Category: Crofting Life

The highs, lows and laughs of crofting

Bees, Crofting Life

Mother Nature’s recipes

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Lockdown restrictions have been easing at variable rates. And I discovered the bees have been keeping up with the the changes too. How? Well, Hive One decided to have the biggest street/air party you could have imagined. Had they really won the Honey Bee World Cup? Were they aware it was still only so many households with a maximum number of people? Mind you, these bees were all from one hive bubble so if anyone was that bothered, I’d have left the police to hand out the fines (honestly officer, that’s not a hive two bee, can you not tell??). But this wasn’t just a wee cheeky lockdown catch-up, they had decided they needed to cut the ties and find a new abode. Yes, they swarmed. And what a way to do it.

Now the garden has been severely hit with our cold whether. Lots of potted plants grown from seed are (or were) still in the polytunnel. And now they very suddenly needed the outside. The Antarctic-come-forty-days-of-rain seemed to have finally past. The ground seemed to have been fully detoxed by taking in more fluid than you would have imagined. But the weather didn’t ease gradually. No, it suddenly changed. The polytunnel started hitting the high 30s and the potted plants wanted out ASAP. Suddenly transporting plants out of the tunnel was getting urgent.

And it was while in the process of copious trips back and forth to the veg garden, a noise suddenly arose; a noise akin to a whole group of Hell’s Angels deciding to drive past (which would have meant they were coming off the hill and down a common grazing track; highly unlikely but if true, would have been phenomenal). So I very tentatively had a look at where it was coming from (because, who knows, Hell’s Angels might one day come down from the common grazing). There was not a motorbike in sight, but above the hives, the bees looked like they were negotiating Birmingham’s spaghetti junction in rush hour just before a bank holiday. They were everywhere. All lockdown restrictions had suddenly been lifted and there are no limitations on their social gathering (please note, this is not the case, please adhere to government advice and don’t plan a street party after reading this; just because the bees did it, doesn’t mean it’s right and no, you can’t have 5,000 meeting up in your garden). Nor had they won the World Cup. In fact, a hive was in the process of swarming. Thankfully into the hedge next to the hive. Great! Now what am I supposed to do? What did they say on how to deal with a swarm on that beekeeping course? How was I supposed to remember? I did what you always do in an emergency; I called in the experts.

Swiftly, the experts responded and very soon I had a beekeeping pro. With the calmness of a yoga teacher (not doing some funny pose, but the ability to look like there was just relaxing music going on rather than the buzz of the M25 in rush hour), the swarm was plopped into a new hive. The old hive was then checked. And then the other hive. And what an eye-opener. Not in the sense of needing to keep your wits about you due to half a hive absconding, but to watch the Pro handle the bees.

With both hives now fully checked and the new hive observed again to make sure all was well, the relief was good. Well, apart from losing the oldest Mini Crofter who was nowhere to be seen before finding out he had decided to nip down to the neighbour’s to see their new ‘toy’ (aka a fairly reasonable piece of machinery). Having coaxed this info out of the Micro Crofter (so I didn’t run any risk of misplacing a child), I thought, great, I’ll nip down and milk a cow (because it’s always easier with one child than two and I am always up for utilising these times). Everything set up, cow in, machine busy working when suddenly rush hour hit again! I glance up thinking, this can’t be right, the noise again was in the air. And that was with ear defenders on but I could still hear it. And my ears did not deceive me, there was the Birmingham spaghetti junction of bees coming down the track (thankfully taking the otherside of the byre) and I watched them head down the road before quickly running back to dismantle the milker from Tilly, cleaning up and sprinting up to the hives. But each seemed ok, they all had bees. I phoned the Experts again (start thinking of the term ‘muppet’ across forehead). Advice was to go check the new hive. Sure enough, now there was hardly any bees going in and out of the swarm’s hive. As much as I thought they would like their new house being delivered to them, no, they must have watched The Snail and the Whale and wanted to go see the world. And off they had gone.

A major bee search then started. Involving multiple neighbours, neighbour’s visitors, really anyone I could rope in. Now, this wasn’t just a nice and easy search and rescue. This was a search and rescue while lugging a two year old about with you. Which required good stamina and an ability to pass a mental hurdle that you really can carry the weight of half a bag of chicken feed about with you while searching high and low (my right arm has still not fully recovered). The determination to keep going was aided by the frequent concept that I could hear bees. The burn was very deceptive; giving off a slight humming noise that constantly drew you back to it. The hillside was examined. I may have been persistent but I can admit the trees were not tooth combed. But alas, no swarm was found.

