Writer's Block

 What you should know:

1. My blog-writing mojo has been on holiday.
2. There are fewer jokes than usual in this blog. 

It's been two months since my last blog, which sounds a bit like I've taken a wrong turn and ended up at Confession. I've started a couple of ideas but none of them have really got off the starting blocks. 

I could give you any number of excuses but none of them would be quite true. The main reason I've had writer's block is that I (temporarily) lost my sense of humour about living on a farm. Most of the time I enjoy seeing things from an outsider's point of view but sometimes I feel a bit like a round peg in a square hole. 

Lockdown and the changes we've all gone through over the past 16+ months seemed to take their toll. Being alone - as is the case a lot at this time of year - began to feel a little lonely; plans changing at the last minute started to feel a bit bigger than they normally would; and my lack of experience in farm life felt like it would never get better. 

Today's view

I spoke to a wise friend who reminded me that moving here a matter of weeks before lockdown was a baptism of fire. I don't really know what 'normal' farm life is like - and I know there's not really any such thing.

I'm not a 'oh woe is me' type, though, and I'm keenly aware that I've got it pretty good compared with a lot of people whose employment, health and relationships have been affected beyond repair. 

Thankfully, I've got this happy pair to keep me out of mischief (one of them likes getting their belly rubbed in the morning).

They're all going on a summer holiday

Things I've learned

1. Farmers are adept at diversification. 
2. I like salted caramel ice cream. I was pretty sure of that already but it's always good to check these things. 

I've been thinking a lot about holidays this week. It's partly the weather - which has been scorchio - and partly the increase in traffic on the roads. 

Dumfries and Galloway is a region that relies heavily on tourism. According to Visit Scotland, British travellers alone made over 750,000 overnight trips to the region in 2018, spending 2.5 million nights and £141 million. 

Of course, this is a mixed blessing. It means that when we have visitors ourselves, there are plenty of places and events to take them to. But we've also all come across drivers either braking for every bend (or puddle, which was my particular favourite) or going far too fast on single track roads and overtaking on blind corners on the A75. 

It's not quite the onslaught that Edinburgh usually has every year. When I lived there, I really enjoyed the fact that I passed Edinburgh Castle on my morning bus route and that I could walk to some of the best art galleries in the world but it made going about my day to day life in August absolute hell. It's certainly experiencing a quieter summer this year due to covid cancellations and, although that has a massive impact on businesses that rely on festival audiences, I'm sure there are many that are breathing a sigh of relief and enjoying the quieter streets. 

Gallery of Modern Art, Edinburgh

Which brings me back to D&G and the farm. Before I lived here, the tourism sector was something I only really thought about in a work setting. Having worked for Spring Fling and the Wigtown Book Festival in the past, I've been involved in a lot of audience surveys, reports to funders and the like but it all felt a bit more abstract. 

Spittal Sunset
Photo by Ivie

Now the view from my bedroom window includes the two holiday cottages on the farm and if I'm sitting outside I can hear people on the cycle path and the gates opening and closing. 

I really like it. I love living somewhere that other people want to come and visit and it stops me taking these glorious views for granted. A friend of mine came to visit last week from Wiltshire and stayed in a nearby AirBnB (Spittal Cottages were both booked!). Her and her children arrived one drizzly, overcast afternoon and woke up the next day surrounded by the Galloway Hills and Galloway Forest Park. They were all captivated by the views, the wildlife and the peace and quiet. It was great to see the place through their eyes and it made me fall in love with D&G a little bit more, if that's possible. 

Photo by Julia

While they were here, we went to Cream o' Galloway on a sunny Saturday. It was my first major trip into the outside world since mid-March so it was all slightly strange. But as numbers were limited to enable social distancing it meant that it was quiet, we barely had to queue for ice cream (salted caramel since you ask) and the kids could explore the adventure playground and go karts till their heart's content. 

It reminded us of a previous visit around six years ago when they'd come to Auchencairn to stay with me. As we waited for the tractor ride (little did I know I'd be able to do that every day if I wanted in a few year's time), the chap said, "now remember that we'll be driving through a working farm. There will be machinery and equipment lying around." We thought he meant from a health and safety point of view and keeping the children safe. "We've had complaints from visitors that the place looks untidy." I'm not often speechless...

Living with an Extrovert

 Things you should know:

1. I am an introvert.
2. Ivie is not.
3. There's more than one sweeping generalisation coming up.

There are lots of definitions of introverts and extroverts out there. Without getting too detailed, one of the main differences is how they recharge their batteries: introverts get their energy back from being on their own; extroverts by being surrounded by people. 

