constant rain.

The happy farmer was busy too, laying the first row of neat bricks on the cement foundations that are to form the walls of our new extension. Lines of string, neatly pegged out, the cement churning in the mixer, as he carefully positioned the bricks. I can see now where the fun of building comes from; yes I did get a bit of a bemused look of that happy farmer when I likened the job to playing sandcastles on the beach. It so reminded me of the happy hours I used to spend as a child, carefully modelling walls and dams out of sand, pebbles and nearby rocks. Here was the happy farmer neatly laying lines of bricks, on cement, playing with sand once again then.

The happy farmer got the last laugh though. It came when I decided I needed a barrow full of horse manure for the flower beds, to nourish and protect them from the winter storms ahead of us. It would involve a trip to the ponies’ field with the barrow. Now I am ever so slightly wary of horses, so I very gingerly made my way to the field, and checking the three of them were nowhere to be seen, I carefully opened the gate and pushed the barrow in. Spying the three of them over towards the hill, I made my way across towards another gate in the opposite direction.

The horses are really friendly. Meg, the Clydesdale is a gentle giant, but she towers over me, and her hooves look so large. Hansel is sleek and tall, a thorough gentleman, who stands beautifully, with his ears erect and a smile on that muzzle, when eldest daughter grooms him. I can comfortably approach him in these circumstances. Muffin is a very cheeky pony, but he will not come too close as he doesn’t like being caught; only eldest daughter can catch him, and that takes a lot of cajoling on her part to gently coax him ever closer. So really I had absolutely nothing to fear, except I was alone in the field, armed with a wheel barrow and spade, and well aware that the horses can be ever so inquisitive.

I found some clumps of manure and carefully scooped them onto the spade and into the barrow, keeping an ever watchful eye on those ponies. Just at that moment I was spotted, by Meg, ‘the giant’. Ears forward she spied me and began to gallop across the field, I ran as fast as I could, down the hill, and over that gate, out of sight, where I stood breathless waiting for her to appear. Now those horses are fairly used to seeing me run through the field, Meg had obviously began to make her way over, but on seeing me scarper, must have gone back to nibbling the grass, for she didn’t appear. I waited and waited, I climbed up the rungs on the gate to see if I could spy her over the top of the hill, eventually I climbed back into the field, and once again made my way gingerly across the field, up to the wheelbarrow, the horses by now completely out of sight. I finished gathering dollops of dung, before making a quick getaway, back to the happy farmer and the flower beds. I relayed my tales of bravery to the happy farmer, who, smirking away and shaking his head remarked,

‘I saw where those horses went’

‘You did?’

‘Yes, they were over the other side of the hill, I wondered why they were rolling on their backs, legs in the air….what a sight they were....’

‘Rolling, legs in the air, all of them?’

‘Yes, they were laughing so much you see at the sight of one crazy woman…’

At least the roses will be grateful!

Until next time......

2010-06-02T15:02:00.000+01:00

29th October 2007
Lorries have been arriving in all directions, sand on one, for the cement mixture, cement blocks on an other, for building, while a huge cattle float ambles it s way up the single track road to transport the lambs away to market on the mainland. One very busy happy farmer then!

Saturday saw a day of frustrations for an old friend. The happy farmer had warned the friend, when he mentioned the fact that he was planning to get his cattle scanned on Saturday that the forecast was not good.

‘It’s going to be a perfect day’ was the friend’s response, as he borrowed the happy farmer’s cattle crush, ready to load the cows into for scanning.

Saturday arrived. We watched as the float pulled up; the happy farmer went out to help chase the cows on. The rain was torrential, the wind, howling. Worse was yet to come.

The happy news, all of the cows are in calf. The not so happy news is that the lovely Belgian Blue bull has not been working at all. He has been living in idle luxury in among those girls, and not getting down to business at all!

It was the ‘chaser’ bull, who could only arrive the other week, when the foot and mouth restrictions were finally lifted, that did all of the positive mating that was going on out in the fields. Usually the ‘chaser’ bull would have been in with the girls a lot sooner, but movement between farms was banned in the wake of the foot and mouth crisis down south. The happy farmer did of course kindly offer the services of a handsome Highland Bull in the near vicinity at the time of the restrictions...…

The outcome this sorry tale is a late calving for our farmer friend. Those cows will no longer be calving in April as planned, but will now calve in July, which brings with it a whole heap of awkward implications in terms of having to rear those calves through the autumn and winter, missing the best of the weather and the grass, not to mention the fact that the cows will not be ready for the bull until much later next year, plus the whole financial implication of not having calves to sell early on.

Rain and gales, you would think it doesn’t get much worse wouldn’t you. How does that song go….’It’s such a perfect day….’

Until next time …..

A Pain in the Back....

2007-10-25T14:06:00.000+01:00

Groans are coming from the farmhouse kitchen; the happy farmer and Farmer T have both got occupational injuries, namely bad backs. The happy farmer has been hobbling about in agony since working with sheep at the fank. Fank work often involves lifting old heavy rusty gates, then spending half of the day stooped over lambs, piercing their ears with the necessary tags, to identify them and the farm, before they head off to market. This and all in a biting cold wind have lead to more than a few moans and groans. I did smile when in hobbled Farmer T today, also complaining of backache, no sympathy from the farmer’s wife then! One of his pals warned the happy farmer not to pick up any sheep today,

‘Any of them approach me and I’ll give them a knock back then, cold shoulder treatment’ was his pained response!

Feeding rounds on the farm have proved interesting too. No tup feed to be seen in the shed, but an untouched bag of pig feed. The culprit was the happy potter. No, he hasn’t run out of muesli for breakfast and changed to tup feed, which does resemble muesli, rather, having being entrusted with feeding the animals while we were away, he got completely muddled up and fed the tup feed to both the tups and the pigs, probably the chickens too, could it be that his mind is elsewhere these days? Something to do with a tall, beautiful lady residing on the mainland me thinks! Luckily those greedy pigs didn’t mind the change in their diet, but the happy farmer had to go shopping quickly!

Until next time.......

Working dogs

2007-10-24T15:21:00.000+01:00

We woke up to the most beautiful sunrise on the island this morning. There were several photographers out in the fields, our guests from the cottages, snapping away, as I too reached for the camera.

Mist, the sheep dog pup, has been busy, working those pigs again, rounding them up, pacing behind them, tongue hanging out, as they, ignoring her completely, happily munch on cabbage leaves and potato peelings.

The happy farmer took her out for a training session with the sheep the other night. She did really well, working away with the other sheepdog, carefully following the happy farmer’s commands, crouching on all fours, her belly sliding up the field as she skilfully wormed her way around the edge of the gathered flock.…

‘Steady, steady…. down Mist, down…. come up….come up…..that’ll do…that’ll do’,

The words rolling off the happy farmer’s tongue, as he too masters the skills that have been passed on to him, through generations of sheep farmers……
Of course it all went a bit to pot when three happy, squealing children arrived, eagerly wanting to be a part of the ritual of working the dogs, and training our clever pup. I managed to get them to rest on top of the gate, as the farmer got the dogs to hold the assembled flock in the middle of the field.

This morning Mist saw in her element, she got to work with the real thing again, this time ‘working’ in the fank, rounding up the lambs, as the happy farmer separated them into different lots, ready for the auctioneer who is calling by with a float to take them away to market.

Shaking with excitement she took her place next to me as we waited for the sheep to come into the enclosure from the fields. As the sheep gave chase she crouched low to the ground, never taking her eyes off them for a minute, skilfully holding them in a group, listening for her commands from the happy farmer, she slowly moved towards them, head low, tongue hanging out, eyes fixated, carefully following them into the pen, darting after a straggler, who, on having second thoughts, had suddenly decided to made a break for it. Mist, quick as a flash, grabbed the lamb by its scruff, and hauled it back into line.

For now the pup has been confined to barracks. We caught her sneaking out from the garden, heading across the farmyard, towards the fields, not once, but three times, as we sat with our mugs of soup at lunch. A quick call sees her running sheepishly back to the garden, tail wagging away, huge grin on that face, as she waits patiently to take her chance again.

Until next time…..

Home at Last

2007-10-19T20:39:00.000+01:00

Layers of mist clung to the island like a security blanket. Visibility on the island was poor and unrelenting. The happy farmer spent a frustrating day at Glasgow airport, as the morning flight home to his island got delayed……. delayed….. and then finally cancelled.

He returned in the late afternoon to go through the process all over again, and was unable to make that flight back until the following morning. The island often gets cut off by air if the mist is low. The ground hostess at the airport have amazing patience as they deal with all of the frustrations and despair of travellers, who in a modern world, expect to travel, without delay.

The hustle and bustle and restaurants of the city beckoned though, and no sooner was the happy farmer home than he got hauled away with the rest of us for a well earned city break of shopping, cinemas and ten pin bowling, mixed with Thai, Mexican and Indian cuisine, like only the cosmopolitan haunts of a city can offer.

We returned yesterday, to a peaceful, sunny island, the autumnal hues blazing brightly as the ferry glided along the Sound, between the two islands. The BT boys followed us off the ferry to deliver goodies of strong cheddar cheese from their local creamery.

