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A literal stock broker though. And with the more stock a farmer has, the broker they are. Although, things just swung a little differently this past week with suddenly meat coming back on people’s menus and being in high demand. Not as high as bog roll or plain flour, but hey, what a change in people’s spending habits.

The situation is this. We currently have no beef at the moment, we sold out about a week before the panic buying habits took off.

About a month ago we had started making plans for the next steer going to his byre in the sky. Chatted to the butcher to ensure the timings gave enough hanging time. We were asked to keep him back until the end of March due to all the Easter preparations. All fine and dandy; a date that matched when the Crofter would be home was picked. Then, last week we rang to book the steer into the abottoir and all private sales have been stopped! Yes, thanks to all the people who for some reason are now raiding butcher shops, the abottoir is trying to keep up with their own demand. So hence no time for those of us who are independent.

The ‘zip-a-dee’ is missing from my do-da’ to say the least. It’s not an emergency, we have food for ourselves, we have food for the cows. We do not have bog roll stuffed sheds. The issue is our customers having to wait. As much as we like to be self suffiecient and sell excess on to others, the supply chain is reliant on others due to the law.

This is also an interesting time to see people’s spending and eating habits. We often promote eating local food even if it costs more; the benefit always seems to outweigh the cost. When the country starts talk of a lock down, where are people going to source their food? Interestingly enough, Scotland has a lot of landscape that can feed livestock and produce meat. It is a struggle to feed and produce a lot of fruit and veg (kale and turnips are grand, but I often buy bananas and other foods that come from a far as we have no hope of being self sufficient in things such as sweet potato). So why the sudden mass buying of meat? We have the supply on our doorstep, we don’t need to fly it in, so why put so much pressure on the shops and butchers (and therefore the abottoir)?

After the dust settles, will people be more aware of where their food comes from? How it can end up in a shop, packaged and ready for them? Will lockdown give people time to start growing their own fruit, veg and herbs? Dairy farmers still milk their cattle, will many try making their own cheese?

Now, a lot can change in a day in the current climate. We, unlike so many other small scale producers, have an alternative option for sending the steer. And with that, he is booked in on Thursday. Let’s hope we can be singing Ode to the Steer before the week is out.

There may be Coronavirus out there, but on the croft, the seasons continue and we carry on. And one of these events is, the farewell of a steer. Yes, all of the last beast has now sold out. But, that does not mean an end; the first part of the process has been started for the next, the butcher is booked.

So, watch here or on Facebook for further news (and hopefully, the Covid-19 will not cause a delay) to filling the freezer.

(This post was initially published back in November but for some reason ended up in the drafts section).

Ahh, amazing. Lewis Hamilton and his team have done really well in the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix (information via the currently beloved BBC…). His research team must have converted his car onto the new fangled ‘cabbage rocket fuel’. Did his spinach burgers make him like Pop-eye and he has miraculously been able to push his car over four and a half thousand miles to get it half way across the world?

See, Hamilton is taking on a fight to cut his carbon emissions (or in his words, ‘to be kinder to the world’). So I decided to watch and learn. So far, he has opened a restaurant and he has been maintaining his ‘ day job’ from what I can see. But he seems to have taken a great dislike to our cows, and all the other cows in the UK.

Meanwhile, on the croft, 8 of our 11 cows have never been off the croft and have never been on a plane. They don’t do laps of the field just for the sake of it, not do they need gold plated helmets. They have helped improve the fields so we now get wader birds. Their manure gives our soil nutrients to enable our fruits and vegetables to grow by enrich the soil. Do we use equipment to help work with the cows? Yes, but I don’t do laps of the field for the sake of it. There is a reason (and yes, you can always ask to find out). Can Hamilton start putting a seed sower or plough behind his car to help provide local veg for his restaurant?

So Hamilton, you keep going with saving the plant, one courgette fuelled lap of Formula One at a time. I’ll go back to looking after the livestock and land, one mince and tatties portion at a time.

Coffee (no idea who sang the song, but I think they made a mistake with the lyrics, it should have read coffee).

