Questions, questions

Things you should know:

1. Some of my friends are really detail oriented
2. That is not one of my skills....

When I first started going out with Ivie, some of my friends asked me lots of questions about the farm. You can imagine how well that went. 

Question: What kind of farm is it?

My answer: There's cows and sheep there and a couple of wee goats.

The real answer: Beef and sheep. (The pygmy goats are generally considered a nuisance but they do eat any spilled feed). 

Question: What breeds are there?

My answer: Seriously? I told you there were cows. What else could you possibly need to know?  Some are beige and some are black. I think they might be called limousines, like the car. 

The real answer: There is a cow breed called limousin (note the lack of 'e') but there aren't any at the Spittal. There are Simmentals and Aberdeen Angus. 

Q: And what about the sheep?

Me: I know this one! They're called mules (<looks smug>). I remembered because they're sheep and they're called mules. And they're kind of infertile donkeys. 

TRA: Scotch mules so 8/10.

Me: Harsh.

Me: Oh and there are square looking sheep that look like lego sheep. 

TRA: They're tups. 

Me: Oh.

TRA: And they're called Texels. 

Me: Noted.

Q: How big is the farm?

Me: <shrugs and grunts like a teenager>. It's quite big. It goes way up the hill and you can see Cairnsmore. Who knows how big an acre is anyway...?

TRA: 400 acres. And lots of people. 

Q: How many sheep are there?

Me: <shrugs and grunts>. 130? 

TRA: 230. 

Q: How many cows?

Me: WHAT'S WITH ALL THE QUESTIONS?!

TRA: 130. 

Q: Is there a sheepdog? 

Me: YES!! She's called Isa and she's training to be a working dog. I'm like her weekend Dad. I take her treats and don't discipline her. 

TRA: Yes. And she's far too spoiled.

Me: I KNOW!

Isa! 

So, there you have it. More of the things I don't know. 

Una, I Have Failed You

Things you should know:
1. I was warned

When I published my first blog post, Ivie shared it on his Facebook page. Our friend, Una, whose husband is a farmer and who doesn't have a farm background herself commented thus:

"22 years Rebecca and I am still learning. However, there are some tips I must share with you before it’s too late. If Ivie knocks at the window, still wearing working clothes, and asks if you are busy the reply is ALWAYS YES. Don’t hesitate or look in any way uncertain, this sign of weakness is used to their advantage and before you know it you will be in a field with a stick chasing cows (or worse being chased by them). This includes day and night, moving a black cow in the dark, who doesn’t want to leave her pals... So always remember to have a busy idea stored in your head that is far too important to stop doing. 

Prepare an 'I am interested' face... It comes in very useful when farm names, market prices, sheep sales, cattle sales, tupping, calving, moving livestock, silage, lambing, fertiliser, slurry, weather and the death of someone - on a farm somewhere, you have never met or been to - is being discussed. 

I am a slow learner, it took almost 20 years of life on a farm to acquire these two skills. Unfortunately, I was too late with my act of being too busy, I started with a keenness to help, don’t make that mistake. For your sanity please heed my advice."

2. I didn't listen

Last week, Ivie's brother and family were on holiday. Ivie had a cold. You can see where this is going, dear reader. 

How could I refuse to open and shut a gate for 20 minutes over my lunch hour? At the moment, it's all a bit of a novelty and I quite enjoy getting my wellies, boiler suit and hat on. I've even customised my hat with a purple Sharpie so it says Megastar. Kinda. 

3. This post mentions shite a few times

For the non-farmers out there, Ivie was mucking out a shed, which involves shovelling cow shite with a wee digger called a loadall. It takes a few loads so, without help, it's a bit of a pain to get in and out of the loadall each time you're going into/out of the shed. Leaving the gate open risks your calves going walkabout. 

Nosy cows

Slightly worryingly, I'm getting a bit immune to the smell of shite. Nowadays I don't recoil every time Ivie comes in for a cuddle after being out working. There are still times where I have to insist that the work clothes go in the washing machine instead of back on the next day, though. 

There are also little things I would know if I actually worked on the farm instead of just playing at it for 20 minutes every couple of weeks. You should wash your boots after standing in shite, otherwise they end up looking like this. 

I admitted to Una that I'd got roped into helping and her response was straight to the point:

"It's a slippery slope. Very slippery."

I'm doomed.

Sporting Life

Things you should know:
1. In general, farmers are good at most sporting endeavours and are more than a little competitive.
2. I am neither of those things. 

I spent last weekend at sporting events – rugby on Saturday and curling on Sunday. 

Saturday was the annual Spice Cup, a local derby between Newtown Stewart RFC (based near Wigtown) and Wigtownshire RFC (based in Stranraer). Confused? Yep, me too... 

The venue alternates between the two and this year we were back at NSRFC. This is good because:

• I can drive home when the chat becomes dominated by 'Rugby games we have known and loved' and 'Here's a story that lacks a beginning, middle and end but I'll expect you to follow it even though you haven't had 8 pints in the last three hours’. 
• I know lots of people so don't need babysat. 
• I know who to ask when I want a cup of tea rather than alcohol. 

A lot of Ivie's farmery friends are fellow players from a golden age. From what I can gather, scrums were properly contested, only the captain could address the ref and you could tell what position someone played by their, ahem, physique. (“Aye, the good old days,” says Ivie).  

They all have amazing memories for games from 30 years ago, who they were up against, who took their clothes off on the bus home and, perhaps most importantly, who started the fights. I'm missing this competitive gene so I'm slightly bemused by all this but I'm really glad other people possess it otherwise rugby matches wouldn't be very interesting.

So, Saturday was fairly straightforward as all I had to do was spectate, wear my NSRFC bobble hat and go back to collect Ivie six and a half hours after I’d left him at the bar.

Sunday was a different matter entirely. I’ve somehow become involved with an entire family that is sporty and competitive (I refer you to the top of the page…). They choose to take part in sport for their Christmas get together! Sporty and coordinated people don’t quite understand how intimidating this can be. It’s a bit like me suggesting we do a page of algebra before Christmas Dinner since I was good at maths at school. 

Until about three weeks ago, I hadn’t tried curling before. Here’s how I got on…. 

Sunday was slightly better as I decided to stay still rather than try and glide. It’s quite hard when everyone else started curling at age 10, as opposed to 45 and it’s a popular sport in the farming community as, in theory, the winter is less busy. 

To be fair, everyone was very encouraging and I did really enjoy myself as we weren’t keeping score and expectations were low. I don’t think curling is my sport, though, so this will be my view from now on.