Farmer T was busy checking his ‘coos’ and so a cup of tea was the order of the day. He was in good form. He announced that he was acquiring a new sheepdog, the happy farmer and I nearly fell off our chairs at this point. Farmer T is acquiring a squad of sheepdogs, or should I at this point say ‘pot lickers’, that could put Battersea Dogs Home to shame. I jest, but we never fail to be amused as yet another much hoped for sheepdog, fails at the first hurdles of training. The tales of which are amusingly recounted with Farmer T’s unique brand of humour and wit, we can but hope that this particular dog will provide so many endless hours of entertainment. Hopefully this dog will make the grade, it certainly seems promising, his latest addition is coming from a man who uses sheepdogs to round up ducks at displays at agricultural shows. If the dog fails Farmer T could always diversify away from sheep, and invest in a squad of ducks, thus making him even more ‘quackers’.

The happy farmer’s new tups and sheep arrived off the evening ferry last night. The happy farmer left to unload them. He returned, covered in mud, to announce they were good sheep that the auctioneers had got for him. The fact that it was pitch dark probably helped him in his judgement then, that and a good dram off our German guests, who were leaving for home this morning.

Until next time.

Horny Issues...

2007-10-10T11:50:00.000+01:00

One delighted happy farmer has gone off on a shopping trip. Now before you all get too excited and wonder where on earth I managed to find a male who likes shopping I must spill the beans and come clean, it most certainly isn’t a ‘girlie’ shopping expedition, no, he has gone to the auction market to purchase some tups for the mating season that will soon be upon us. That spoilt all the fun then. It is probably the nearest he gets to shopping, apart from supermarket jaunts.

At the very last moment he got the good news that the ban on the movement of livestock, in the wake of the recent foot and mouth crisis, has been lifted, and he will at last be able to purchase some much needed tups and have them delivered to the island in time for the mating season among the sheep.

I came down the stairs, bleary eyed, this morning to find the front door wide open; did I really leave it wide open all night long? After a few seconds of major panic, I realised my son was up before me and was out and about taking pictures of the beautiful sunrise, layers of mist rising from the sea, encircling the hills, the sky bursting with orange rays and purple clouds. The air filled with the sound of those stags still roaring in the background, which I have decided can be compared to the sounds that used to bellow from my brother when he had one too many after a good night out, in his younger years. Must check with my sister in law, bet he still bellows like a stag now!! It certainly takes any romanticism right out of yesterday’s blog then!

In among the Highland cows there was an agitated visitor of the horned variety this morning. One of those stags was frantically pacing up and down, trying to find a way out of the field as the Highland cows eyed him suspiciously, all that is except for Rainbow, one of the calves, who took a shining to the stag and followed him about the field out of curiosity. The mist descended, and then he was gone, which is just as well, as next moment one of the gamekeepers and his partner turned up for a coffee on their way to the Colonsay ferry.

Until next time…

Lingering Summer Days....

2007-10-09T15:01:00.000+01:00

It is getting to that lovely time of year again. The log fire roaring in the evenings, the Rayburn lit once again, radiating heat and the lovely smell of home baking throughout the house. I love the summer months, but as the autumn takes hold, and winter draws ever closer, you reach that stage where you are ready to spend time indoors by the fireside after a summer of outdoor living.

The whole island takes on a different feel, as the green and yellow coats of the summer months are replaced with the vivid rusty shades of autumn. The hills have a sharper more defined appearance, the sea a bold blue metal sheet, set against skies bursting with lilacs and purples. Everything looks so much more dramatic and ever more beautiful at this time of year, when the sun is lying low in the sky, casting its rays ever closer.

Just as I am waxing lyrical about tucking up indoors the weekend saw us heading for the beach complete with kids, dogs and BBQ! It was a beautiful day; the sun was splitting the skies, and lifting the autumn chill from the air. Pals had stayed over as it was our son’s birthday, and so we packed all the necessaries and headed across the farm to our nearest beach, situated beyond the distillery. It is a rocky, shingle beach, with old ramshackle boat houses from yesteryear, at least two of which belong to the happy farmer. They are sadly neglected and in need of some serious TLC, and so are going to become next summer’s project. We’ll get everyone on board for the stripping and painting complete with the necessary BBQs and driftwood fires.

We set up camp in one of the old boat sheds, placing the BBQ in among the lobster creels. The children set off to explore, coming back frequently, laden with shells from crabs and sea urchins, and bits of old pottery, weathered by the sea. Across the water
You could hear the roar of the stags on Jura, the rutting season has began, along with the distant bangs of the stalkers guns. It is an eerie howling sound the stags make, attracting the does and warning off other stags.There was further excitement when one of the children spied an otter on a nearby rock tucking into his recent catch, and then another scampered across the beach, heading across the shingle, before gracefully slithering into the sea. We sat skimming stones across the bay as the happy farmer took charge of the burgers.

Our tummies full we wandered home along the track, hoping that it won’t be too long until we get to BBQ again.

Until next time…

'To Hoot.....'

2007-10-01T17:58:00.000+01:00

The happy farmer has gone into overdrive, I arrived home on Friday lunch time to find he had ripped out the patio doors leading off our kitchen. For once we had a ‘spotless’ view of the garden. Thankfully it was a beautiful day. The ‘not so laid back forester’ arrived up after work, just at the right moment, the point where the new door frame wouldn’t quite fit, and the lip on the new French windows was catching. I crept quietly round them, trying to get on with cooking, very aware that we had one hundred and one other things to get done before Hoot’s funeral. By the time darkness fell the new doors were in place and looking quite splendid in their new home.

A massive digger has arrived today and is clearing and levelling the ground in preparation for the foundations on the extension, the happy farmer racing back and forth with tractor and trailer, scooping up the debris. The pottery cats have taken refuge on the farmhouse sofa, that’s their excuse anyway. The sheepdog has decided she really wants to be a house dog today and keeps creeping in and hiding under the kitchen table, I am seriously thinking of joining her!

We laid Hoot to rest on Saturday. In a moving service at the village church, his son sang the most beautiful Gaelic hymn and his nephews played guitars and accordion. A procession of about fifty or so cars made the two mile journey along an old farm track, to the hillside where Hoot was to be buried. Cars and the traditional hearse were abandoned at the farm steadings, the coffin, moved onto a trailer, pulled by an old 125 tractor, and followed by a quiet stream of mourners to the graveside. Hoot’s final resting place is in the corner of a field, shrouded by the Paps, and looking out down the hillside to the sea and the Sound of Jura. In the distance you could hear the roar of the waves in the Sound, and above on the hill a lone piper played as Hoot was laid to rest. Cheese and oatcakes were washed down with drams of Jura malt whisky, as Hoot’s friends picked up shovels and began to fill in the grave. As time passed a steady stream made their way back to the croft, the happy farmer driving the tractor and trailer back, drinking and driving, the Hoot would have been in his element. Back at the croft several of the boys were busy pushing the traditional hearse, as another reversed it back, skilfully, out of the ditch in which it had become stuck. Huge pots of soup were warming on the aga, chairs and tables were laid out in the old steadings, sandwiches and clootie dumpling were served, a gathering of Hoot’s family and friends.

As we headed back to the ferry we passed the hearse on the single track road, heading in the opposite direction, they managed to flag down our jingly jangly friend to lend a hand, as at the last minute they remembered the tanoy system they had left in the village church. They all raced round the corner in the nick of time to catch that ferry back across the Sound. Our jingly jangly friend joined us back at the farmhouse kitchen together with our lovely Dutch friends who had arrived off the afternoon ferry to stay on the farm for a week’s holiday, and we toasted our special friend…..Hoot.

Jimmy Hoot

2007-09-27T12:21:00.000+01:00

The happy farmer is out demolishing the old stone walls adjoining our house, attaching chains to the old cement work and hauling them down with the tractor. It is an apt time, a time of change, pulling away the old steadings, and replacing them with new stronger walls, extending our family home. The building warrant has finally come through and things can get moving.

Though as we pull down those old crumbling walls we are struggling today, our dear friend Hoot has died. We have visited him often over the past few weeks, reminiscing about the good times, as he, as sturdy as ever, bravely began to lose his battle with cancer, a battle that has spanned some thirty years, one which for the most part he has had the upper hand. His passing is a blessing, but tinged with great sadness for all who knew him well. Hoot was another of life’s rich characters. He was part of the fittings and fixtures of the farm, and we will miss him dreadfully, but his stories, his wicked sense of humour, that twinkle in his beady eyes, his character, will remain with us always.

Hoot could usually be found in his tackety boots, cap and boiler suit, down at the fank with the happy farmer working at sheep. When the work was done, a beady eyed Hoot would sit, mug of tea in his hand, roll up between his fingers and put the day and the world to rights. He has passed many a happy day on the farm over the years, a great man with the sheep, usually with his faithful Dan dog at his heels, always offering timely advice and the wisdom of one that truly knew and understood the ways of nature and the countryside. He has fenced the length and breadth of Scotland in his time. Never a day passed when he didn’t indulge in a bit of ‘the old tail pulling’, as Hoot would call it, as he would wind someone up and watch them take the bait. A remarkable man when it came to stalking and shooting, Hoot knew the hills well, and was a great teacher in the ways of the ‘Highlands’, when the boys were younger he would take them out to the north end of the island, where they would set up camp in the caves and live off the land.

