Luncheon is Served

What I've been thinking about:

1. My stomach (for a change).
2. Mismatched expectations.

There are many reasons Ivie and I are a pretty good match:

• we're both quite tight.
• we're both hilarious (a matter of opinion, I know).
• we both like our food.

During lambing, it can be hard for Ivie and me to have any quality time together. He's either working, sleeping or eating (washing, not so much) and my sleeping and eating don't always coincide with his. He's just popped in to inform me, however, that his nephew has kindly agreed to do the nightshift (thank you, Drew) so this evening we'll get a takeaway and attempt a conversation about something other than lambs, slurry and water troughs (it's been quite a rock n roll week, let me tell you).

I'm a creature of habit and already know what I'll be ordering from the Indian* (saag paneer) so all that remains for me to do is make sure we've enough crockery out for the many and varied accompaniments and wait for Ivie to finish whatever it is he's doing (unloading something, somewhere, but I'm a bit sketchy on the details. For a change).

We're trying to get better at making time for going out for tea or even just getting a takeaway. Otherwise, there's a danger that lambing consists of Ivie being too tired to speak to me for 7 weeks then reappearing at the end of March wondering why I'm a bit grumpy.

Gratuitous cute lamb (farmers look away now)

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago we went to Carlisle to get Ivie's car serviced. I know, it's a long way to go but we get nice coffee at the showroom and I was promised lunch on the way.

I was a bit disappointed when we pulled into Tarff. Those in the know will realise that my disappointment was ill-placed. Those not in the know will understand why I was slightly underwhelmed to be stopping at an agricultural store by a roundabout.

Tarff is an Aladdin's Cave for those who actually live on farms. You know those movies where the city slicker moves to the country with designer sunglasses, a bike with a basket on the front and no waterproofs? Tarff is the opposite of what she would expect to find in a farm store. No merino welly socks or artisan sausages here.

It has - at first glance - a random selection of stock from animal feed, baking tins and footwear to pet food, horse blankets and greetings cards. But it's actually all very practical (apart from the fancy tweed jackets that I secretly covet but wouldn't be able to keep clean).

Needless to say, lunch was delicious. And cheaper than the fancy farm shop next to the other roundabout that does sell fancy sausages and eye-wateringly expensive pies (I told you we were tight).

The next day, lunch at home consisted of soup, bread and rehanging a 15 foot gate. It would seem that things are rarely what you expect when it comes to lunch around here.

* DISASTER! The Indian is closed. Off to rummage in the drawer for more menus... 

A Break from the Norm

What you should know:

1. I didn't really mean it.
2. I'd last approximately three days. 

I've really enjoyed my Christmas break. I'm lucky to work somewhere that shuts down completely for two weeks. Because I work part-time and Monday is a bank holiday in Scotland, I'll have had almost three weeks away from my desk. 

I was going to write that I think everyone has probably daydreamed about not working for a living at some point in their lives. Except farmers. You know those people who say that if they won the lottery they'd still work? I bet most farmers would be in that category. 

Ivie and Rudi going off to work

Steering clear of the economics and politics of farming (my blog is more concerned with the comedy of farming, to be honest), it's in the blood of those who do it. While I often don't understand the conversations I overhear, I recognise the passion and pride and the drive to do things well. 

This morning over breakfast, we were chatting about the routines we've got into over the festive period and I wondered aloud about being a 'kept' woman. I could do more of the things I've enjoyed over the festivities like reading, walking and sitting in my shed, dispensing with pesky work that just gets in the way. It was met with a characteristic, "Oh aye?" from Ivie and he carried on drinking his coffee. 

Shed Life

Rationally, I know that I wouldn't last very long at it. Work is important to me for lots of reasons, not just financial independence. That's not to dismiss anyone that doesn't work outside the home. I know lots of people who put in far more hours than I do caring for others, supporting family businesses and being the lynch-pin of a household. Somehow it's not considered 'work' in the traditional sense but that's probably a debate for another day. 

In the meantime, I'll keep daydreaming about doing more of the things I enjoy, as well as daydreaming about a bit more normality in 2021. 

Eat, Sleep, Repeat

What I've been thinking about:

1. It's all about routines. 
2. Except when it isn't. 

It turns out that puppies are hard work. In the run-up to getting ours, wise people nodded sagely and said, "puppies are hard work." It went in one ear and out the other as my toddler brain screamed, "puppy, puppy, puppy!" 

It's now six weeks since we picked up the trembling bundle and brought her home and we're getting into our groove. Or so we like to think. What's actually happening is that we are fitting around the routine that the puppy has set for herself while fooling ourselves that we're the ones in charge. 

Hard at work

Having her has made me notice other people's routines around me. When I take her for her morning walk, I see the same farmer on a quad off to feed cows at the next farm and the same lorries on the way to the ferry. 

There's something quite soothing about routines, especially when the outside world seems a bit out of control. We set our alarm for the time the puppy wants to get up, we make her breakfast while trying to stop her eating our socks and we take her out for a pee as soon as we've sat down for a cuppa. 

 

The point at which the puppy always needs out

Apart from life with a 14 week old puppy, living on a farm is all about different routines, depending on the season. Except when things don't go to plan. Which is every day. 

Today, for example, there is a blocked culvert. This means that Ivie was an hour late coming in for breakfast, we've only seen each other for ten minutes all morning and he's behind on feeding the cows.

Farming is such a strange mix of fixed tasks done at a certain time and the biggest spanners chucked into the works every single day. Farmers seem to need a strong core of dogged determination combined with a heavy dose of flexibility to deal with the demands of the day. 

In my job, if something unexpected happens, I know I can catch up tomorrow but it's not quite the same on the farm. I can't quite imagine Ivie coming in for tea saying, "the digger needed a new part so I didn't get round to feeding the calves today" or us getting to February with no ewes in lamb because a tree needed cleared from the cycle track back in the autumn.  

At least some things are certain - death, taxes and the puppy being just cute enough to avoid eviction.