Tag: song titles

Recognise the song…

Crofting Life, Livestock, Sheep

The Scanner Man

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This week, a Sheep Scanner was up our track. Our neighbour had organised it and very kindly let us tag on. As I held on to one of the ewes, we got chatting and he reminded me of my last episode with a Sheep Scanner.

Ah yes. The last Scanner Man now has a whole song made up about that episode with many thanks to Billy Joel for providing the inspiration and tune. Yes, substitute Scanner Man for Piano Man and you’ve got yourself a tune to sing along to in your head while they are busy working.

This week’s scanning session was nothing like the first episode. I’ll set the scene. The snow was down, drifting, icy, and road conditions weren’t great. I was at the end of the track waiting for the school transport to drop off our eldest. As the taxi driver tried to leave, the van wheels spun on the compacted snow. Never fear, I was dressed in full ‘outdoor-time-to-get-stuck-in’ gear. Not elegant, not classy; but fully prepared with snow shovel, grit box, and a tow rope. As I worked at getting the lady back to moving, a pick up arrived. One with duct tape around the front, pulling a trailer, and a guy with the window down asked if we needed help. No, it was fine, the lady got the van rolling and he then stopped me in my tracks, ‘Are you Beth?’. Hmm, yes. I then realised he was speaking to someone through his pickup’s audio. It was my neighbour! She was stuck in town with the snow and he was the Scanner Man for her sheep, could I show him were he was going. Aye, ok.

So we headed up the track. A few times I thought his vehicle must have died. Maybe the duct tape wasn’t doing so well with the pot holes. But no, he eventually arrived and we parked up at the neighbours. My boys by this time wanted out. The Scanner Man was on his phone. Right, let’s get on with it. And this is where I thought, Man, if people thought I took a lot of photos, you should watch him! As we did the two ewes, I desperately was trying to remember which one was scanned with what. Finally, the boys were bundled back in the pickup, and we headed on to home. Our own cows checked as the cold bite could be felt, the fire light, and tea sorted.

By this stage, the tune of The Piano/Scanner Man was now on repeat. 

It’s four o’clock on a Fri-a-day,
The snow laying thick and quite fast
There's a young guy stopping his pickup
Making use of his duct tape galore
He says, Beth, can you show me where I'm going?
I'm here to scan your neighbour's sheep
The snow held her back and I know she's got two to be done
You'll be glad for waterproof clothes 

Baa, ba-ba, be-be-baa
Baa-baa, be-be-ba-ba maa,
La, la-la, di-di-da
La-la di-di-da da-dum

Show us the scans, you’re the Scanner Man
Show us the scans today
Well, we’re all in the mood for the lambing results
And you’ve got us feelin’ alright’

And so, the song stayed with me. Every spring, the tune and chorus is back. Oddly enough, it was ages afterwards at the Royal Highland Show that I discovered who the Scanner Man was. Worse, I was told the episode was on his vlog. Yep, there I was, having had no idea that he had been filming the lot and the boys could be heard in the background.

So thankfully, this year’s Scanner Man didn’t have a phone. Or at least I never saw it. He did have a single orange croc which was this year’s highlight (for the boys that is; the sheep never asked a thing about it).

Bees, Crofting Life, Livestock

Hippy, hippy shake

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A wee while ago (OK, maybe a few years ago), I went on a freebie session about maximising social media for small businesses. So I dutifully signed up as a business to Facebook, got an account on Twitter and joined up on Instagram. Facebook, oddly enough, I could handle. I like stories; while a photo or two can capture the reader, there is info in the post (well, not on every post and not on everyones but let’s ignore that). A lot of blog posts all started off as a facebook post, became too long so got transfered over.

Next, was Twitter. And nothing really prepared me for a newsfeed of pure sharp shooters; snipers sitting at their keyboards (most likely in a darkened room, eyeing up any movement or activity on the plaform that they could shoot down in a single shot). I may be slightly exagerating. Not everyone is like that. But it is certainly a one liner culture: a hit and run culture. I sit in the arena and watch the horror of gladiators and lions attack each other. I think I average about 10 mins a week on it before it is abandoned and I go back to the fairy tale stories of facebook.