So at the weekend Hoot will go back to rest in the land he so loved, he is to be buried on his sister’s croft on Jura……

It's a Dog's Life...

2007-09-19T11:19:00.000+01:00

Mist is finally no longer in season, the happy farmer can heave a huge sigh of relief, no pups this time. Roy, the sheepdog can get back to a peaceful life once more, having spent several days with his nose glued through the slats in the gate, tongue hanging out, as he whimpered and howled trying to get Mist’s attention as I took her on a daily walk through the back field.

Mist has delighted in her new found freedom. She jumped in with the pigs for a breakfast date, helping them to eat their rations, before clearing the gates, and taking herself off across the fields to indulge in a bit of sheep chasing, goading the happy farmer as she went. Skilfully disappearing out of sight, as he took chase on his quad bike. Only to reappear when she knew he was safely all the way up the top of the hill in his vain search, and the coast was clear for her to come skulking back into the garden. Mist had regained her composure, and was posing happily on the garden slabs, a wry grin on her face, by the time a harassed but happy farmer returned.

We had friends over from the mainland visiting with their beloved pet dog Fudge while Mist was in season. Poor Fudge got a rude awakening in our garden; enter at your peril when the bitch is on heat. Roy pestered him mercilessly, following him round the garden, nose glued firmly to his behind, before mounting a full scale assault. Fudge had to be rescued indoors, only to be growled at by Iona, my parents’ dog, who was over to stay. She is queen bee when she is here, taking over the happy farmer’s comfy kitchen chair, much to his annoyance. There she sits throughout the day, only peeling herself away from the chair if there is a walk on offer, or some yummy food scraps. Not at all impressed at Fudge’s arrival, a normally docile dog, Iona’s hackles were up, teeth were bared and Fudge was told in no uncertain terms that he was not welcome. Eventually we gave up, Fudge was put back in the car, Iona drifted lazily back to sleep, happy farmer looking on with gnarled face, and Roy was able to return once more to the slats in the gate and happily pant after his beloved.

Until next time….

Homework....sounds and smells...

2007-09-15T11:53:00.000+01:00

Homework….I was tagged…..12 smells and sounds that would reach me anywhere….

Well I spent lots of time under canvas as a child, every holiday and most weekends. We often used to camp at Tyddyn Ceithin in Cricceith, North Wales. My tent would pitched on the banks of the river and so I used to drift off to sleep to the sound of bleating lambs and flowing water, at times the river would be bubbling and boiling, so much so that it would feel as if the tent were being drawn into the water.

The smell of sheep’s wool, not freshly sheared, but wool freshly aired by the breeze, I used to gather it off the fences as a toddler and cuddle it up to my nose. It doesn’t have the strong lanolin, greasy scent of freshly sheared wool. My mum would replace it with clean cotton wool balls, another smell that I adored. The best however was to inhale cigar or cigarette smoke through cotton wool, whoops, a product of my parents’ smoking when I was small, but a smell I vividly can recall, and one which I used to find really comforting.

I love the peaty earthy scent you get when you walk through boggy ground on a wet day.

The sweet smell of summer that you get on a hot day in late spring, as children we would lie on our coats in the playground on such days, and just soak up the scent, together with the warm sun, and the sounds of other children playing, carried on the breeze.

The sounds of children exploding with uncontrollable giggles, my mum’s piano music, which used to waft up the stairs, after my brother and I had been tucked into bed at night, and bagpipes which have the power to send shivers up my spine and bring a tear to my eye.

The sweet scent of bog myrtle which is carried in the breeze as I make my way up the hill.

The salty smell of the ocean waves breaking on the shore….

Until next time…

Noddy and the Highlanders

2007-09-14T11:42:00.000+01:00

Oh the autumn is here, everyone seems to have a cold, and the days have been windy and gloomy. I think it is time to start lighting the fires, stocking up the stores, with all those vegetables, chutneys, jams and pickles, and hibernating indoors. I don’t quite feel ready to let go of the summer, but the change in weather is bringing about the change in seasons. I feel sorry for the lingering blooms of flowers, battling against the chilly September winds.

The happy farmer goes out looking like ‘Noddy’ each day, complete with red fleece and big hat, only to return, after a morning's fencing, with a matching red face, and that’s without any whisky !!

The highland cows have been moved down towards my mother in laws, off the hill and into the fields, to get a good bite of grass before the winter weather and the geese strip the fields bare. They are in great form just now, and happily followed the happy farmer, bucket in hand, off the hill and along the single track road to the fields, a group of cars patiently waiting in the lay-by, until the cows were well clear of the road.

It will soon be ‘tupping’ time once more, when the ‘boys’ (and I am talking the woolly ones here, and not the welly boot clad gang!) go into the fields with the ewes to work. The happy farmer has been busy giving those boys a manicure; they have a tendency to get bad feet, so theirs have been neatly trimmed in preparation for those ladies in waiting. It never ceases to amaze me how soft the tups are. The ewes live in large numbers out on the hillside and in the fields, in all weather, spend several months of the year pregnant, then go through the birthing, feeding and rearing of their offspring, before the whole cycle begins again. The tups on the other hand, spend the year lazing around, eating to their hearts content. They get extra rations of feed to build up their strength in October, go out into the fields to ‘work’ in November, and are then gathered in, and fed throughout the winter to help them recover from their few weeks of mating. They come away from the sheep and are literally ‘knackered’. This is often the point where we lose old Mr Blue. We use a blue faced Leicester tup, among other breeds, each year, and invariably he struggles to survive the winter months, in spite of being given shelter, extra rations and anti biotic jags, as he is the one that always seems to get a flu bug. If he is feeling particularly naughty he may even die before tupping begins, choosing his time to coincide with after the tup sales have finished and just a day or so before he is due to begin his mating programme.

This year tupping time is going to be challenging, with the foot and mouth crisis, not knowing if the disease is going to spread, and the movement restrictions, which will prevent us buying new stock to breed in with our flocks. In September or October the happy farmer usually goes away to the mainland to buy several new tups for his ladies. Fingers crossed the outbreak will be contained and livestock movement can return to normal as quickly as possible. On a flippant note, how else am I going to get those new shoes if the happy farmer doesn’t manage to sell those lambs?!!

Until next time….

Uncertain Change

2007-09-06T19:12:00.000+01:00

The Paps are being awfully shy, ever since I decided to post daily pictures of them on the blog they have been in hiding. Today they continue to be a complete tease, lifting the heavy layers of mist and cloud covering them, ever so slightly to reveal their lower climbs, before covering up again completely.

We have friends home from New Zealand. They have family over with them who have never visited the islands before. They have yet to see the Paps in their full glory, the happy farmer of course, a wry grin on his face, explained how they recently decided to concrete the whole of Jura and the Paps are in fact no more. Maybe that is why they have decided to revel themselves ever so slightly today!

Our son arrived home from school really excited, our daughter completely fed up. The reason, well our high school is the first school in Europe where every child is being issued with a tablet PC, a mini laptop computer. Jotters, pens and worksheets are going to be a thing of the past.

Son came home with his shiny new tablet yesterday; daughter has got to wait another week until hers is issued, so she was really not a happy bunny. I have really mixed feelings about the whole process, but then that is also my approach to change. I can’t help feeling that my children are going to be the guinea pigs in this whole computer age. It seems to somewhat contradict our natural surroundings, I can’t help wondering why the computer giants, Dell and Microsoft have chosen a small school on a remote Scottish island to begin this computer revolution.

I have concerns about what skills will be lost when computers don’t simply enhance class work, but actually take over. Will it be easy to revise and learn notes by reading from a computer screen instead of going through hand written notes and work sheets? Will a part of each individual’s identity be lost to some extent when everything is computer processed and not hand written? It is interesting that we live in an age when we are trying to desperately preserve, languages such as Gaelic and Welsh, to value and appreciate accents and dialogues, which at one point were actively banished in the belief that if we all spoke the same language, with the same accent and dialect, it would help us to get on better in the world. I can’t help but draw some comparisons to our use of language in the written sense also; will it be good for children to rely on computer keyboards so dependently when it comes to expressing themselves in the written form? Will the whole process prove a technological nightmare? What happens if children’s work is not backed up properly, they can only link to the internet when at school and the tablets have no DVD drives, so what happens when a huge amount of research or an all important essay is lost with the touch of a button?

The children are really excited, they are already far more computer literate than me. We live in an ever changing world. I should be glad that my children are getting this fantastic opportunity, that they are receiving such fantastic equipment for nothing, I just can’t help wishing it had been tried and tested elsewhere first, that’s all, and I do hope they do not lose the all important skills of expressing themselves with pen and paper…back to the cave drawings then.

Until next time…

Muck n' Mud

2007-09-04T14:50:00.000+01:00

The farmhouse kitchen is beginning to resemble a vegetable patch; the ‘vegetable patch’ is taking over, a country kitchen garden. It all sounds very lovely and organic but the reality is potatoes covered in mud. Carrots, a jungle of leaves on them, all muddy and waiting to be scrubbed. A huge wheel barrow at the door, filled with beetroot, waiting to be boiled and made into jars of pickles and chutney. Then there is the cauliflower, oodles of it, freshly blanched, and cooling in large ceramic pots. There are cabbages bursting out, and so it goes on.

