Life, Death and Cornflakes

Something I hadn't thought about much before I started seeing Ivie was that there's quite a lot of death in farming. During the first lambing it seemed like I saw more dead lambs than live ones. And occasionally Ivie will come in from checking the cows to declare that there's a dead one in the top of the 50 acre (obviously, it's always in the field furthest from the steading).

These cows aren't dead.

The diseases that cows and sheep die of have very sophisticated names like watery mouth, joint ill, staggers and milk fever.

For non-farmers, you can't just bury your dead. You have to phone a man with a truck who comes and picks it up and takes it away to the cow graveyard. Or something like that.

Let me tell you about the truck. When I first moved to D&G I had a one hour commute between Auchencairn and Wigtown. I got to know the liveries of the lorries going to and from the ferry at Cairnryan. One of the lorries I saw over and over was light blue and white and had 'Fallenstock' written above the cab. Farmers - and logical people - will know exactly what this is. It won't surprise you to know that I didn't quite figure it out.

Lily and Lupy. Also not dead.

I didn't give it a huge amount of thought but somewhere in the back of my brain 'Fallen' rhymned with 'Talon' and the company was Dutch. It dealt with surplus stock from shops that had gone out of business. Obviously.

One day I got to work and one of my colleagues was complaining about being stuck behind a Fallenstock lorry on the way in. "It was stinking!" she said. I was confused. Why would excess boxes of cornflakes smell? My colleague kindly enlightened me and just like that the Dutch company ceased trading.

Just as well there's plenty of new life around the farm, too, to make up for all that death.

Quads. Alive and Kicking.

Dear everyone

This morning I spent a very jolly hour chatting to Matt Kitson of Driftwood Cinema. For a couple of hours a week he takes over Wigtown Community Radio with Desert Island Flicks. Each guest picks their top ten films and he has a chat to them about them and their life. This week he asked me to take part*. 

Matt had done a good job of cyberstalking researching things about me so, of course, my blog came up. When he asked about it I said, "it's really a love letter. It's a love letter to Ivie, to his family and to his friends. They've all embraced me and included me and only occasionally laugh at me when I've asked a really stupid question" (like the one that prompted the name of the blog).

So I wanted to let you all know how much I enjoy being part of the gang.

Ivie's big 5-0

Before I moved to D&G, one of my friends laughed and said, "you'll probably end up living with a farmer." I thought she was wrong for so many reasons:

• I figured farmers ate meat and two veg for every meal and I quite like noodles.
• I assumed they all wanted to get hitched and I've been there, done that with no desire to do it again.
• I thought that farmers preferred their partners to know stuff about cows and sheep and crop rotation (I didn't know about spread rates then but if I had I'd have added that to the list).

Luckily I was wrong for so many reasons. 

• Ivie is a lot more adventurous in his tastes, some that even require chopsticks. 
• He has absolutely no plans to make an honest woman of me. 
• He couldn't care less that I barely know the difference between the NFU and the NFL.

Chopstick Training

I love the small part I play in Ivie's farming life but what I love most is the big part the farming world now plays in mine. ♡♡♡

*My films in case you're wondering:

1. The Blues Brothers
2. Lost in Translation
3. Whisky Galore
4. The Wickerman
5. Trainspotting
6. Made of Honour
7. Gregory's Girl
8. Moulin Rouge
9. The Shining
10. To Kill a Mockingbird

Patting Pat

Things you should know:
1. Ivie is terrible at taking compliments
2. Pat is a bull

I know these two things seem unrelated but bear with me.

There are lots of things I like and admire about Ivie but he won't hear a word of it. Any attempts at giving him a compliment are met with, "Steady!" or "Be wise" and other such phrases.

On one of my first visits to the farm, Ivie asked if I'd like to go with him on the quad bike to check the cows (that's 'coos' for anyone from Wigtownshire). This involved me sitting side saddle and trying not to slide off as we went round corners or across steep slopes (an excellent alternative to sit-ups for strengthening my core).

There we were at the top of the farm when he said, "I'm going to take you to meet Pat and Henry". It took me a moment to realise that Pat and Henry must be animals and then it dawned on me. "Are they bulls?" I asked quietly, really hoping for the opposite of the answer I knew was coming.

