Lambing: Part 2

Things I've learned this week

I can be useful

Ivie came in from the lambing shed last night about 11pm with three photos for me (see below) and a big smile on his face. They knew that one ewe was expecting quads but one that had scanned for triplets had a sneaky wee lamb hiding behind her ribs. Ivie's brother delivered the triplets and went to bed. Ivie went to the shed an hour later and there was a fourth lamb up on its feet and sooking.

1,2,3,4....

We're now at the end of the third week of lambing at the Spittal. I'm told they're about halfway through and I've even been given one or two useful things to do.

Today there was a cast of thousands working in the shed. Ivie's brother, sister-in-law, niece and nephew were all getting their sleeves rolled up, along with a young girl doing work experience who already knows more than I do. I hovered around trying not to get into the way, half of me hoping I'd be given something to do and the other half slightly hoping I wouldn't.

It's not that I don't want to help. It's just that they all know what they're doing and don't have to be given instructions in words of one syllable. My nightmare would be to stand in the wrong place and make a field full of sheep go in the wrong direction. 

One of the things I'm most conscious of at this time of year is how busy Ivie and his family are every day (and night) and how little use I am. I'm also conscious of everyone out being productive at weekends while I'm basically just fannying around.

Today I felt a bit more part of the gang. I managed to stand in the right place (twice!) to first help move sheep who had lost their lambs back to the field and then to help move a field full of sheep into the lambing shed. I felt a bit like the office junior being given one instruction at a time and then going back for my next task.

I cleaned the blackboards for the pens that had been emptied so that the next mama could be moved in with her lamb(s).

I filled water buckets, moved feeding troughs and after a cuppa I stood around while Ivie and his sister-in-law both lambed ewes that had three live lambs each. It's amazing watching anyone do something they're good at but there's something even more amazing about watching someone help a ewe give birth. They know by the colour sprayed on the ewe's back how many lambs are expected, but there are a lot of unknowns.

Which way will the lambs be facing (the 'right' way is head and front feet first)? Will any of them be alive? Will it go to plan?

My job was to squirt iodine on the lamb's navels to prevent infection, which is the most I've got involved up till now. Who knows, maybe this time next year I'll take the week off work during lambing and will be doing a shift myself.

Is this what's known as a sheepy-back? 

Lambing: Part 1

Things I know:

1. This is the third lambing since I started seeing Ivie (I know this because I have made three swear jars).
2. That's a potty-mouthed cow on the top one, not a sheep (I adapted it for calving).

Lambing began at the Spittal about ten days ago and, so far, there are around a dozen lambs. I have to admit, I'm still at the developmental stage of a three year old, "Look! Baby lambs!". I don't think anyone that actually lives on a farm ever passes through that stage. Farmers are born rolling their eyes and swearing at ewes. 

Sheep have a death wish, you see. I have it on good authority that from the moment they're born, their main aim is to die. They don't seem to have that survival instinct the rest of us have and, instead, they're looking for ways to roll on to their backs and die, prolapse and die and get stuck in a ditch and die. I detect a pattern emerging...

We haven't reached 'peak lambing' - as I like to call it - yet so Ivie still spends almost a full night in bed and conversation at lunchtime is as coherent as normal (on both sides). Give it a couple of weeks and Ivie will be snatching a couple of hours' kip here and there on the sofa and wandering through his days like a bit of a zombie. 

It's the time of year I feel most useless on the farm. It would take longer for Ivie to tell me what to do than to just do it himself so all I can do is keep a pot of soup on the cooker, keep the baking tin well-stocked and not make too many demands.

I like to go up to the lambing shed with Ivie last thing at night to see what's happening. So far this year I haven't seen any lambs being born but I did have a mama ewe glare and stamp her hooves at me last night as I tried to take a closer look at her baby. I left her to it and made Ivie pose for a selfie instead. 

Talking the Talk

What I've learned
You have to choose your moment

One of the things about going out with a farmer is that you often don't have a lot of time together all in one go. Depending on the time of year, sometimes it's just a quick catch up over lunch at midday and that's it until lunch the next day.

That's fine when all we have to catch up on is whether we're running out of milk, what we might fancy for tea or jokes about Iceland (the supermarket, not the country). But when there are bigger things to discuss, it can be hard to find the right time.

For example, back when we'd been seeing each other for about six months, I wanted to talk to Ivie about feelings and stuff. It was the longest relationship I'd been in for 20 years and it felt like things were getting a bit more serious. Ivie had had a terrifying accident in his tractor a few weeks previously and it had made me realise (a) how dangerous his industry is (b) how I felt about him and (c) that I should probably tell him.