But then, there was Instagram. The click and collect social media version of the happy shopper. All I saw was lots of pictures. But tell me more! Why are those two women jumping about in a living room in front of a sofa? Why is another picture showing me a coffee being made, of a dog looking shocked and another of some mist? Why is the wee blurb sometimes hidden? The conversations between people doesn’t flow. So, with the difference in the set up, Instagram came even further down my list of what to look at in the night when suffering from insomnia. Figured, hey, I’ll do a bit of reaserch another time to figure out who looks at this stuff and the thinking behind it.

And so the days rolled into weeks, into months and hum-hmp, years. Until recently, a discussion with a friend gave a bit of insight into who uses it and why. It is her do-to app. I started looking at it again. Promptly to be closed. Until that is, a nudge from a good fiend. Someone who is the real life version of the Mr Men’s Wizard (not that he has special powers but he has a beard, a wealth of knowledge and can talk to anyone). Yes, Mr Wizard knew how to tap into the chic and shabby world of instagrammers. You know, the type that have avacado on toast, want to live in the country side where the air is pure, they can experience walking through meadows barefoot and eat local organic food (can I clarify this is not the entire set up, it’s just the type I seem to find). So how do I discretely join in when we just had a 400 degree hot pizza oven blasting from the back of a bashed pickup parked in the byre due to it lashing with rain? Or when I had good solid dirt under every fingernail from digging veg? And when I’ve just had to pressure wash a pair of boots that got coated in gardener’s gold (aka manure) straight from a cow? They may not smell the manure on Instagram but I don’t think pictures of cow pats cuts it.

But never fear, I’m sure I do have photos that match the wannabe country folk. But if it’s out walking the meadows barefoot, I’ll be checking for ticks. If the sun is shining through the long grass, I’ll be assessing the grass length or blocking the contract tractor dude from mowing the grass. Dancing to the Hippy, Hippy Shake? Sorting a bee swarm by the sound of it. And if I’m lying back, on the grass, looking like I’m dreaming? Mostly likely a cow has knocked me flying and I could do with a hand up or an ambulance. So this will be interesting; bridging a gap between what people think I do and reality. And more likely needing witty, one liners for a photo. At least actually ‘living the dream’ does put food on our table and gives me a warped sense of humour.

Crofting Life, Livestock

Milkcow Blues Boogie

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This is the story of a wee Shetland coo.

Dryope came to us from Yorkshire having been on a farm where the herdess was a cheese maker. She was our very first cow and she has always been the matriarch of the herd. She may not be a fine, prize cow, but she comes to a whistle, we use her to help guide other cattle who may be nervous, and she is our milking cow.

To do this we just take her surplus (this is a lot easier than not milking and then having a cow with mastitis that needs medical intervention and hand milked to remove clots to enable both the calf and cow a trouble free feed). Her calf is not taken off, she comes in, gets a treat, a mini milker is used and then off she goes back to the field.

From this brief daily share session, we get plenty of milk (and a good layer of cream). Enough in fact to try all kinds of things: everything from hot chocolates, custard, ice-cream, cheese, and butter. For the calves that we share her with, she has had six and has fostered one (the Saler that is now also milked). Two of her calves have stayed with us, two have gone to new owners, and several (after a couple of years frolicking our fields), have provided us, and others, with beef.

We winter cattle inside to avoid heavy poaching. This gives us dung which goes back to the fields for making grass (and hay). It also goes to the veg garden and orchard to give the plants the needed nutrients for growing fruit and veg.

As she was from a milking herd she had to patiently wait while we clumsily learned what to do. Over the past couple of years, our dairy knowledge has increased significantly. But this is Dryope’s last year though. The past couple of winters her age has been showing. She struggles more to get up and down. Her movement is slow. In cow terms, she is doing remarkable, as she is a fair age. She will be missed but the idea of forcing her through another cold, harsh winter is not pleasant.

At the moment though, she is grazing the grass close to the house while she watches her heifer calf, a bonnie wee thing, bound about the field. The ice cream maker is on nearly every day and the cheese making equipment are back out again while we enjoy having her.

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…

Crafting, Crofting Life

Ace of spades

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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.