By the end of that day, I would have been more than happy to be Baloo from the Jungle Book. Not to be some big fluffy, overweight bear. But to be singing about bees buzzing in the trees making honey just for me, and not chasing them over the Scottish hillside.

Now, all is not lost. Our two beehives are still functioning. We had been hoping to split the hive. The bees beat me to it this time. I am hoping to be more prepared for the other hive. But, in the mean time, I’m just away to go check back on that pregnant cow…

Crofting Life

Busy

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Things have been relatively quiet on the blogging front for me. I have been acutely aware of it. For the past year, I have built up a substantial number of posts currently filed under ‘drafts’. Getting them out of the starting blocks has been an issue, let alone getting them checked and over the last hurdle into the published section. Things would happen, but by the time I got a chance to write it, I seemed to get writers block. My brain just wanted the power button to go to sleep mode. One of these reasons, was for being so busy.

‘Busy?’ I have been asked that very question (but say it with your eyebrows slightly raised and a look of ‘aye right, you’re having a laugh’). And this is one sticky point (like chewing gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe, rather than a sticky toffee pudding sticky-but-oh-so-good type of sticky; just in case you got the wrong idea). I will not go into detail on the background but I concluded from the lady’s question and further (patronising) statement, that during the entire lockdown she has a) had no dependents and b) no requirement to work. I was about to turn up at her door the following day, hand over a 2 and 4 year old, the keys for a tractor which doesn’t like the cold (honestly, it’s a battery problem, not a tractor that wishes it was in Spain. Well, maybe it does after the cold spell we had back in January, I never asked it, but even if it did, it’s not going on any holiday!). Anyway, she could have my two Mini Crofters for a day (luxury really), the tractor which won’t always start, 13 cows to feed, oh, and why don’t I turn her water off so she has to sort that too and then ask her why she’s not done anything. I wouldn’t, may I clarify. But the thought did cross my mind. Instead, I just looked at her. It was a shell shocked type of response. I’m not really known for my witty comebacks, my responses are more like fine wine and need to sit in a dark space for a while before suddenly appearing. But it did highlight a serious flaw. There are people who have literally sat about and become completely disconnected from how lockdown has affected different people, different groups, differently. Now, I’m not about to stand on a preacher’s block and ask why some have just done nothing (or even why the lady thought that was everyone). I should clarify, sitting does not necessarily mean you have done nothing. Nor does it mean you are disconnected. Neither does the act of being busy mean you have accomplished things.

Did the lady receive no post or deliveries throughout lockdown? Did she never once need to access the NHS? Did she ever wonder why food shops were open and how they managed to have food to sell? From our level, even the Crofter has had to keep working throughout it. And that has been one of our major issues. His work is based in Norway, which as a country has been fairly strict with travel and quarantining. Two weeks of quarantine before going out to the rig would have made it 4 weeks away, 2 weeks home. So they upped the work time to cut back on the number of times he needed to quarantine. So, his away times were long, his home times brief.

Not only that, schools have been off, then on, then off again. The teachers have had to manage working through it. In the spell after Christmas, our oldest, being in nursery, had it five mornings a week on google classrooms. There was then another session with his key worker. I did not make every one (about the time the byre water froze and I was running kettles up and down was when I decided keeping animals alive was a higher priority than logging on). And that’s just it, keeping everything alive was pretty busy.

And so in answer to the lady who thought I should have ‘managed’ a lot more; well, why not come by for a cuppa? Don’t worry, I won’t abandon my children or force you to jump start the tractor. But just, if you have so much spare time, bring wellies, washing up gloves and wine, as I’ll take it you are happy to help (and I won’t preach; but I’m not bad at getting three points all starting with ‘W’!). And the benefit? Come walk in my shoes and you’ll gain the smell of fresh manure, probably get insomnia, and understand why I never wrote a trilogy in lockdown.

Crafting, Crofting Life

Ace of spades

croftingwifie

Crofting is one of my current day jobs (thankfully, and hence why I stopped lambing although it doesn’t mean I don’t work at night, I just cover it if needed). Anyway, besides the day job, I have other interests. Yes, I like my cows but I don’t cow whisper all the time. The brushcutter and I get on well. The flail mower, the garden, the mole traps, are all things I enjoy doing. And they tend to get the priority. They give a huge satisfaction in seeing your accomplishments. But I also have ‘indoor’ interests. Spinning, knitting, cross stitch, oh, and card making. Yes, I like making cards. The past couple of years I haven’t had the time. Really. Ok, maybe I did but I was too sleep deprived. But this year has been better for sleep (believe me it has, just maybe not the four episodes last night). So why did I think that this year I would manage cards? Does getting more sleep boost the ‘yes we can’ mentality? Who knows, but the 2020 Christmas card making side of things has had a few glitches and seems to have taken its inspiration on from that one undercooked bat…

1. Yes, just like covonavirus started in Wuhan and we were all watching it but took no action; I started thinking about the cards in October. But took no action. The brain then went into full blown lockdown mode and has refused all access to any sense of creativity what-so-ever. Great start.