But it was May. So we went on a tractor date.

I drove an hour and a half to Snudge's farm* where Ivie was spreading fertiliser. After accompanying him for about two hours I figured I'd better tell him why I was there and muttered those three little terrifying words. He muttered three little words back ("the feeling's mutual") but I wasn't really expecting what happened next.

"Get out," he said, pointing to the tractor door.
"What?!" I asked, feeling a bit confused (especially as we were at least three fields away from my car).
"Get out," he said a bit more forcefully.
"What do you mean?," I asked.
"That gate's needing opened," he pointed, grinning.
"Bloody hell," I muttered as I jumped down from the cab and stomped to the next gate.

Tractor Date View

* I learned the other day that one of the fields at Snudge's is called Bagswallop. Ivie's lucky I didn't bagswallop him.

I Name This Field

Things I Didn't Know
1. Fields have names
2. That's not always useful

Not long after I started seeing Ivie, my friend Sheena casually dropped into conversation that fields have names. 

Isa looking at a field

"What?" I asked idly before realising that, of course, that makes sense. If it was up to me to describe places on the farm, it would probably be along the lines of:

• that field where the sheep was on its back. I was wearing my blue jumper. It might have been a Tuesday.
• that field we were in when you told me that joke about Iceland. The supermarket, not the country. 
• the field where you asked me if I wanted to drive the quad bike and I said no. 

Ivie in a field

So, as you can see, it's much better that fields have names. 

When I asked Ivie about the names of the fields at the Spittal he reeled off a list of names, some that made more sense than others. 

• Papa's Park. His Papa? Nope, it was already called that when Ivie Snr bought the farm in the 60s. 
• The Cairn Field. At least there's actually a cairn in it. 
• The Top of the 50 Acre and The Bottom of the 50 Acre (I didn't get a satisfactory answer to why they're not called the Top 25 and Bottom 25).
• High Piquant and Low Piquant. These aren't the real names but there are definitely Ps and Qs in there somewhere. 
• The House Field. It's in front of the house. Obviously. 
• I think there might also be one called the Keystone which is in the middle. Possibly...
• The Dandy Field. I made that one up. But I kinda like it. 

Cows in a field

As you can tell by the captions on the photos, my learning is progressing well. I'd be interested to hear from other farm residents what their fields are called and to see if they make any more sense.

Questions, questions

Things you should know:

1. Some of my friends are really detail oriented
2. That is not one of my skills....

When I first started going out with Ivie, some of my friends asked me lots of questions about the farm. You can imagine how well that went. 

Question: What kind of farm is it?

My answer: There's cows and sheep there and a couple of wee goats.

The real answer: Beef and sheep. (The pygmy goats are generally considered a nuisance but they do eat any spilled feed). 

Question: What breeds are there?

My answer: Seriously? I told you there were cows. What else could you possibly need to know?  Some are beige and some are black. I think they might be called limousines, like the car. 

The real answer: There is a cow breed called limousin (note the lack of 'e') but there aren't any at the Spittal. There are Simmentals and Aberdeen Angus. 

Q: And what about the sheep?

Me: I know this one! They're called mules (<looks smug>). I remembered because they're sheep and they're called mules. And they're kind of infertile donkeys. 

TRA: Scotch mules so 8/10.

Me: Harsh.

Me: Oh and there are square looking sheep that look like lego sheep. 

TRA: They're tups. 

Me: Oh.

TRA: And they're called Texels. 

Me: Noted.

Q: How big is the farm?

Me: <shrugs and grunts like a teenager>. It's quite big. It goes way up the hill and you can see Cairnsmore. Who knows how big an acre is anyway...?

TRA: 400 acres. And lots of people. 

Q: How many sheep are there?

Me: <shrugs and grunts>. 130? 

TRA: 230. 

Q: How many cows?

Me: WHAT'S WITH ALL THE QUESTIONS?!

TRA: 130. 

Q: Is there a sheepdog? 

Me: YES!! She's called Isa and she's training to be a working dog. I'm like her weekend Dad. I take her treats and don't discipline her. 

TRA: Yes. And she's far too spoiled.

Me: I KNOW!

Isa! 

So, there you have it. More of the things I don't know. 