Dare I admit at this point that I do sometimes miss ‘clacketing’ round city supermarkets, polished toe nails on show, selecting neatly packaged, pre washed, bright vegetables, all the same shape and size? The chemicals soaked into them and on them, if they are not of the organic variety, are after all invisible….Please please don’t spoil this fantasy I have of a city supermarket. I know the reality is ever so slightly different. I have been there, trying to manoeuvre that ever so large trolley, the one with the ‘wonky wheels’ up and down the ginormous aisles that offer so much choice it is a bit like locating a needle in a haystack, especially if you are in the ‘country comes to town’ bracket. However when I am soaking, covered in mud, from holding armfuls of vegetables, making my way to the kitchen, I do have that little fantasy of being clean and polished in a neat suit in a city supermarket.....

Of course I realise that once my vegetables have been washed and cooked, or eaten raw, (as is the case with the peas, they never quite make it to the pan, they are far too sweet and delicious to cook), that you really cannot beat the flavour of home grown vegetables from garden to plate in minutes. That is the moment you really do reap the rewards. I did feel a bit down hearted though as I plucked away at the various vegetables in the patch, leaving huge gaps, that were filled with billowing greens…until next year!!

It is another ‘mizzly’ day today, hence the huge wads of mud on the veggies. As I went for a run, I thought what a good idea it would be to post a daily photo of those majestic Paps, the beautiful hills that I am lucky to see most days. Last night they were covered in the pink and purple hues of the setting sun. Of course today in the misty rain, you wouldn’t even know they are there, they are totally invisible, shrouded in layers of grey mist, they must be feeling ever so slightly shy at my suggestion of appearing on the blog then….

Until next time………

The 'jingly jangly' friend

2007-09-03T15:06:00.000+01:00

I have been all out of sorts. The children went back to school a week last Thursday. The whole laid back life of lazy days, outings to beaches, visits from friends, and the endless freedom that only the long summer break really brings, has been kick started into a bustling routine of school bags, packed lunches, buses, and then silence, as the last one heads out of the door. The house feels so empty, that is until they come bursting through the door again at 4.00pm, leaving a trail of school bags shoes and discarded instruments in their wake. I hate it when the schools go back, especially the first few weeks, when everyone is adjusting once again to the routines that school life brings.....

The happy farmer took me out to a distillery for lunch to cheer me up, last week . It was a ‘mizzly’ week, with drizzle and low lying cloud, days when it doesn’t quite know whether it is summer or autumn. It was quiet travelling over to the distillery, no squabbling children in the car, arguing over which band we should be listening too, or moaning that we were heading out at all, we did miss them…..

The old kiln café was bustling with tourists, still enjoying their holidays. The island still has that lovely ‘holiday’ feel about it, just unfortunately for some, the holidays are definitely over. The café has a fantastic atmosphere; it is situated in one of the distillery warehouses, and has an old flagstone floor and a high ceiling of huge, solid, oak beams.

We had to wait a while to get seated, the happy farmer leaning against one of the old steel posts, threatening to start chatting to people, hoping to make them ‘slurp’ that soup a little quicker, and hurry off out, so we could get a seat. I managed to persuade him to stay put while I browsed the array of drams, in bottles of various ages and cask strengths, woollen pullovers, scarves and paintings on sale.

Once seated, the menu looked appetising, and just as our order arrived so did our ‘jingly jangly’ friend, that is his ‘blog name’ anyway, called thus, as he can never ever sit still, not even for a minute. He is a fascinating character; completely loop the loop, and great entertainment value, as well as being a good friend of ours. He arrived with some friends of his, so we all sat together. The friends were up from the Lake District, and are in charge of the company who are demolishing the Islay Hotel, which is now owned by our ‘jingly jangly’ friend. It is his latest and very exciting venture. Over the course of the next week the old hotel will be ‘raised to the ground’, apparently, finally all being pulled down at 10.00am next Saturday. The company doing the work have demolished a lot of these tall cooling towers around the country. It should be quite a sight, and will be a very welcome sight, as the hotel has stood in a dreadful derelict condition for many years now, proving a huge eyesore for all of the visitors and residents, this will very soon be a sight of the past. Our good friend has plans to rebuild the Islay Hotel and turn it once more into a thriving hub of activity at the heart of the island’s community.

We headed home, refreshed, and ready for the first child home to come racing through that door.

Until next time….

Drawing Sheep.....

2007-08-27T09:57:00.000+01:00

Having finally taken off his Caribbean beach wear, and put those legs firmly undercover in thick leggings and welly boots, the happy farmer spent a day in the fank with his ladies. He was up early gathering them off the hill, sheep dog in tow. There were those of us who were lucky enough to benefit from his early morning escapades when he returned to the farm house clutching a few sprigs of white heather. The heather is out in full bloom just now, the hills are covered in beautiful purple hues, and to his delight the happy farmer came across a clump of wild white heather, very rare and considered to be very lucky.

A dry stone dyker was at the fank, repairing an old wall that has been reduced to a pile of stones over the past few years. Apparently the wall had been dismantled many years ago, when the happy farmer’s father was just a ‘wee bairn’. His pet rabbit had disappeared through a gap in the stones, and his uncle Hugh had pulled the stones apart to retrieve the rabbit. Yesterday saw that bit of wall getting a professional repair. Hopefully it will now remain standing for many more years to come.

The happy farmer was busy at the fank drawing the old ewes, so I carefully took the pen and paper from his fingers…only joking ‘drawing the ewes’ is apparently the term used when one checks the old ewes above and below, for broken mouths, ie no teeth, and to make sure their vessels are in tact. The ‘old crocs’, as the happy farmer so fondly refers to them, are then dosed and fattened on young grass ready for the market, having just left the heather clad hills. The lambs were also separated from the ewes, dosed, and will be fattened in the fields for market too, Back to the ‘authentic’ farm yard sounds at night then as those little darlings will be bleating for their mothers until they settle.

The happy farmer called in his ‘team’ to help chase the lambs and ewes to the fields. The ‘team’ consisting of the happy potter, myself, and the ‘laid back forester’s’ wife, we were all positioned at various points along the way, and instructed to chase those sheep away from the various ‘escape’ routes. Of course all was going to plan until a group of tourists came out of the pottery show room, on cue, just as the lambs were heading for the fields, the lambs stopped in their tracks, the tourists stopped in their tracks, the lambs scattered, the happy farmer, dog and team scattered, the tourists stood and stared…..Losing lambs left right and centre as they pushed their way through gates and so on to escape from the scary tourists, a harassed, happy farmer, raced around, re grouping and re gathering them,, ever so politely asking those lovely tourists if they could just move ever so slightly out of sight, one was obedient, three were not, and I am not talking lambs here. Three attempts later and a bit of good sign language, and the happy farmer had those tourists herded up, and those lambs in the field.

Until next time….

Things that go 'Woof' in the night......

2007-08-24T09:41:00.000+01:00

We were at a fabulous Caribbean party last weekend, setting off, in the ‘mandatory’ beach wear attire, we worried that it would be dampened by the horrendous wet weather that had shrouded the island in mist and drizzly rain for the whole day. Not so. We all had an amazing time, with Caribbean cocktails, limbo dancing, hula hoops, palm tree canopies, spit roast pork and a huge BBQ, not to mention the good company, and the promise of more smoked mackerel from the skipper off the Jura ferry boat, a bag of frozen sloes from his wife, and with a bit more cajoling, the happy farmer thinks he may just be able to persuade him to spill the beans on the secret location, somewhere deep in the island’s woods, that he visits in September for a plentiful supply of sloes. The happy farmer will be washing out more flagons in preparation for his sloe gin making at this rate!

Arriving home much later, tired children sleeping in the back of the jeep, the happy farmer went over to welcome our holiday guests who had just arrived off a delayed evening ferry. He sloshed through the puddles and rain, in the darkness, still clad in his ‘beach wear’ attire, to give them a good island welcome…and those shorts did the trick, he managed to convince them that the weather here had been spectacular for the whole day. As the morning arrived, so did the sun, and it hasn’t stopped shining since.

Sunday greeted us with Mist the sheep dog coming into her first season though. We could recognise the signs, Roy, her male counterpart, was following her around the garden, nose firmly glued to her, sniffing away. We separated them, and Mist had to be confined to barracks for the day. Night time came and the happy farmer took Mist from her kennel and placed her on a long chain in the shed, with her bed and water bowl. Roy reluctantly went to the kennel alone.

At some unearthly hour we were woken by Mist barking outside the bedroom window. ‘Houdini’ had managed to escape from the chain, escape out of the locked shed, and had decided to take herself off to play with the pigs, in the middle of the night. Of course the pigs were not for waking up and joining in with her shenanigans at such a late hour, hence all the barking, as they lay lifeless, sound asleep, refusing to budge.

One weary happy farmer, dragged himself out of bed, got dressed and collected his dog and took her back to the shed, securely shutting her in this time, and returning with legs covered in flea bites, to a robin, flying around son’s bedroom. Much later, ‘de flea ed’ and robin rescued, he returned to his slumbers.

