Bye, Bye Birdy

What I've been thinking about this week:

1. Bravery
2. Lack thereof

I’m not a naturally brave person. In fact, I’d say I’m a naturally feardy person. My idea of taking part in an extreme sport is playing Scrabble outside. It’s hardly adrenaline racing stuff.

Extreme Sport

This week I’ve had to put my big girl pants on a couple of times (to be fair, post-lockdown all my pants are for big girls but you catch my drift).

I’ve been lucky to have a few days off here and there over the last couple of weeks. And there’s nothing I like more than to spend them in my shed reading or writing.

View from the shed

Last Tuesday I took my laptop, the book I was reading and a cuppa to the shed and made myself comfortable. This mainly involved lighting a candle, switching on the fairy lights and settling in under a cosy blanket (all permitted under the heading of ‘I am 48’).

I’d just opened my book (Sorrow and Bliss by Meg Mason, highly recommended) when there was a fluttering from the wood burner. I ignored it and carried on reading. There was another, louder flutter.

At this point I should mention that I’m not very good with fluttery birds. I have no problem with creepy crawlies and quite happily ignore spiders around the house, letting them get on with whatever it is they do all day after they’ve made the web and had breakfast.

Living with Ivie has made me even less good with fluttery birds. I’ve become too keen to play the damsel in distress card and let him deal with them when they turn up in the stove in the house, tap-tapping on the glass asking politely to be released from captivity.

But last Tuesday Ivie was at silage at the top of the farm. Being at silage means he does not like being interrupted or any suggestion that he should do anything except continue to be at silage until he’s finished.

Another boring view? I couldn't possibly comment.

Let me give you an example. Last Wednesday I took the dog out for her mid-afternoon pee in between meetings. We strolled up to the steading where I could hear an almighty racket coming from the pen inside the shed. The sun streaming in meant I could only see the silhouette of a young bull battering the gate but that was enough to send me walking briskly back to the house and phoning Ivie.

The conversation went something like this.

Me: But what if it gets out?
Ivie: Go and shut the gates to stop them getting up the hill and then shut the ones near the house. It’ll be fine.
Me: But what if it’s already out when I go back up to shut the gate?
Ivie: Just keep out its way.
Me: I’m too scared.
Ivie: Well, I can’t come down. I’m up the top. Phone Kerr. He’s in the bottom field.
Me: But he might come and it’ll have stopped and he’ll think I’m stupid.
Ivie: Well phone Jane.
Me: OK.

Thankfully Jane was much more sympathetic, told me to shut the gates near the house and keep away from the bull which she described as a ‘lot of beast’. Crisis – and need for bravery – averted.

Back to the birds.

I gave myself a pep talk, reminding myself that I once removed a mouse from my bath that my cat had kindly gifted me just before a friend came to visit in Auchencairn, not to mention that I once moved 100 miles with no job and no plan - and that’s working out quite well so far.

So, I put up the hood of my hoodie, donned my fire gloves and opened the double doors of the shed (I’m quite glad everyone else at The Spittal was busy and couldn’t see my very attractive get-up).

PPE

I tip-toed towards the burner, opened the door then legged it outside as fast as I could. Not one but two starlings cheeped loudly, flew to the windowsill, cheeped again and flew past me, no doubt off to tell their pals about the wild adventure they’d just had.

Thank goodness that’s over (or words to that effect), I thought to myself.

And obviously I’ve just had to stop writing this to go and release another starling from my burner. Word’s obviously getting round about the middle-aged woman with the fire gloves and now they all want a look at the eejit.

The Greatest Show on Earth?

 What you should know:

1. The Black Face Sheep Sale is a big deal. 
2. It should have been this weekend.
3. It still is. Kinda. 

One of the things I've noticed - especially since I moved to the Spittal and started getting to know more folk involved in farming - is the difference in my Facebook feed. Now, not a day goes by without a sponsored post about a big piece of farm machinery (that I have no interest in) or someone showing off pictures of livestock (that I have no knowledge of). If it wasn't for the occasional advert for niche stationery or the cute dog and cat videos, I'd think that the algorithms were way off. 

I had a vague notion that Something was Happening in black face sheep circles and had it confirmed by a friend the other night. Thanks to Ann Ferguson, I now know that:

• it's the biggest event in the sheep calendar
• it's usually a grand day out for the whole family and
• this year, due to covid restrictions, it's happening in Ayr (instead of nearby Newton Stewart) with only buyers and sellers allowed to attend.

I went to the market at Newton Stewart once when Ivie was selling cattle. We hadn't been together long and I was partly intrigued and partly trying to show willing to make up for my lack of knowledge. 

He walked me in and sat me down towards the back of the ring where I couldn't get in the way. It's a traditional hexagonal building (which is listed, apparently) and once you're inside there's a strange mix of hustle and hush as the sale takes place. 

Newton Stewart Market
Photo by Ros
(The eagle-eyed amongst you might even spot Ivie)

I stuck out like a sore thumb. I wasn't wearing wellies or a boilersuit, I wasn't carrying a crook and I wasn't related to anyone else in the room. I was also slightly wide-eyed as I was terrified of twitching or scratching my nose and going home with more beasts than we'd come with. 

I was aware of a slight flicker of, "who's that with Ivie Fisher?" but then everyone returned to what was happening in the ring. 

It was like the most tightly run circus where everyone had very distinct roles. The auctioneer was clearly the ringmaster and he ruled the roost with an iron gavel. 

I was captivated by the chap in the ring whose only job was to keep the livestock moving so that all the buyers could see; another man was responsible for opening and shutting the same gate all day; a young guy beside the auctioneer took a note of who bought what and passed slips of paper to the women in the office who updated the passports and buying records. 

Longtown Market
Photo by C&D Auction Marts Ltd.

Then it got confusing. I spent ages trying to work out who was bidding and who was winning each lot. I missed it every bloody time. It was like that Three Cup Trick where you have to keep track of which cup has the coin underneath it. 

Dumfries Market
Photo by C&D Auction Marts Ltd.

Ivie sold his cows, relatively happy with how the sale had gone. I'd been promised lunch at the hotel across the road so was getting ready to go (while not twitching or scratching my nose). I noticed Ivie shaking hands with a few men at the edge of the ring. 

He was giving all his buyers a 'luck penny'. Like so many things I've asked about over the last few years, he's never really thought about the whys and wherefores; it's just the done thing. So, as well as getting the cow or sheep or whatever in exchange for what they bid by winking or raising an eyebrow, the buyers also get something back. Depending on the type of animal and its value, it might be a few pounds or a short-term insurance policy. It's a way of saying 'thank you' to a buyer and hopefully means they'll look out for your animals at market again. 

I've just looked up the practice on a farming forum and there seem to be mixed feelings about it. There are those that treat it as a genuine tradition that they'd be sad to lose while in other areas, it's been distorted over the years and become something of a small bribe. I should know better than to look up farming forums. That's my Facebook algorithms buggered for another six months.

A note about the photos:

1. Thanks to a call-out on Facebook, C&D Auction Marts Ltd. kindly gave permission for photos of Dumfries and Longtown Markets to be shared. Please note that both these photos were taken before covid restrictions came into place. (I know they're different markets but for people who've never been it gives a good idea of what it's like.)
2. Thanks also to Ros Francis for the photo of Newton Stewart market. (Who knew she'd be the friend who had such a thing?!)