The croft must go on.

Knowing that I have to manage the croft on my own while Tim is at work means we have slowly set it up to be as manageable as possible for one pair of hands (albeit, a pair of hands and a mini crofter now in tow). This is fine until the sickness bug hits! When you want the bed to drop anchor as you feel the rough seas tossing you about. When you wish the grass was as green as you. And you realise the mini crofter will be awake in only a few hours.  The impending doom of dawn awaits…

This is when you phone a friend (alright, whatsApp, I hate phones), lots of friends, and a distress signal gets aired on Facebook. The chicken coop was something I really struggled with while pregnant and the thought of the smell of it is the same when feeling positively ill. I had no plans to even venture near. Ha, stuff them (not literally, they are on flubevet), I thought. At least the cows and sheep will manage for a day. My main concern was the mini crofter. I have no idea how other single parents manage to be sick while still looking after a dependent. Me? I brought in the cavalry. Mini crofter was shipped off for the weekend and today, neighbours came up to feed the animals.

So, maybe not the most interesting of news but it does show us our friends who volunteer themselves and are willing to help (Marion, Niall, Ali, Catriona, David, Lesley, the names could go on). For them, and their families, Tim and I are much indebted to, for without them, the circus (sorry, croft), wouldn’t function. The ‘community’ is still alive and well and willing to help.

Tonight, the sea is calm, the waves have stopped, and the mini crofter seems to be having the time of his life with the MacDonald family in Banff. Just remember son, don’t get too use to that way of life, if you want to go swimming when you get home, there’s a wee loch just down the road…