Next night, 2.00am we were woken by one howling, barking sheep dog. We couldn’t sleep for the noise, and despite the happy farmer’s quips that we could charge our lovely guests extra for the authentic farm yard sounds in the middle of the night, one weary happy farmer had to get up and go and rescue his dog from the shed. A lady needs her bed, so Roy, the sheep dog got ousted from the kennel, and Mist duly went to her own familiar bed and fell fast asleep. She hasn’t bothered us since. Roy now has a ‘camp’ bed in the garden, so far so good….and hopefully no puppies!!

Until next time…

White Washed Over....

2007-08-23T10:15:00.000+01:00

Picture this…if you can, farmer’s wife, paint brush in hand white washing cottages. Farmer, coffee in hand, chatting to farrier, and as the minutes ticked into hours, disgruntled farmer’s wife just telling happy farmer to get a move on out of the farmhouse kitchen when happy farmer’s friend from the deep south arrives at the farm, having not been on the island for over seven years. So, farmer’s wife, paint brush in hand, painting cottages, happy farmer, farrier, and friend with beers in hands chatting.
‘It’s a conspiracy!’ I yelled.

Farmer’s wife finishes painting all of the bits on both cottages that she can reach.

Farmer’s friend has collected his wife and brought her up to join the happy gathering. BT boys drive into the farm yard, having finished work, to come and help the happy farmer with his painting. Happy farmer, farrier, friend, friend’s wife, BT boys, all sat in the sunshine, beers in hand.

BT boys decide painting must be done before anymore beer is consumed, happy farmer is just about to join them when farm dealer, happy potter and stone dyker turn up. Being a sociable sort of a chap, happy farmer has to leave BT boys to get on with the painting while he welcomes the further guests into the fold, especially when cottage dwellers join the party too, and beer is replaced with whisky.

BT boys return job done. Farmer T arrives.

Huge pot of chilli on the stove, and one hugely happy farmer.

Until next time….

PS Picture is of happy farmer adding his final contribution….proving the point it isn’t all play and no work!!

'Shocked'.....

2007-08-20T14:21:00.000+01:00

We must have the most photographed cows on the island. There has been a steady stream of tourists stopping to take pictures of our girls on the hill. At this point I would like to take the opportunity to apologise to any of those ‘happy snappers’ who may be reading this and have had the misfortune to have got ever so slightly too close to those ladies and ended up getting a shock off the happy farmer’s electric fence.

I was sat having a coffee on the bench with the happy farmer when yet another car load of tourists stopped to take pictures and from the body language one had got a ‘bang’ off the fence. As the happy farmer chuckled away I remarked that we really must get some more signs put up to warn people. The happy farmer gave an ever so slightly unenthusiastic nod. You see I think the truth of the matter is he enjoys the daily entertainment as he sits sniggering into his coffee as yet another tourist gets a shock.

Of course our tourist business will be completely blown now I have let the cat out of the bag. The happy farmer on the other hand is keen to point out that if the tourists are guests of ours he always makes sure he warns them about his electric fence, pointing out the signs as he goes.

As I came off the hill last week, I was confronted with a backside sticking up in the air, head firmly under the tractor, swearing away. Unfortunately I didn’t have my camera at this point and decided against asking the said farmer if he would pose with his bottom sticking out of the tractor for a ‘pic’ for this blog, lest he began swearing at me too. The backside did not belong to the happy farmer you see, but as I recognised it I couldn’t resist giving it a good whack with the walking stick! It was another well known farmer, painting the air a very bright blue with his explosion of expletives. The problem…. his tractor had broken down, however very conveniently it happened beside the happy farmer’s reliable old lady, and I am talking tractors here and not farmer’s wives!!

He duly borrowed the happy farmer’s tractor, driving off down the road in a slightly better mood, having agreed to borrow it for a couple of days.

A week later he returned it, with a very sad story, his tractor was in need of major surgery. The happy farmer quickly ushered him in, handed him a beer, and has recommended the Samaritans phone number and an extra long stint at Sunday paper time in the local hostelry as a tried and tested cure.

Watch this space.

Until next time…

Show Day

2007-08-19T13:00:00.000+01:00

Oh dear, it is really over a week since I last blogged, it feels a lot longer, such a lot happens in a week when the children are off school, and now I feel completely rusty as I attempt to put all of the events into ‘blog land’.

Show day has been and gone, with eldest daughter already looking forward to next year’s event. She had a fantastic time with Hansel, the pair of them coming home laden with rosettes, a first, a third, a fourth, and a clear round in the jumping at the gymkhana.

The happy farmer set off early to the show field with horse, daughter and trailer, leaving a trail of jackets, welly boots, and lead ropes in their wake. At 5.30am we had heard eldest daughter trying ever so hard no to waken everyone as she gathered her things together and went off to catch Hansel and begin grooming him in preparation for the big day. The rest of us arrived at the show field a little later, after my son’s chanter lesson, armed with flasks of hot coffee which we washed down with crusty rolls filled with ‘island-reared’ pork and beef being served from one of the many stalls. The younger two disappeared off to the bouncy castles and various side shows, only reappearing periodically to get more change out of the happy farmer.

Meg won best Clydesdale in show and was done up to the nines with flowers and tack gleaming.

The happy farmer met an old friend, Robert, over visiting the island specially to visit the show. Robert is an old hand when it comes to horses. He appeared over and gave eldest daughter a hand with the horse, and some fantastic tips between her various classes. In the end nothing would do but he had to jump on and have a quick ride, funnily enough the naughty horse took him straight in the direction of the beer tent, or was it the naughty rider leading the horse a stray? At the beer tent surprisingly Hansel met many old pals, the farrier, who had spent a few hours the day before the show doing the horse’s feet and offering advice, the game keepers, the editor of ‘The Scottish Farmer’, and a few more besides. What does that tell you about the happy farmer and his daughter’s horse?! As Hansel returned he was hotly pursued by the local game keeper, who couldn’t resist having another shot on Hansel, having ridden him bare back in a previous blog. This time Hansel, bless him, cantered off around the back of the show field, going in the opposite direction to the beer tent.

Until next time…

Horsing Around

2007-08-08T14:09:00.000+01:00

We have had days of driving wind and rain, it felt like winter had arrived a little too early, but today the rain clouds have given way to bright hot sunshine, adding to the spirit of excitement around the place as everyone gets ready for the annual agricultural show. Yesterday the kitchen was filled with happy chatter as dealers arrived off the ferry, towing shiny new machinery, stopping in for a quick cup, before heading to set up their stands at the show field.

It is going to be a strange show this year, what with no cattle, sheep and pigs, due to the restrictions on animal movement, which affect even this small hebridean island. At one point we didn’t even know if there would be a show, but after a meeting it was decided that it should go ahead as always. There will be a great deal of diappointment among the farming community though. Hours of preparation go into rearing show beasts. Show lambs will have been born as early as December, and carefully nurtured and reared over the months. The big show sale which happens the following day at the auction market will be a none event this year unless the restrictions are lifted.

There is big excitement on the farm today though among the children as the horses are still able to go to the show. Meg the Clydesdale spent yesterday evening getting her tail clipped by her owner, as my daughter so fondly put it

‘She really was not at all happy mum, that is until she saw me, then she put her ears forward and gave me a great big smile.’

My daughter loves the horses and has been putting her horse, Hansel, through his paces over the past few weeks, getting more excited with each passing day. Shampoo has been bought and today armed with buckets of water and brushes there have been an army of children tenderly grooming the horse ready for tomorrow’s show. I admire my daughter’s passion and confidence. I pointed out that there may be a few more spectators at the horses ring this year in the absence of the other beasts. Totally unfazed she remarked

‘Oh Hansel will be so pleased, he adores people and loves showing off. He is really going to enjoy himself’....... and I know she will too…

Until next time…..

Farming Feasts

2007-08-05T11:27:00.000+01:00

The happy farmer had promised a BBQ lunch for our friends before they headed off on the ferry in the late afternoon. Not one to be beaten by the continuous rain that greeted us this morning, I met the happy farmer perched on an upturned bucket, in his shed, busy barbecuing sausages and other delights, as he chatted away to holiday people, handing out the odd sausage here and there as the food gradually cooked. It was really quite a sight, in among all of the farm machinery, animal feed, and his ‘junk’ yard treasures, accumulated over the generations, the charcoal smoke combining with the heavy scent of tractor oil.

Later the kitchen was buzzing, our friends and their children arrived, as the farrier and the happy farmer tucked into mugs of coffee, a pan filled with clams, which had been handed in by a local fisherman, were frying away in garlic and butter on the stove, a pan of warm, newly dug potatoes sat on the table, together with a dish of home grown salad leaves. Burgers and sausages were put into buns for the assembled children. A hearty feast was had by all.

Our friends headed off for the ferry. The happy farmer and the farrier had graduated onto Irish coffees and spent a wet afternoon putting the world to rights. By the time they started on the drams all was well in the world…that is until sometime later we put on the evening news and learnt of the outbreak of foot and mouth disease in England….

Until next time…..

Island Treasures

2007-08-03T12:28:00.000+01:00

I was sat on the bench in the sunshine, enjoying a morning cup of coffee with the happy farmer, when ‘sploosh’, a beaker full of icy cold water came hurtling through the air, and soaked me, followed by giggles from a certain little monkey grinning out of the window, and some guffawing from a certain happy farmer,
‘It was meant to get dad,’ was the apology! I haven’t got my own back…yet!!