It's one of the reasons that I enjoyed the time that I lived on my own so much and thought I'd never want to live with anyone Ever Again. 

In some ways, being an introvert farmer's WAG is the perfect set-up, though. I have the house to myself for hours at a time and am (just about) ready for company when Ivie gets home. This is what usually happens:

In Ivie's case, it involves putting on the radio, wandering to his desk, scrolling through Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat and WhatsApp on his phone while watching tractor porn on the computer all at the same time. I whimper quietly while switching off the radio, shutting the kitchen door and just about coping with the noise of the kettle. 

One of the ways this difference shows up between us is when we're socialising. Those of you that know Ivie will know that he's usually the last to leave any party. You know when they 'subtly' turn on the lights and wash the floor? Ivie will still be chatting away to someone he's known for 30 years or 30 minutes and having the time of his life. I'll have peaked early and retreated hours ago and will also be having a grand old time. And a cuppa. 

Rock n roll introvert style

It doesn't mean I didn't enjoy myself or that I didn't like the people I met, it's just that I ran out of steam before he did. And Ivie gets it. He doesn't try to change me or make me feel guilty for always being pretty much the first to leave. 

Anyway, Ivie's best mate had a big birthday this week (yes, Marcus turned 21). For various reasons, I managed to miss both of his celebrations but it meant that Ivie could see everyone he'd missed during lockdown all in one go - extroverts are very efficient in this way. 

While lockdown and shielding wasn't too bad for me because of my introvert tendencies, it does mean that getting out into the outside world is taking me a bit longer. It's a noisy, overwhelming place for someone who only saw people with the surname Fisher for four-and-a-half months. Great as they are, I'm looking forward to broadening my socialising horizons over the coming weeks and months. See you there.

PS thanks to the people I haven't met yet who are regular readers 😊

Everybody was Multi-tasking

What I've learned:

1. Everyone around here has more than one skill
2. Farmers' skills involve hitting things with a hammer

We've been having our bathroom refitted this week. It's been a long time coming. We started talking about it before Christmas then finally got round to ordering everything in March. Then lockdown happened. And shielding was extended. So, we've now got a beautiful, almost finished bathroom. 

Work in progress

We've been really lucky with the guy that's doing it for us. Technically, he's a joiner but he's done the plumbing, plastering, as well as the joinery work and fitting the new window. I know everyone knows everyone around here but it makes things so much easier because you're not just opening the Yellow Pages (yes, I'm showing my age) and choosing someone random that a) might turn up when they say they're going to and b) might do a good job. 

You're allowed to be excited about new windows when you're over 40

Along the way, I've learned that farmers are also mult-talented. I've mentioned before that I didn't really know what Ivie did all day. Aside from complicated mental arithmetic, Ivie spends his day problem-solving and fixing things. His days rarely finish up as planned due to any number of unforeseen circumstances involving the weather, temperamental machinery, animals escaping, animals dying, animals giving birth, or any combination thereof. In a lot of cases - animals notwithstanding - these circumstances are 'moulded' with the aid of a heavy object and a lot of force. 

Talking of multi-tasking, something I noticed when I first moved to Dumfries and Galloway is that a lot of people have more than one job. Their week might be made up of two or three part-time jobs or they might make money from their arts and crafts skills over and above the 9-5. In some circles, it would be called a 'portfolio career' but for normal people, it's just life. Before I lived here, I'd always worked full-time without questioning it and it was the norm amongst my friends. In fact, the people I knew who didn't work full-time outside the home generally had small children. 

As I've got older, I've really appreciated time over almost everything else and, aside from a six-month blip in a job that wasn't right for me, I've worked part-time since December 2013, often made up of two or more contracts. It was a great way to get to know more people, too. My first part-time contracts were with Spring Fling and Wigtown Book Festival, two of my favourite D&G cultural icons. I got to know a lot of people who are now close friends and I might have bumped into someone special at the 2017 book festival opening party...

Going back to the bathroom, I did get slightly confused by the multi-talented joiner earlier in the week. He mentioned that he would only be there the next morning as he had a funeral in the afternoon. I made my, "oh I'm sorry" face but didn't have time to say anything else as he had already moved on to telling me what else he still had to do. Later, as I watched the van leave down the farm road, I saw the tell-tale words on the back doors, "Ian Broll. Joiners and Funeral Directors". 

Sheeting the Pit

Here's what I've learned:
1. It's sheeting the pit not pitting the sheet (but try telling my brain that). 
2. Apparently it was really easy this year (but try telling my body that). 