2. Card making prompted a panic usage of four-year-old wanting to use paint. He has never asked to paint stones before. But get out my things and whoa, he wants to not just paint, but paint stones. And with a four year old painting there needs to be a two metre distance between the two of us. It’s not just a government thing, I don’t want splashed with his paint, nor do I really need the house redecorated. And the house was not built with two metre distancing in mine; it’s just not conducive in the work area. Either he paints, or I card make.

3. Access to the carder has had to be limited to only one person (glue on a two year old can spread round your house faster than a respiratory virus. Don’t believe me because you can’t see it? Try glitter at home…). That means I’ve had to wait until two mini Crofters are in bed. And as the saying goes, I’m not an early bird, nor a night owl, just one exhausted pigeon. I lead my children by example by going to bed the same time as them when it’s just me.

4. And as 7pm is the new midnight and drinking bourbon is the new eating bonbons; so 23rd January is the new Christmas. Think I should just wish a Merry Christmas one and all and please don’t expect them to be made, let alone posted, until the Crofter gets home.

Crofting Life, Food

Ian Sparkles and the flambé.

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Although we have plenty of home sourced meat, we do get venison from time to time. As neither of us have the ticket needed to sell it, we get to enjoy all the benefits or pass some on to family and friends as gifts. It also ties us over if we are between stock available in the freezer. And over time, we have developed a few recipes we enjoy with venison.

So one recent evening was no exception. With many thanks to Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall’s Meat cookbook, there is a particular flambé recipe we enjoy. That’s all fine until the flambé’s flames are more then expected and end up melting the cooker hood and setting fire to the smoke extractor.

Yes, the house was evacuated while the Crofter used the fire extinguisher. All sorted. Apart from the hood now having exposed wire and still connected to the mains. But how to turn it off? The fuse was switched off for the kitchen while the local electrician, Ian, was called. Ian, the Sparkie (not Ian the Steer who recently went off to his forever home, nor Ian McQueen the Farmer who has also helped in emergencies in the past, but he does more, how do I deal with a boliatic, hormonal cow, then how to deal with a potential electrical issue). One phone call and Ian the Sparkie directed us to the exact spot, any further risk eliminated and we could now sit down and enjoy venison steaks (with no flambé sauce).

The Mini Crofter was intrigued. Not in flambé or how many minutes the steak was cooked for to make it rare, but the electrical points, and not just that, wanted to know more about Ian Sparkles. And with that, Ian the Sparkie may still exist to the wider community; but not in this house. We pass Ian Sparkles’ house on the way to nursery. Ian Sparkles has a van which can be identified from quite a distance. Ian Sparkles even came out to sort the byre so it now has proper lighting and electrics (rather then just a couple of fairy lights hooked to an extension cable). And just in time. Not in terms of an emergency but that darkness is no longer procrastinating in the afternoons, it lingers in the mornings too. But, although the cows may be disappointed in the lack of fairy lights this year, it’s replaced with the concept of Ian Sparkles.

So if anyone else in the community needs an electrician, our son can easily direct you to the one and only Ian Sparkles.

Crofting Life, Livestock

Old Blind Dogs

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Gus, our Patterdale terrier is not old. But he is a dog and he is going blind. He is in fact not yet two. The diagnosis by the Ophthalmology Vet was not unexpected but still not something I expected to be hearing about our wee dug (that is not a typo before anyone asks).