There were no takers for the beach today; the happy farmer was busy in his shed, the children quite happy pottering about, the eldest saddled up her horse and away she went.

I took the dogs, then went to check on the vegetable patch, and got totally carried away. I dug up a shaw of potatoes and found to my delight some absolute beauties; they were well and truly ready. Feeling like I had struck gold, several shaws later, and I was up to my ankles in mud, and finally decided these croc ‘shoes’ are fantastic on the beach but I must stop wearing them in the vegetable patch, the mud falls through all of the little holes. The horde of vegetables hanging proudly from my arms, in two baskets I squidged my way back across the garden to the house. The downside to the home grown produce is of course all of the cleaning up after, there was more mud on me than on the potatoes, so a shower full of grit and mud later, I was sorted. An organised gardener would of course wear wellies and thick gardening gloves, of which I have both!

The happy farmer came in delighted, armed with fresh fillets of home smoked mackerel courtesy of the skipper on the Jura ferry boat. Tonight we will have a true ‘island’ feast.

Until next time…

Island Life

2007-08-01T16:42:00.000+01:00

Yesterday I watched the children and their friends clambering over the remaining few bales of hay, sitting in a row in the front field, as the eldest took full advantage of the short grass, cantering across the skyline in the late evening sun.

Today I am faced with the farmhouse filled with hay from one end to the other, strewn across the carpets, it is even in the children’s’ beds, I think there is more hay in the house than in the hay shed! So the morning was spent having a good tidy up.

The farmer was away at a funeral in the local village; it would be a very busy funeral, as the island bids farewell to a much loved and respected character. As the librarian pointed out, island funerals can be dangerous places. They say a good island funeral is like a good island wedding; just the ties are a different colour. It is meant in the best possible way, and for special characters, although their passing is a sad occasion for the whole community, ones who have had a colourful, long and happy life, they certainly believe in celebrating that life and giving them a good send off.

The library van had trundled up the single track road and parked in the lay-by, as it does once a fortnight, so I could go and choose some new books, and have a ‘blether’, as the islanders call it. Where else would you get such a fantastic service?

Eldest daughter went on a pony trek along the shore with her friends so I spent the afternoon at the beach, clambering among the rocks as the rain clouds gathered. The farmer was happy again, having found a piece of salvage to take home to his shed, smiling away as he walked his yellow box back across the beach.

Until next time…

Setting up Camp

2007-07-31T12:00:00.000+01:00

Our mainland friends and their five children arrived; the farmhouse is filled with laughter and chatter as the young ones race around while the adults drink coffee, catch up and try to get organised for an outing.

Several hours later, piles of sandwiches made, we headed for the woods armed with empty punnets. The raspberries are ripening and you can’t beat home made raspberry jam to take you through the autumn months, here’s hoping it lasts that long! Of course that was wishful thinking, the punnets were empty to begin with and were empty at the end of the adventure too! The kids were far too busy skimming stones in the loch, scrambling through the trees and undergrowth, hauling huge logs around, playing tag, and eating the odd berry along the way, fancy thinking they would have five minutes to fill a few punnets with raspberries.

We strolled along in the sunshine, chatting, keeping an ever watchful eye over the youngest member of the party, who at two years old was having an absolute field day with all of those stones and the rippling waters of the nearby loch.

We returned home, raspberry less, to a BBQ and beds of various shapes and sizes set up all over the house. Our friends returned to their digs, pretty much childless, only one sleeping babe in arms, as the rest of the crew had set up camp, deciding a sleepover was the order of the day.

Until next time….

Summer days

2007-07-30T12:50:00.000+01:00

The island really comes alive in the summer months. Each day the ferry arrives, laden with cars and visitors, once the ferry traffic has dispersed, the hustle and bustle disappears and evaporates as the island happily consumes its visitors, and although you are aware that there seem to be more people out and about in the sunny weather, the island maintains its peaceful atmosphere.

The farm has been particularly busy with visitors too as friends make their yearly pilgrimage across the sea to visit this beautiful island. Yesterday the girls’ friends arrived off the afternoon ferry. There was great excitement. These friends have been visiting the island since they were babies, when they first ventured across the farm yard from the holiday cottage; they had not long learnt to take their first tiny steps. As each year passes, they make the same journey over. Yesterday saw them all sat high up in the hay shed on the round bales, catching up where they left off, as if they were together only yesterday. How quickly a year seems to pass, and with each passing year, how quickly they all seem to be growing up, gone are the cuddly unicorns that they each used to race through the fields with as they set off on some fantasy adventure to ‘fairy hill’. Now the squeals, giggles and cuddly unicorns have been replaced by horses and going for long strolls and serious chats. Their
friendship growing and strengthening with each passing year.

The happy farmer went shopping yesterday, just to get supplies from the main village. He often disappears at some point on a Saturday to visit the stores, usually taking much longer than you or I would. He always seems to meet someone. Yesterday he met his Edinburgh friends, stopped in for a chat, before arriving home laden with bags of shopping and several of the friends he had happened to meet along the way. I do enjoy the spontaneity of the happy farmer's shopping expeditions!

Hay Bales

2007-07-25T12:07:00.000+01:00

My blogs are becoming a bit thin on the ground of late, but I have the perfect excuse, please don’t cringe, but the sun has been shining here for days now! The hammocks have been up in the garden, the paddling pool out for my youngest, and the horses have been lovingly groomed and put through their paces by the eldest. I even got serenaded by bagpipes through lunch the other day as an old friend of the happy farmer turned up at the pottery with his wife and children. Nothing was doing, but the happy farmer whisked them all over for a bite to eat and an impromptu ceilidh in the garden.

I tackled the weeds growing among the vegetables yesterday, and thinned out the carrots and young turnips. It is looking mighty impressive, although eggs have appeared on the broccoli and caterpillars are hatching out, looks like I have got competition, and if I don’t act fast they will have eaten their way through the crops before me! The lettuce has gone a bit wild, I think I may have planted a bit much, it gets to this time of year, when you reap the rewards of hard labour, look at all of the thriving plants and realise you have got some amount of eating to do, to make it all worth while!

The happy farmer got a field of hay cut, and has been turning it several times a day to allow it to dry out in this blissful heat. Making hay is a precarious business, especially in today’s climate. Once the hay is cut, it lies in the field for several days to dry out. Once the process of turning the hay has begun you do not want any rain, as this will affect the quality of the hay, or ruin it completely. Yesterday he got the field baled, the tractor and baler working away, as the children climbed on the bales, the sweet smell of hay in the air, and a truly happy farmer!

Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit...

2007-07-21T17:16:00.000+01:00

You know the summer has well and truly arrived when there is a sandy residue lurking in the bath that just won’t wash away. The children have been swimming in the sea, while the sausages were sizzling on the temporary BBQ, at the water’s edge.
You can’t beat it, although our friends did slightly in that their ‘steaks’ were cooked on a huge fire made from driftwood the boys had gathered!

I took the children fishing off the pier the other night, not a fish in sight, but the youngest managed to gather fifteen crabs in her little bucket as she combed the seaweed and gently lifted the stones in the nearby rock pools. The eldest two gave up and we had a stone skimming competition instead.

The happy farmer was away shooting rabbits with his old pal Hoot. Hoot is an amazing character, and has helped the happy farmer out over the years, from dipping and clipping sheep, to fencing, or building fanks. Hoot has an incredible knowledge of wildlife and nature, having grown up in the Hebrides. He spent his childhood watching wildlife, and could tell you where all of the different types of birds were nesting. Last night as he cast a beady eye out across the fields he explained how the female rabbit, the doe, digs a small hollow to place her young in, and then camouflages them with grass and soil, as she leaves them to go and search for food. The hare on the other hand will dig similar hollows, but leaves only one of its young in each hollow, and separates these small dens out across a field for safety. When the hare returns to feed the young, it will zig zag all over the place, so as to confuse any predators stalking her young.
The happy farmer returned with seven rabbits. He is going to make a huge pot of rabbit stew from this clean, organic meat, although not before he had wrapped some of the saddle into a bag for one of the locals calling by the pottery.

I didn’t manage to get my run with my friend from Germany; I had an appointment I couldn’t get out of. I was really quite disappointed, but next time, when she is back we will definitely get running up that hill! We sat around the table last night, sampling the whisky our other guests had just had bottled from their cask at Bruichladdich, a gathering of family and friends, old and new.

Until next time…..

Running up That Hill....No Problem....

2007-07-19T16:48:00.000+01:00

The weather cleared at last, the clippers worked like mad and got the fleeces off those girls in the nick of time before we left for a holiday. The happy farmer was extremely pleased. They finished about 10.30pm, and as we had an early start to catch the morning ferry I left a pot of chilli and a pot of curry bubbling away on the stove and left them to it. The happy farmer was left in charge and made it up the stairs at some unearthly hour!

We have lovely guests from Germany staying in one of the cottages at the moment. One of the ladies arrived over at the farm house yesterday; apparently they want to come on a run with me tomorrow.

‘Running…with me?’ I nearly had a canary on the spot! These lovely people are fit and athletic looking, they have run half marathons, and take off for a run each day down the track.

