Sssshhhh!

There's something you should know:

There are certain times when you absolutely 100% should not interrupt a farmer. 

Most of the time Ivie is pretty receptive to my witterings, hilarious jokes and stupid questions (this in itself means he's a keeper). But I've learned that there are certain times I should keep these to myself. I've collated a helpful list.

1. When he's watching tractor porn
Just to clarify, this involves watching tractors, spreaders and balers doing their thing in big, flat fields. It's not naked folk on farm machinery. At least not when I'm in the house, anyway. He googles very specific things like 'HX 1090 baler with extra turbo in field in Northern Australia'. Probably.

2. During Countryfile

For non-farmers, Countryfile is the weekly farmery programme on a Sunday night that reports on farming from around the UK. For farmers, that's the programme no-one's allowed to speak during unless it's to splutter, "that's not farming. That's gardening!"

(I'd only been living with Ivie for a month when I first shouted at Countryfile. It was a very proud day for both of us.)

3. During the weather forecast at the end of Countryfile
This is an extended weather forecast at the end of the farmery programme that may or may not be correct by the time Tuesday rolls around. But still, it's important to nod at all the right moments and possibly suggest that it'll be too dry to spread fertiliser until Thursday at least.

Thanks, Ben

Being quiet is not my natural state, especially at the moment when Ivie is the only human I have close contact with in real life. The poor bugger has to listen to me use up my daily quota of words - or at least pretend to listen. I'll have to take the hint if he suddenly starts watching Countryfile boxsets.

Not a WAG

Things I know:

• I'm woefully unqualified to be a Farmer's WAG*
• That's ok

As I may have mentioned once or twice, I don't come from a farming background. I'm most definitely a townie and one without many lifeskills if I'm honest. 

I was quite nervous about meeting other WAGs when I first started seeing Ivie. I had visions of them all running around doing the farm accounts with one hand, feeding a pet lamb with the other, while waiting for yet another perfect Victoria sponge to come out of the oven. To be fair, I still think most of them could do this but luckily they don't seem to mind that I can't.

Not really a Victoria sponge

My first experience of WAGs was quite full-on. We were off to a Burns Supper where I knew exactly one other person in the room (Ivie) and he knew everyone (of course). I was hideously anxious. It was the first time I'd met Ivie's brother and sister-in-law (in the car on the way there so not exactly relaxed) and I was asking myself all sorts of stupid questions (in my head otherwise that would have been weird). 

• what if everyone thinks my dress looks stupid?
• what if they think I'm not good enough for him?
• what if they think he should be with someone who went to Young Farmers?

Not really a pet lamb

Obviously, the answer to all of these questions is the same: there was too much booze for anyone to care.

For the non-farmers, let me say something about Young Farmers. Before I was with Ivie, I thought it was just where young folk went to ensnare meet their significant other and learn quite fixed gender-based skills: baking and sewing for the girls; drinking and fighting for the boys. Now I know that's not really the case. The young men and women involved in YF around here are involved in all sorts of things, including public speaking, stock judging and raising the positive profile of farming. Here endeth the lesson.

I headed for the bar and was immediately flanked by two women. Let's call them Nic and Barbara for argument's sake. The conversation went something like this:

Nic (in one breath): "You must be Rebecca. We're Nic and Barbara. What are you drinking? Red wine? Let's get a bottle."

The women reading this will nod in agreement when I say that women can be absolutely magnificent to other women and it's bloody marvellous. 

Suffice to say, my anxiety faded. I drank and I laughed and I laughed and I drank. And that's pretty much been my experience of WAGs ever since. 

* WAG = A Wife or Girlfriend, usually of a sports player with a high profile and glamorous lifestyle

Not really a WAG

Separated by a Common Language

Things you should know:
1. I'm not from round these parts (I'm from a galaxy far, far away, aka Selkirk).
2. I might never get the hang of it. 

I first started working in Wigtownshire six years ago this week. I soon learned that there was a whole host of new words and phrases to learn. For example,

• the last day. As in, 'I was in the top shed the last day...' 
• endless. As in, 'Those calves in the top shed were endless the last day...'
• gitters. As in, 'Those endless calves in the top shed were in gitters the last day....'

Just when I think I'm getting the hang of it, Ivie will say something else that I've never heard before. Apparently, when the alarm went off the other morning the last day, I was 'sound as a tap'. And the Covid-19 sign on the door isn't lying flat because there's a lirk in it. It's endless. 

There are also a few phrases Ivie uses that are deliberately misleading a bit ambiguous. For instance,

Me: How long will you be?

Ivie: Not long. 

Translation: anywhere between quarter of an hour and two-and-a-half hours.

Me: How long will you be?

Ivie: A wee while.

Translation: anywhere between two-and-a-half and seven hours. 

Me: Can you put those work clothes in the wash?

Ivie: Aye, I could do.

Translation: I don't really want to but I suppose I will if it means you'll stop asking me (see The (Wash) Cycle of Life).  

I've learned to ignore all of these and to be fair, there are things I say that apparently hail from further east, like 'wersh' (sour) and 'I'll be back at six o'clock'.

Other phrases I ignore

The thing that's finished me off, though, is learning that the farms Garheugh and Garchew are pronounced the same way. I give up. 

Add the Number You First Thought Of....

Things you should know:
1. Farmers don't always mean what they say or say what they mean.

2. They're all better at maths than Rachel Riley.

3. It's all voodoo.  

Before I started seeing Ivie, I hadn't really thought about what farmers do all day but it turns out the answer is mental arithmetic. 

I'd been thinking about writing this blog post for a while but have been procrastinating. Mainly because I knew I'd have to understand the ins and outs of it before I started writing. Today, I sat Ivie down with a coffee and interviewed him. Here's a brief summary...

When Ivie is going to spread fertiliser at another farm, the farmer will tell him how much (in hundredweight or cwt) he wants spread per acre. So far, so old school. 

BUT the machinery is modern and measures in kilos per hectare. 

A hectare is 2.47 acres and 1 cwt (112 lbs) is 50 kilos. Still with me?

So, 1cwt per acre is roughly the same as 125kg per hectare apparently.

Fertiliser comes in 600kg bags but used to come in 1cwt bags. So to complicate things even further, some farmers still talk in terms of 'bags' per acre when what they mean is 'one twelfth of a bag' per acre. And then you get into fractions of hundredweights but that's when my head starts to explode. Or implode. Or both.

At this point, Ivie started trying to explain units of nitrogen per acre but I had to stop him. That was plenty enough for one day.