The (Wash) Cycle of Life

Two nights ago I went to bed early. This was not because:

1. I was tired (even though I was);
or
2. I wanted to read more of my book (even though I did). 

Nope. It was because Ivie stank. 

I thought I'd become immune to farm smells but it seems my nostrils still have an ounce of sensitivity left. 

During lambing Ivie basically lives in his working clothes. He gets up, puts the same clothes on as yesterday, works, checks the lambing shed, snoozes on the sofa, checks the lambing shed again and comes to bed somewhere between midnight and 2am. 'Putting the same clothes on as yesterday' generally lasts a week then the whole lot goes in the washing machine and he moves on to the next set of working clothes for a bit of variety. 

This was ok when we didn't live together because my weekly visit was a marker for him to swap clothes. Not so much this year, especially during isolation when neither of us is entirely sure what day it is. 

Not Lambs (I'm learning...)

I'd already had a hint that working clothes were a complicated business when I tried to get him to put his long johns in the bin about a fortnight ago. They were like a spider's web with more holes than Swiss cheese (how's that for mixed metaphors?). 

Me: Don't you have another pair of long johns in the wardrobe? 

Ivie: Yes but they're my good ones. 

Me: But they'd keep you warm in the lambing shed. 

Ivie: I can't just wear them during lambing! They're my good ones! 

Me: Sigh. 

As far as I can make out, the working clothes system basically involves keeping every item of clothing ever purchased and filtering it through convoluted and unexplained categories such as working clothes, good working clothes, clothes for lambing and a 'polo shirt I was given in 1996 that was too big for me even then'. 

Our friend, Una, who you'll remember from this blog, suggested that this is something farmers learn alongside crop rotation. It's certainly impenetrable to the uninitiated. 

To save you from nightmares I have not included a photograph of the aforementioned thermals. You're welcome. 

Lambing: Part 3

Things I learned this week:

1. There are far worse places to be in self-isolation
2. Life (and lambing) goes on

It's been a funny old week for everyone. I'm now in lockdown for 12 weeks since I had a kidney transplant in 1997. I'm lucky that I don't live on my own anymore and that I have Ivie to go to the supermarket and listen to my inane witterings. It's going to be tougher on him than me, to be fair. 

I'd hoped that by the time Lambing: Part 3 came around that I'd be able to tell you that I'd delivered my first live lamb and could now wrestle a ewe in labour to the ground. But the only progress I've made is to feed the pet lambs - one of which is going to die anyway Ivie's brother informed me the other night (cheers for that) - and help Ivie give a wee triplet colostrum. 

The next section is for non-farmers. Farmers - skip this paragraph because:

a. I might have got it wrong

b. I still think lambs are cute (even more so after three glasses of wine) 🍷🍷🍷

Pet lambs are the ones that need a bit more TLC. They might be orphans or more often they're the smallest of a set of triplets. A ewe only has two teats so twins generally fare better. It is possible for a ewe with a single lamb to take on another ewe's triplet but that's a story for another day. 

Colostrum is contained in a lamb's first feed and is full of antibodies. If a lamb doesn't get any in its first 6-12 hours then it might not survive. Giving a new lamb colostrum involves a syringe and a tube down its throat into its stomach. Not as horrific as it sounds. 

Calves and Lambs
Photo by Ivie

*** Farmers rejoin here ***

Lambing has reminded me of the things you take for granted when you're dating a non-farmer:

• going to bed at the same time as each other
• having a lazy Sunday morning together reading the papers
• entire evenings when your partner is wide awake

But the positives far outweigh the negatives:

• at least an hour and a half on my own every morning before I have to interact with another human being
• really appreciating a surprise night off when Ivie's brother was waiting for his daughter to arrive home from college 
• being surrounded by new life and signs of Spring

And, as I said at the beginning of this post, there are far, far worse places to be in self-isolation. 

View from the front step
Photo by Ivie

Home Sweet Home

Things I Know
It feels like home

I've lived at the farm for about two and a half months now. Not very long in the scheme of things but in some ways it feels like I've always been here. 

My brother came to visit last weekend. It was the first time he'd been here in daylight so we went for a walk around with Isa the border collie. My brother has always taken loads of photos and is good at spotting the little things that make up the day. 

My wellies and leggings at the back door

He sent me a few and one of the things that struck me was that I looked relaxed and at home. I'm not just visiting, I live here! 

I mentioned in an earlier post that I never thought I'd live with anyone again. There was lots about living on my own that I loved and my independence was hard won. But then Ivie came along and changed my mind. 

It's been a while since either of us has had a housemate so we're figuring it out as we go along. And every day I realise how lucky I am to live: 

• with someone that makes me laugh every day and puts up with me laughing at my own (hilarious) jokes. 
• next door to Ivie's family that include me in things and don't make me feel stupid when I don't know about farm life.
• somewhere with views like this a few minutes' walk from my back door (with a borrowed collie).

So, it looks like Ivie and The Spittal are stuck with me for a while. Even the cat's decided she's staying. 

Lambing: Part 2

Things I've learned this week

I can be useful

Ivie came in from the lambing shed last night about 11pm with three photos for me (see below) and a big smile on his face. They knew that one ewe was expecting quads but one that had scanned for triplets had a sneaky wee lamb hiding behind her ribs. Ivie's brother delivered the triplets and went to bed. Ivie went to the shed an hour later and there was a fourth lamb up on its feet and sooking.

1,2,3,4....

We're now at the end of the third week of lambing at the Spittal. I'm told they're about halfway through and I've even been given one or two useful things to do.

Today there was a cast of thousands working in the shed. Ivie's brother, sister-in-law, niece and nephew were all getting their sleeves rolled up, along with a young girl doing work experience who already knows more than I do. I hovered around trying not to get into the way, half of me hoping I'd be given something to do and the other half slightly hoping I wouldn't.

It's not that I don't want to help. It's just that they all know what they're doing and don't have to be given instructions in words of one syllable. My nightmare would be to stand in the wrong place and make a field full of sheep go in the wrong direction. 

One of the things I'm most conscious of at this time of year is how busy Ivie and his family are every day (and night) and how little use I am. I'm also conscious of everyone out being productive at weekends while I'm basically just fannying around.

Today I felt a bit more part of the gang. I managed to stand in the right place (twice!) to first help move sheep who had lost their lambs back to the field and then to help move a field full of sheep into the lambing shed. I felt a bit like the office junior being given one instruction at a time and then going back for my next task.

I cleaned the blackboards for the pens that had been emptied so that the next mama could be moved in with her lamb(s).

I filled water buckets, moved feeding troughs and after a cuppa I stood around while Ivie and his sister-in-law both lambed ewes that had three live lambs each. It's amazing watching anyone do something they're good at but there's something even more amazing about watching someone help a ewe give birth. They know by the colour sprayed on the ewe's back how many lambs are expected, but there are a lot of unknowns.

Which way will the lambs be facing (the 'right' way is head and front feet first)? Will any of them be alive? Will it go to plan?

My job was to squirt iodine on the lamb's navels to prevent infection, which is the most I've got involved up till now. Who knows, maybe this time next year I'll take the week off work during lambing and will be doing a shift myself.

Is this what's known as a sheepy-back?