For a few weeks now I've been hearing rumours that I would be involved in sheeting the pit this year. Like many things in life, I didn't give the reality much thought (I once agreed to walk 500 miles across Spain in my summer holidays without thinking about what that actually meant. Luckily it turned out to be amazing, despite being proposed to by an Australian and an Austrian. But that's another story). 

Somewhere in Spain, 1994

Last Thursday after tea, I was instructed to don my boilersuit, leggings and wellies and join the Wacky Races to the silage pit. I ended up as a hanger-on on the loadall after turning down a lift on the quad (I didn't think Ivie's brother and nephew would appreciate me clinging to them the way I do to Ivie) and in the loadbed of the pick-up (I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of Ivie's sister-in-law, niece and two of her friends by tripping on the way in and on the way out). 

Another member of the team was already up the hill (via tractor) so that was us up to nine. 

This is how the pit looked by the time we'd finished. 

It looks that way for five or six months of the year. 

I've walked past it often in the last couple of years. 

I've never once contemplated how it gets like that. 

For the uninitiated, the pit consists of three concrete sides and an open front. It is filled with cut grass then covered in two layers of plastic, a layer of green mesh and weighted down with tyres. 

BUT the layers of plastic aren't just two single massive sheets. Because that would be too easy - and too difficult (imagine trying to transport a bin bag that size). So, there are side sheets that are rolled in from the sides then the main sheets are rolled down in sections and weighted down at the seams with tyres. I didn't quite grasp which sheets go under and which go over but Ivie seemed to have it under control. At one point, I was sure we were folding French seams Patrick and Esme would be proud of. 

Socially distant teamwork

This was us rolling down the last sheet. By this point, I was sweaty, out of breath and had aching muscles. And we hadn't even started chucking tyres around yet. It was a rude awakening from my 14 weeks of shielding where I haven't ventured off the farm. Apart from a fantastic online Pilates class (thank you, Di), there hasn't been a huge amount of lockdown exercise. That certainly changed last Thursday...

I probably did a bit less than everyone else, partly because I was always one step behind, standing on the wrong sheet or putting a tyre in the wrong place. Frequently all three. But it was one of those occasions I'd have been sad to miss (but don't remind anyone I said so this time next year). It felt like I was making a contribution, however small and unskilled, to the people and place I call home. 

Rain, Rain Come Away In

Things you should know:

1. Farmers like it when it rains

2. You're unlikely to go on a date with a farmer on a sunny day

As I write these points above it makes me realise that the chances of actually going on a date with a farmer at all are pretty slim. Even when we're not in isolation. 

Throughout the year, Ivie and I joke that we'll see each other in November - it's no coincidence that we got together one November. Our first date was crammed in between curling fixtures and car maintenance but we made it. Just. 

So, we've just had some of the warmest, driest weeks on record. It's been great for someone like me who's been shielding since mid-March as I've been able to sit outside and drink tea, go for walks (within the confines of the farm) and top up my vitamin D. 

Not so great for farmers or their cows. Cows drink a HUGE amount of water every day. I've just googled it to try and get a definitive answer but answers varied between 3 and 70 gallons so we'll just leave it at A Lot. 

                   

Ivie has spent an inordinate amount of time guddling about with water, topping up troughs that the cows empty as soon as he can fill them and shaking his head at the low levels in the hydro pond. 

Aside from having an impact on the water needed for cows, the rain (or lack thereof) also affects every single other bloody thing that Ivie does. I don't pretend to understand what conditions are required for each job but it's along the lines of:

"I hope the wind dies down/picks up, the rain starts/stops and the sun shines/doesn't so that I can spray/spread/cut/disc/roll...."

Remember the old cliche of British Rail and the wrong sort of leaves on the line...?

Anyway, this week the dry spell has ended and we've had almost enough rain. Ivie's as happy as Larry, whoever Larry was. 

I've just googled that, too, and got a more satisfactory answer than to cows' capacity for drink:

It originates from an Australian boxer called Larry Foley in the 1890s, who never lost a fight. He retired at 32 and collected a purse of £1,000 for his final fight. 

Thank you, google.

Tuesday morning was the happiest I'd seen Ivie in weeks. He came in for breakfast head to toe in waterproofs, dripping wet and beaming from ear to ear. I half expected him to shake himself like a dog all over the kitchen floor before lying in front of the fire for the rest of the day.

Suffice to say, I'm looking forward to our second date in November 2021. 

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