Good day on the croft? Coffee

Bad day? Coffee

Well rested night (fat chance, but I can dream in the short spaced window of sleep)? Coffee

Normal night’s sleep? Still coffee

Stressed? Coffee

Inspired? Coffee

Yes, I go through a fair amount of coffee. Shame we can’t grow our own considering crofting, cows, and children all seriously increased my coffee drinking. Last week was no exception.

So my well organised plan of getting most things sorted (after getting the news that the Crofter wouldn’t be home for another week), didn’t quite follow suit.

Sunday I had to quickly separate out an unwell cow from the byre.

Monday I was phoning the vet for advise.

Tuesday I was getting electric fencing up to provide a section if I needed to get her in quickly. And the livestock trailer was sorted for an emergency trip.

Wednesday she made a turn (did she hear me discussing the abottoir with the vet or was it that she remembered my threat at calving time that one more problem and she would be mince).

Thursday, well, she was better than she was but was still not sure what is or was wrong. She had by that point started making noises for her calf (don’t get too sympathetic, he’s 9 months old and nearly the same size as her and all mum’s deserve a break from feeding two). Which means she was definitely better if she now wanted him back, but that had stopped her resting and recuperating properly. Thankfully it didn’t last long.

Now, most organising had to be done over Micro Crofter’s lunchtime nap. However, if I had needed to take her to Grantown. I would have had to have been there for 9am. The Mini Crofter is soon to start nursery. Which starts at 8.45am. What am I going to do if it happens on a nursery day (Yes, Ms/Mr School Office Person; Mini C will be late, as we have to drop a cow off at the slaughterhouse…). In this day and age I wonder if I would be more in trouble for going to the abottoir than my son being late or missing school, but let’s not ponder that now. We’ll cross that livestock trailer when we get to it.

(NB, the tractor is never left running with him in it!).

Yes, but that is where I then disagree with Mr Burns. For from there, he wrote ‘gang aft agley’. But who am I to beg to disagree with the honourable poet?

Now poetry is not my thing (surprise, surprise). It doesn’t help put food on the table, keep the tractor working or ensure the cows are happy bundles of joy. It doesn’t help find the keys I lost. I don’t understand why someone has to write four lines of words when they could say the same thing in four words. But I’m not here to get a backlash from all the haggis eaters on Burns Night. At least the man did identify that the best laid plans do often go to pot though.

The Crofter was initially due home yesterday. On Wednesday I got the heads up that my little mental count down for holding the fort which was down go two, had to go back up to 9 days. And with that news, sudden emergency prioritising planning was needed.

Now, an extra week is not necessarily the issue. Two Wee Crofters, 11 cows and a dog is all I have responsibility for at the moment. The sudden issue was the weather forecast. Juggling boys and cows has been getting slightly easier recently. What hasn’t been easy is dealing with what the weather has been throwing at us. No nine foot deep blizzards, sand storms or needing an ark. It’s the mild, blustery, near gale force winds, intermittent with colder, lighter breezes but having a very thin layer of ice, that has been making feeding the cows a precision act.

I get my forecasts from the Carrbridge Weather Man and so can often look like a serious curtain twitcher when checking for updates. The reason is this. To put hay into the cows, we have to open the top door. Which is quite big and at a height more attuned to doing pull ups; which makes it look like I would be better suited with a qualification as a trapeze artist and stunt woman on blustery days.

And the byre isn’t the only thing weather dependent. As Gilly and her calf are outside, they too need hay. Except if the weather turned wintery, the tractor doesn’t cope too well (and pulling tractors out is really a two person thing which I don’t have, so I try and avoid the potential misshape).

So with the news of needing to prepare for another week, all of the cows have been slowly getting sorted before the forecasted weather change. Yes, sorting cows would take half a day if I didn’t have two wee ‘uns. But with a near three year old, we can suddenly be delayed because of the wrong socks. With a one year old, naps govern how long the workload is. Half a day’s work has to take three. But at least from yesterday, all cows are sorted for the next several days. Extra supplies have been given.

So may the wind lash, the heaven’s open and the snow fall (as you would expect in winter). Let’s go raise a toast to the haggis singing bard.