Una, I Have Failed You

Things you should know:
1. I was warned

When I published my first blog post, Ivie shared it on his Facebook page. Our friend, Una, whose husband is a farmer and who doesn't have a farm background herself commented thus:

"22 years Rebecca and I am still learning. However, there are some tips I must share with you before it’s too late. If Ivie knocks at the window, still wearing working clothes, and asks if you are busy the reply is ALWAYS YES. Don’t hesitate or look in any way uncertain, this sign of weakness is used to their advantage and before you know it you will be in a field with a stick chasing cows (or worse being chased by them). This includes day and night, moving a black cow in the dark, who doesn’t want to leave her pals... So always remember to have a busy idea stored in your head that is far too important to stop doing. 

Prepare an 'I am interested' face... It comes in very useful when farm names, market prices, sheep sales, cattle sales, tupping, calving, moving livestock, silage, lambing, fertiliser, slurry, weather and the death of someone - on a farm somewhere, you have never met or been to - is being discussed. 

I am a slow learner, it took almost 20 years of life on a farm to acquire these two skills. Unfortunately, I was too late with my act of being too busy, I started with a keenness to help, don’t make that mistake. For your sanity please heed my advice."

2. I didn't listen

Last week, Ivie's brother and family were on holiday. Ivie had a cold. You can see where this is going, dear reader. 

How could I refuse to open and shut a gate for 20 minutes over my lunch hour? At the moment, it's all a bit of a novelty and I quite enjoy getting my wellies, boiler suit and hat on. I've even customised my hat with a purple Sharpie so it says Megastar. Kinda. 

3. This post mentions shite a few times

For the non-farmers out there, Ivie was mucking out a shed, which involves shovelling cow shite with a wee digger called a loadall. It takes a few loads so, without help, it's a bit of a pain to get in and out of the loadall each time you're going into/out of the shed. Leaving the gate open risks your calves going walkabout. 

Nosy cows

Slightly worryingly, I'm getting a bit immune to the smell of shite. Nowadays I don't recoil every time Ivie comes in for a cuddle after being out working. There are still times where I have to insist that the work clothes go in the washing machine instead of back on the next day, though. 

There are also little things I would know if I actually worked on the farm instead of just playing at it for 20 minutes every couple of weeks. You should wash your boots after standing in shite, otherwise they end up looking like this. 

I admitted to Una that I'd got roped into helping and her response was straight to the point:

"It's a slippery slope. Very slippery."

I'm doomed.

Sporting Life

Things you should know:
1. In general, farmers are good at most sporting endeavours and are more than a little competitive.
2. I am neither of those things. 

I spent last weekend at sporting events – rugby on Saturday and curling on Sunday. 

Saturday was the annual Spice Cup, a local derby between Newtown Stewart RFC (based near Wigtown) and Wigtownshire RFC (based in Stranraer). Confused? Yep, me too... 

The venue alternates between the two and this year we were back at NSRFC. This is good because:

• I can drive home when the chat becomes dominated by 'Rugby games we have known and loved' and 'Here's a story that lacks a beginning, middle and end but I'll expect you to follow it even though you haven't had 8 pints in the last three hours’. 
• I know lots of people so don't need babysat. 
• I know who to ask when I want a cup of tea rather than alcohol. 

A lot of Ivie's farmery friends are fellow players from a golden age. From what I can gather, scrums were properly contested, only the captain could address the ref and you could tell what position someone played by their, ahem, physique. (“Aye, the good old days,” says Ivie).  

They all have amazing memories for games from 30 years ago, who they were up against, who took their clothes off on the bus home and, perhaps most importantly, who started the fights. I'm missing this competitive gene so I'm slightly bemused by all this but I'm really glad other people possess it otherwise rugby matches wouldn't be very interesting.

So, Saturday was fairly straightforward as all I had to do was spectate, wear my NSRFC bobble hat and go back to collect Ivie six and a half hours after I’d left him at the bar.

Sunday was a different matter entirely. I’ve somehow become involved with an entire family that is sporty and competitive (I refer you to the top of the page…). They choose to take part in sport for their Christmas get together! Sporty and coordinated people don’t quite understand how intimidating this can be. It’s a bit like me suggesting we do a page of algebra before Christmas Dinner since I was good at maths at school. 

Until about three weeks ago, I hadn’t tried curling before. Here’s how I got on…. 

Sunday was slightly better as I decided to stay still rather than try and glide. It’s quite hard when everyone else started curling at age 10, as opposed to 45 and it’s a popular sport in the farming community as, in theory, the winter is less busy. 

To be fair, everyone was very encouraging and I did really enjoy myself as we weren’t keeping score and expectations were low. I don’t think curling is my sport, though, so this will be my view from now on.