‘Yes, we want to run with you, through the fields and up the hill. Would that be all right? We would enjoy it, and you know the routes, you would help us to avoid the pot holes.’

She suggested 8.00am, but I opted for the 10.30 am slot instead. I did try to explain that mine was more of a ‘walk- run’, she smiled sweetly.

‘10.30am Friday then?’ and she was gone.

Now going for a run with me is a bit of an adventure, it is more like going on a ‘bear hunt’. First there is the knee deep, sometimes waist height long ‘swishy’ grass; the crops don’t get cut for silage until after 1st August. There are the streams to cross, I just splash through, never mind the consequences. The barbed wire fences to clamber over, inevitably my trousers get snagged, and untangling the material from the barbs is a skilled process, especially if one leg is dangling high in the air. Finally there is the hill to climb. I only run up the easy bits, across the grass, chewed to stubble by the resident sheep, through the reeds, and then across the various bogs that present themselves as ankle deep, squelching, thick, oozing mud which fills the trainers every time. Eventually reduced to a red, heaving blob I scramble up the steep bit to the trig point, which is what makes it all worth it. There you can usually find a refreshing breeze, more of a howling gale in the winter, which at times is impossible to stand up against. I always wait a while, watching as Bunty steers the Jura ferry across the Sound, a few yachts tacking their way against the wind, the local bus and bin lorries making their way to the villages, they look like they exist in a matchbox world from up there.

As we sat in the sunshine in the cottage garden enjoying a dram with our German guests they gingerly enquired as to why I always run with a large stick in my hand. I smiled as I told them it is to provide protection from the cows, which have been known to trample fences to chase me and the dogs, the tupps, who often come running, and in days gone by from the cheeky pony Tuppence, who used to delight in galloping after me, nipping at my arm as he ran alongside. Tuppence sensing my fear took delight in terrorising me as I made my way out the hill. Oh and there was the night when I nearly got trampled by a herd of stampeding deer as they fled down off the hill away from the dogs chasing barking behind them.

Until next time….

Sheep Shearing

2007-07-03T11:10:00.000+01:00

Pillaged malt, it is something of a tradition here on Islay, and the pillaged malt I was talking about in my last blog is perfectly legal and a bit of good fun in aid of charity. The pillagers look for a donation of 24 litres of whisky as they row to each distillery, giving them 250 bottles in all for their auction. A litre of each whisky is also poured into a barrel, which is rolled by a team of men, around the island, who visit each of the distilleries. There is more information on http://www.islaypillage.co.uk/ I think you can even bid for some of the pillaged malt there.

Yesterday was a wet day here again, you can tell the schools have broken up for the summer then; the sunny skies gave way to huge black clouds which left torrential downpours in their wake. The clipping didn’t get done again, although the clippers called round last night for a beer or two. It is always good to catch up with them. Mike travels around the world clipping sheep. He usually brings a couple clippers over from New Zealand to complete the team. Farms around the world welcome him as he moves nomadically about following the summer sunshine. He is a fantastic bloke, very laid back and has been coming to the farm every July for the past 14 years or so.

Everyone really enjoys the clipping; even I have come round to it over the years. I spent my first summer on the farm, watching the happy farmer as he toiled for several days shearing the sheep, my job was to keel their backs with a dab of blue dye to mark them as our sheep. It was a smelly, boring task, especially as it was bright sunny weather and we were stuck in a dark smelly shed. The next year I was even more involved, I stood for hours and rolled the fleeces into tight bundles, putting them into the sack to go away to the woollen mills. That was an even smellier job, although the lanolin from the fleeces is a great conditioner. The following year I saw sense. I retired from all shearing related tasks, leaving the fun to the happy farmer and the happy potters instead, and took myself off to a beach to enjoy the sun. I still didn’t manage to escape the pungent smell of the fleeces in the house though as the happy farmer would return each evening after a days clipping, so after that, before the children were born, I used to time my holiday to the Midlands to coincide with the clipping, only returning once it was well and truly over!

The New Zealand boys have of course transformed the clipping, with several of them on the task, and they come with their own purpose built clipping station the job is completed in an afternoon. The children all gather to help chase the sheep into the pen and there is a buzz in the air with the sound of the electric sheers and the bleating of masses of sheep.

Once the clipping is completed we party in the kitchen as the happy farmer and his team tuck into a big pan of curry and a crate or two of beer.

Let’s hope the weather clears today and the clipping gets done!

Until next time…

Bilberry Pie

2007-07-01T20:06:00.000+01:00

The clipping didn’t happen, the rain poured relentlessly throughout the day, so the girl’s fleeces just had to stay put, they were too wet. The happy farmer moved the sheep back from the fank and into a nearby field and then set about feeding the pigs and the chickens. One of the chickens jumped into the bucket of pig food, so hungry was she. The happy farmer turned to feed her some barley and what was following her but a fluffy yellow chick, our first this year. The happy farmer scooped her up and made them a nest in the back of the horse box, otherwise there is a strong possibility the chick would get lost and perish. We walked everywhere looking for evidence of a nest or further chicks, to see if there were more, but found nothing.

Eldest daughter was highly entertained though as in the new byre two hens were squabbling over a nest and eggs. One was sat brooding on top of the nest, the other gently nudging her off and quickly scooping eggs under her chin into her nest, finally I went to look and both hens were sat side by side, proudly on their eggs. Maybe we will be getting more chicks soon.

I had been woken early, the window was open and I could hear men talking and the sound of an engine, and wheels. I thought maybe the farmers were gathering to start cutting the fields for silage. I later found out that it was men rolling a barrel to pillage malt from Bunahabhain distillery. Each year whisky is pillaged from each distillery and rolled onto a birlinn galley. The boys sail round the island to pillage the malt and it is later auctioned off for charity.

I went up the hill for a run in the pouring rain, mad woman that I am, but my efforts were rewarded. There at the top of the hill I noticed masses of huge purple bilberries. Bilberries are delicious; they have a tart, dewy flavour and evoke so many happy memories. As a child, when my parents took us on long walks in the Highlands it was a treat when tired and thirsty we would come across bilberry bushes. Now each summer the children always trek out the hill and gather bilberries with their pals. Summer has arrived when the ground becomes a mass of bushes full of bilberries.

Until next time……

Gathering the Sheep

2007-06-30T12:24:00.000+01:00

As I ran out the hill in the sunshine yesterday I met the happy farmer and his dog on the quad bike gathering in the sheep. Even the lazy dog gets to sit in luxury, in a fish box, on the back of the quad, as the happy farmer makes his way over the boggy ground and around, up the back of the steep hill.

He didn’t need a hand with gathering them yesterday at all, the girls were perfect, and followed each other in a big herd meandering down the hill. I think they must have known that it is clipping time. The girls are going for a hair cut, their fleeces will be shorn today by our team of New Zealand clippers that come over to the island every June and July to sheer the sheep. The happy farmer used to clip all of the sheep himself, but it is a back breaking, thankless task. They use electric sheers now, in years gone by the sheep were clipped by hand, I remember old Hughie and Baldie sitting for hours in the sunshine, a sheep at their lap, a pair of clippers in their hand, chatting away as they skilfully removed the sheep’s’ fleece. The sheep positively skip out of the fank after their hot, heavy fleeces have been removed. The fleeces are then packed into sacks and sent away to woollen mills on the mainland.

The happy farmer was up bright and early this morning, ‘as always,’ he says leaning over my shoulder. He was slightly caught out though when our son answered the phone to Mike, the clipper, and told him dad was still in bed, but could make it to the phone. He will be in for a bit of a ribbing later on!

Farmer T came racing into the kitchen; he had been out the hill checking his cows

‘Quick grab your wellies, I forgot to shut the gate, the sheep are all out over the hill again’
The happy farmer fled from his chair, grabbing those wellies, cursing Farmer T as he went, only for Farmer T to fall about laughing
‘Only joking!!’
So coffee was poured instead.

The sheep were out in the far away field for the night. The happy farmer took the children and dog with him this morning to bring the sheep across the farm to the fank in preparation for the clippers arrival. Youngest daughter has just arrived in, her fingers are frozen,
‘Why does daddy always need us to be a sheepdog?’ she asked as she placed her cold hands in mine for warmth. Of course the hot sunshine of yesterday has given way to torrential rain and gusty wind, a problem if it continues as the sheep need to be dry before they can be clipped; with electric sheers it would be dangerous to clip wet fleeces. The weather forecast last night promised it would clear after lunch. The happy farmer is busy making a huge pan of tablet with the children, as a thank you for their help. I am away to make a huge pan of curry to feed the clippers and their helpers as we have our ‘after clipping’ feast this evening. Fingers crossed that rain stops.

Until next time….

The photos are from last year's clipping.

Pup's paradise

2007-06-24T19:18:00.000+01:00

I have put the hours into the vegetable patch this weekend; it is starting to look promising. The potatoes are getting ready to burst with flowers. I thinned the carrots. The courgette plants are beginning to flower, the broccoli is beginning to burst out, the cabbage and cauliflowers are growing good healthy green foliage, and the onions and leeks are beginning to grow taller. The salad leaves I have begun to gather proved irresistibly delicious for lunch and worth the sore back I had from hacking away at the weeds that were appearing in all corners. I am of course covered in clegg bites, the horse flies happily tucking into a feast of flesh as I worked away, oblivious to them.