In canine terms he is smarter then most dogs I have come across. He is not a drool-boy or a moocher, nor is he one to roll around in dead things too much. So he can be pleasent to have around (as long as he doesn’t chew his harness and take off to visit the neighbours or any one else willing to let him sniff about their garden). His latest escapade was ages ago. As in, hmm, two weeks…

Anyway, despite that, last Sunday was the confirmation I had been watching out for. He went out the back door and walked straight off the decking ramp into the house. A classic Laurel and Hardy black and white sketch (black dog, white house). But this time it wasn’t for comedy. I had been observing him for several days after I had become suspicious something wasn’t right. It had started off when I had Gus out with one of his favourite tasks. Chasing. To do this we have a squeaky soft toy (looks like a flattened idea of a fox, it is ginger, but no stuffing and this one squeaks from it’s tail. Don’t ask, I didn’t make it and Gus isn’t bothered, in fact, he likes it). So Foxy is tied onto a long lunge horse whip (they probably have a proper title for this implement in horsey terms, but I have no idea what, anyway, you can picture what I’m talking about). He then will run literal circles around you just to get it. More like a hamster in a wheel really. He eventually catches it, makes sure it’s dead, hands it back and off we go again. But this time, if it was more then two foot away from him, his nose would go down on the ground sniffing all over for it. Which made me start closer observations. He accidentally walked into the car door, the following day it was into the back of the trailer. Was he too distracted or something up? After the decking incident I knew I would need to take him to a vet.

First point of contact, our usual vets. Which isn’t your normal hamster vet, but cattle vet, so they are based down in Grantown, a 50 minute drive away. The protocol in the current Covid situation for the vets looks more like a stall at a wee games fair. An all weather parasol, a circular table, a notice board, and a bottle of alcohol gel all sat in the courtyard. The vet then comes out to see you, you have a chat while you have to keep an eye on: a) the dog to make sure he doesn’t pee against the parasol, b) the mini crofter working out the hinges of the notice board, and c) the micro crofter wanting to extract the alcohol gel.

Any other issues other than the eyes? Well, I had noticed he had been drinking more then usual. Is he ok with people? Hmm, yes, he will be delighted to go into your practice as there will be lots of new smells and someone giving him attention. And with that, off he goes, happy as Larry, while we go vehicle identification spotting (what else do you do with a three year old; ‘oh, look, there is an onion ring car’, ‘that’s another wind farm car, how many frisbee cars can we see, and so on (no points for guessing the makes).

Eventually the vet came back out. Yes, something is wrong with his eyes, but they only have limited resources, would I like to be refered to the Ophthalmology vets? Ophthalmology Vet? I really hadn’t realised they existed! Anyway, the only indication of eye sight issues and drinking is diabetes, could I get a urine sample and drop it off on the day I collect it? Hmm, yes, but can I just do it then and there and hand it back in? And if so, can I have something to collect it. With that the Vet disappears again and returned shortly with, which I am handed, a pair of disposable gloves, a metal kidney dish and the wee pot for the pee sample.

The next stage gave entertainment. Even as I was handed the kidney dish, Gus peed. The Vet and I looked at each other, I’m sure her eyes said ‘Good luck’. Once I had the gloves on and kidney dish, fat chance. By this stage I had decided to strap both boys into the car and give them their picnic lunch while I walked up and down (and up and down) the road waiting to catch the liquid gold. I tried taking him to lampposts, dustbins, even the spots he had gone for when we first arrived. A few times he would show potential, I would dive under and he would promptly decide naw, let’s keep sniffing. What felt like forever (and it was, the boys had finished their lunch) I finally got a tiny amount. Back to the parasol and bell to then hand it in. I was asked to wait while they checked it. The boys were getting restless but the idea of getting them back out of the car seemed silly. Vet then confirmed that there was no indication of sugar, but he did have a UTI so would need antibiotics. So, yet again, I nipped back to the car to try and prove to the random people walking past that I had not abandoned two boys and a dog in a car before sprinting back to collect the medicine and finally head home to await the referral.

It did not take long. Two days later we are then on the trip to the Special Vets. Same deal, hand over the dog at the door, give the history, supposedly go back to your car, enjoy a peaceful coffee and await the news. But alas, the two mini crofters and I ended up walking down a cycle path, eyeing up a Tesco’s freight train, watching a helicopter land at the local hospital and picking up oak leaves. Sounds great, but it was baltic. Try to convince two boys to stay in the car. Hmm, no. Eventually, the phone rang and I got the diagnosis. Gus has lost some of his sight and with the speed of it, will not have sight for much longer. The cause? No idea. Unusual for a dog of his age and breed. It will apparently cause him no pain and have no other implications on his health; he should go on and lead a somewhat normal life.

However, that is the issue for us. We don’t really have a ‘normal life’ and for us, he is a working dog who has a serious issue in his working practice. He can still sniff things out, but we have already seen limitations. And so, this is where we think he may be better off with a family or someone that can shower him with affection while still letting him live a doggy life. He can manage the usual walk, can even go mole trapping off the lead with me, but the risks are high in other areas. He is a cracker of a dog so one that I would prefer to find a safe home for. And that way, he would have a chance to eventually become an old, blind dog.