The thing is, I'm a big feardy. My brain knows that the story book version of bulls stamping the ground and running towards anything red isn't reality. They're big and heavy and only really motivated to move when there's food or a bit of action with a cow on the menu. But my brain also tells me that I'm supposed to be scared of bulls. Let's just say, I'm a work in progress.

Eilidh is not a big feardy

So we made a pact. I'd pat Pat when Ivie took a compliment. A Pat Pact if you like.

Henry

All this is a preamble to what happened this week. Ivie mentioned over lunch that a man was coming to trim one of the bull's hooves. Not Pat. I think it was called Geezer or Geiser or something. Some of them have what I'd consider old man names (like Pat and Henry) and others have odd names like Horton and Batman. Although I had a dream about Batman where he was called William so that's what I call him now. That was my Dad's Sunday name so I won't be pursuing any Freudian analysis on that one...

I digress. So, after lunch this shiny pick-up arrived with what looked like a mobile disco on a trailer (I'm in my late 40s, permitting me to use the phrase 'mobile disco'). I didn't go and spectate because I'm a big feardy I was working but Ivie took a video of The Hoof GP*, explaining to him about my blog. This guy has thousands of followers on social media from all over the world, mainly in cities. I think people are fascinated by things that are outside their everyday life and this is outside most people's everyday life.

The contraption on the back of the trailer is like a cross between an electic chair and those stirrups doctor's offices in movies have. It shackles and tips the animal so that it can be worked on safely, making it swift and painless for everyone concerned.

Ivie came back into the house to show me the clip and tell me all about it.

"Thanks, that was really thoughtful."
"Ah, away with you."

I think I'm safe from the Pat Pact for a while yet.

The Hoof GP in action

PS
Here's my favourite Pat joke:
What do you call Postman Pat when he's retired?
Pat.

*The Hoof GP
Facebook
YouTube
Twitter

Lazybones

What I realised this week:

I'm always going to feel lazy next to Ivie

My batteries were a bit low last week. Nothing serious, just not a huge amount of spring in my step. Mind you, it's not like I'm usually running around at 100 miles an hour. I'm perfectly capable at sitting still. I've even been paid to sit still at life drawing classes.

Ivie, on the other hand, isn't so great at sitting still. Unless it involves food or tractor porn he generally acts like he has ants in his pants (see here for a definition of tractor porn that won't shock your granny). For anyone who wants to know what's worse than ants in your pants, message me and I'll tell you a tasteless joke, which is not for general consumption.

I've come to the conclusion that I'll always feel lazy next to Ivie. I'm always going to work fewer hours. During lockdown, I'm doing 28 hours a week; in the summer Ivie will clock that up in two days. And he works every weekend unless he's physically not here. Even after we'd been to Japan for a fortnight, we got back late morning, had lunch and he had his boiler suit (and a contented grin) on within the hour. It's work, Jim, but not as we know it.

At Shibuya Crossing, Tokyo

For a while now, I've been offering to help Ivie with invoicing. I've got nerdy tendencies that mean I like paperwork, spreadsheets and sums. Until last weekend, Ivie had figured that it was quicker to do it himself than explain it to me. I think now that I live here (and I'm here till at least the end of lockdown 😉) it makes sense to teach me how to do it.

So, last Sunday I grabbed a notebook and pen and turned up for my training session. The system's all set up so in theory it should be pretty straightforward. I take the job sheets for each customer, collate them and work out what the bill should be. Except that system relies on Ivie having filled in the job sheets in a helpful manner.

Stationery! 

See if you can work out what these job sheet terms mean.
1. Dung
That's right. It means 'tractor, trailer and driver'.

2. Hauling dung
As above. Obviously.

3. Snudge
Mr I McFadzean (I knew that one).

4. Cuil
Mr C McClymont (yep, knew that one, too).

5. Falbae
Home of Karen and Gav Poole. Invoice goes to Mr J Weir. I give up.

40% isn't a great score. I'm beginning to think it might be quicker for Ivie to do it himself.

View from Snudge's
(Glentrool from Glenvernoch)