Mist our sheepdog pup is not so little anymore. She is growing bigger by the day and the old sheep dog seems to be getting thinner by the day. I think the feeding arrangements will have to be changed; she is definitely getting more than her fair share, obviously stealing his food when she has finished her meal. We went out to lunch today and arrived home to find her sat smiling and wagging her tail on the front doorstep. She had managed to jump over the garden gate; even eldest daughter’s woodwork skills to extend the gate have failed to contain her. Luckily she had chosen not to venture too far from her home, although she looked very muddy, so I think she must have been away digging somewhere. She is going away soon to live for a month with the shepherd we got her from, for some intensive sheep dog training. The happy farmer doesn’t spend so much time working the sheep these days, so the opportunity for her to be with a shepherd working with sheep all day will be a huge bonus. We will miss her though, even if she does chew everything in sight, pulling the washing off the line, digging up the flower beds and eating the children’s shoes!

The farm house has been very quiet for the last few days. My son is away on an outward bound trip, and although the girls had friends over it doesn’t quite fill the emptiness that surrounds us. He is due home tomorrow, so chaos and noise will be restored, and I can’t wait!

It is going to be a busy week ahead, the schools close here on Friday, and the head teacher of our primary school is due to retire. It is always a mad, hurly burly rush to the end of term for the children and then whoosh we will have the seemingly endless summer holidays stretching ahead, I do so love that feeling, unfortunately they always go by far too quickly.

Until next time…

Duncan's funeral

2007-06-22T20:00:00.000+01:00

We made our way over to Jura for Duncan’s funeral today. The happy farmer, the happy potter and me, the happy farmer couldn’t resist taking us on a quick detour as he drove over the verge chasing the chickens away from the pottery on his way.

There was a stream of cars queuing for the Jura ferry when we got down to the Port. Duncan was an extremely popular man and many had travelled from the mainland to come and pay their last respects to this special man.

We meandered along the road to Craighouse where we met my parents, and I handed my father the black tie I had brought across. They had sailed into the bay last night, returning from their recent sailing expeditions to come and say their goodbyes to Duncan.

The church was full and outside many of us stood in the warm sunshine as we listened to the service via a speaker that had been erected outside.

The happy farmer gave a beautiful speech full of memories and funny stories about his friend.

We all made our way to the small graveyard, tucked away in the hills, with beautiful views of the bay, and stood a while as Duncan was laid to rest, a lone fiddler playing. Oatcakes and cheese were handed out and whisky poured, a Jura tradition at funerals, as friends, family and the community gathered together and remembered their friend Duncan. The celebration of Duncan’s life will continue on well into the night, as pipes and accordions are played, a ceilidh in the bar for Duncan.

Until next time….

Summer Parties

2007-06-20T11:24:00.000+01:00

I have been wrapped up trying to paint a picture for someone. It is a gift for a friend, and as I am no artist, well not trained in anyway, and only discovered watercolours a couple of years ago, it has taken up a lot of time. A picture doesn’t always take that long to paint, but initially finding something that inspires you, in my case the Paps of Jura, which are an incredibly challenging subject, and so beautiful in all of their different lights and coats, that it can be a frustrating and rewarding process trying to capture them. Of course if the painting is for someone else, well, then there is the added problem of will they like it, I mean really like it, enough to look at it each day as it hangs on their wall? Anyway, four paintings later and I have the one I like. Of course the happy potter didn’t help when he arrived in this morning and liked them all, but particularly two of them, that totally confused me, am I making the right choice? Anyway enough meandering, that is why my blogs have not been getting posted over the last few days.

We have had an incredibly busy few days. On Monday evening we were due to go to a summer party at the big house, on the nearby estate. A group of gamekeepers, friends of the happy farmers, called in on their way past. They were heading for home after a day’s hard work. The happy farmer poured them all beers and they sat in the early evening sun having a crack. Eldest daughter arrived on the lawn with Hansel, her horse; before I knew it the ‘eldest’ gamekeeper, I have to say eldest as he is near retrial, had jumped on Hansel’s bare back and was cantering around the garden.
Hansel loved the attention, especially having a few spectators thrown in.

Gamekeepers often worked with horses when they used to take out parties stalking, before quad bikes and four by fours, and this gamekeeper was exceptional. Hansel had obviously never been ridden bare back, but after a few rounds he had him calm and enjoying the new experience. Eldest daughter spent the rest of the evening riding him bare back.

Of course by the time they all left we had about fifteen minutes to serve the kids’ tea and get ready, add in the fact that at the last minute the happy farmer decided to wear his kilt, then couldn’t find his socks, shoes and cuff links, just the usual. The shirt had to be ironed, as I took it back off him, and quickly got the iron out, it is like ironing a tent ironing that kilt shirt. How we did it I don’t know, but when our lift arrived we were ready…just.

The evening was spectacular; we were thoroughly spoilt by our lovely hosts, there was a huge billowing marquee, with a dance floor, and huge full length windows looking out across the sea to Jura and up to the Isle of Mull. Champagne was served before we sat down to the most delicious meal. Each table was intricately laden, with a beautiful arrangement of flowers in the centre. We danced the night away, as the sun set over one of the most beautiful settings in the world.

Until next time…

School Sports

2007-06-16T13:10:00.000+01:00

There were squeals of excitement this morning, amid a lot of bleating. The pet lambs had found their way to the front door of the farmhouse. They have been somewhat neglected over the past few days, with youngest daughter confined to the house with a cold, and our son away on a school trip, and eldest daughter having given up all interest in any pet lambs in place of a horse. Anyway this morning they had somehow managed to get out of the front field and make their way to our doorstep. ‘Oh no’ giggled the youngest, ‘they are eating the roses’. I heard the front door being opened, followed by a roar from the happy farmer, ‘Don’t let them come in.’. It brought back memories of when we had the pet goats and had to steal our way out of the door, pushing them away from the step as we went; otherwise they were in the house like a shot.

Milk was duly made for Lucy and Frizzle and they were returned to the field. It seems the lambs are going to have to be weaned off the children as well as the milk.

We went to the school sports last night. The railings were festooned with balloons and banners, the children excited at the possibility of winning some races. It was a lovely atmosphere as they raced in year groups of between two to eight children, each getting a sweet after they made it across the finishing line. There was a running race, a potato and spoon race, a sack race, and a jumping race, where a squashy ball was placed between the knees. The primary sevens got to compete in the dressing up race, which consisted of heavy duty fishing gloves, tee shirts, shorts, hats and wellies. Finally it was time for the parents’ race; although I had half expected the happy farmer and his friends to join the high school children in the former pupils’ race, I am sure there was an odd grandparent there who would have qualified. We stood in a line and waited as we were told, ‘get set, take your marks,’ of course all the cheating dads took off at that one, and finally ‘go’. I managed to do really well thanks to the happy farmer and his friends grabbing onto one another, pulling each other back, tripping themselves up, and rolling in a ball down the hill, before finally managing to pick themselves up off the ground and race to the finishing line. It gave me those much needed extra minutes to beat them all.

Following the races we went into the hall for home baking and tea while the children went to try the lucky dip, the coconut shy and the ‘soak the P7s’, in which my son got completely drenched. The happy farmer won ‘oodles’ of wine in the raffle, and Farmer C came to the rescue when our youngest was in tears because she hadn’t won a coconut. The rain had held off all day, finally beginning to fall in huge plumps. We haven’t had rain up this end of the island for over two weeks. Yippee, no watering the vegetable patch this weekend, then I got home and watched the news with horror as I saw scenes of widespread flooding elsewhere, I do hope none of you have been affected by the flood waters.

Until next time……

Baking Days

2007-06-14T15:20:00.000+01:00

Baking day today, you can’t beat the aroma of freshly baked scones and cakes. It is the school sports tomorrow evening, so we’ve to bake for the cake stall and provide some lucky dip presents and raffle prizes. So I have been busy in the kitchen all morning.

Youngest is off school today, she is full of the cold and feeling very miserable that she cannot practice her running for tomorrow’s races.

My son is due back off the evening ferry; he has been off the island, on his first away from home trip, with the school, for the past few days. The hours are ticking away very slowly; I have missed him, and can’t wait to catch up on his adventures.

Eldest daughter has left a long list for the happy farmer by the phone, and reminders all over the house, to make sure he phones for a catalogue and entry forms for this year’s show. She wants to enter Hansel, and is putting him through his paces in the field every night. I still can’t watch the galloping bit, but luckily that will not be required in the show field! The happy farmer has built her a new tack room in his shed, so we will be able to move in her room once again, as the saddles, and bridles and all of the other horse paraphernalia goes out to its new home. She keeps arriving in the kitchen, covered in paint, as she has been decorating the new digs.

The happy farmer has been busy fencing all week. Farmer T’s cows are back to graze on our pastures, hopefully the fence will keep them off the hill, and away from the Highland cows, and I can still access the hill for a run without getting chased by the crazed animals. Farmer T’s cows are particularly unfriendly and it wouldn’t be the first time they have come stampeding after me.

The dogs are still glued to the fence watching their friends the pigs for hours on end, as seen in the photo above, they are worse than the children at the television.

Until next time..