tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89797925924779957562024-03-13T09:17:24.205+00:00Posie's blogTales of island life on a hebridean hill farm.Posiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12844732200803572416noreply@blogger.comBlogger143125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8979792592477995756.post-90175976482345023122017-11-11T16:32:00.005+00:002017-11-11T19:32:28.686+00:00Domnhall Hamish and his ladies<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Why is it that whenever the Happy Farmer makes an exit to
the mainland all of the animals seem to <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>take
it upon themselves to misbehave?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3qoXnbPeh9g/WgciqqqRfdI/AAAAAAAAOco/lfpbIwq77rMpcxJjk83zTgW-vqU6OMhXQCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG-20170727-WA0003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3qoXnbPeh9g/WgciqqqRfdI/AAAAAAAAOco/lfpbIwq77rMpcxJjk83zTgW-vqU6OMhXQCLcBGAs/s320/IMG-20170727-WA0003.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The first sighting was at daybreak, on the distant skyline, of
something decidedly fluffy and black and quite distinctly on the wrong side of
the fence, the road side of the fence to be precise, infact not just the ‘roadside’
but the very middle of the road. Binoculars poised, to ascertain if it was dog, horse, cow or sheep, it frustratingly skipped way, over the horizon and out of sight,
but paused just long enough for me to see the escapee was Domnhall Hamish,
eldest daughter’s new Hebridean tup.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Quick race to get dressed then and breakfast abandoned I
leapt into the car in hot pursuit, only to find in my absence, Domnhall Hamish had disappeared
into a field in the distance, safely off the road, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>so breakfast was back on the menu, followed by
a quick sprint round the fields with the dogs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Of course Domnhall Hamish wasn’t happy grazing in a huge field
all alone. No, when he had artfully skipped over the drystone dyke of the fank
to escape, earlier in the day, he had other plans on his mind. With his head full of romantic notions and several fields full of lipstick clad ladies waiting patiently Domnhall Hamish had decided he could delay no longer, romance was calling. While I was running with</span><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> the dogs, he abandoned the field and was back on his little adventure. He was next
identified going for a swift jog along the main road, holding up the traffic on
his way.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Finally I managed to locate him and follow him back up the
farm road in the car until he came to a halt outside the pottery, exhausted. He
stood panting, his long black tongue hanging out, gasping, as I called to him
and ran towards the hill gate, thankfully in his exhausted state he could just about
manage to trot behind me. I was impressed at him following me, but also, as I am terrified
of most animals, especially the farm variety, never having quite made the grade
in farming life, I was relieved he couldn’t manage to run any quicker. I opened
the gate and he obediently went trotting out across the hill. Result! Sheep are never usually so obedient, in the happy farmer's case they always give him two fingers and race off in the opposite direction. Maybe Domnhall Hamish realised
he was being rewarded for his adventures by being released into a field full of
hebridean sheep, a few days earlier than the Happy Farmer had planned and maybe I do make the grade in farming after all!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It was amusing a little while later then to see Domnhall Hamish promoted to super star status as the ladies crowded eagerly round him. He was causing quite a stir. However after his earlier marathon about the farm and village,
he, on the other hand, looked thoroughly exhausted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Until next time…..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Posiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12844732200803572416noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8979792592477995756.post-40918890546129119412014-10-08T12:04:00.000+01:002014-10-08T12:04:13.770+01:00The Maternity Wing turns into a Nursery...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The autumn is upon us and the Happy Farmer appears to be turning into one of those 'city gents' when it comes to the crucial nitty gritty of farming these days. His herd of Highland heifers are all heavily in calf, and yet he appears to be making a habit of jetting off to the city just at the crucial moment.... avoiding the birth... and then jetting back in time for the celebrations.<br />
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The Happy Chappy from down the road has been doing a sterling job in his absence, as senior midwife in charge of the maternity wing, when he is not attending to any of his numerous other jobs.<br />
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Toffee Coffee, Marmite, and Treacle however were having none of it. Those girls managed to keep their legs well and truly crossed during the Happy Farmer's latest sojourn to the city, even though they appeared fit to burst before he left. They stubbornly waited until the stormiest night of the year, when the Happy Farmer was in residence, to produce their offspring and all were fit and well, in spite of the horrendous weather. However, on his morning rounds the Happy Farmer came across discord among the girls,'handbags' between the ladies, two of the heifers were boxing, a wee calf stuck in the middle. When the discontent among the girls showed no sign of easing, action was called for. The Happy Farmer called upon the Happy Chappy to help him move grumpy heifer and calf from the maternity wing to the nursery.<br />
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I was disappointed then, when, poised with camera in hand, to capture the shot of mother and calf obediently jogging to the nursery field, I got a photo of the Happy Farmer and Happy Chappy looking extremely cheerful and relieved. Now I am well aware that 'cheerful' and 'farming' are not two words you would actually associate in the world of farming....and where were mother and baby??<br />
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Well, apparently the 'cheerfulness' was much to do with relief that Farmer and Chappy escaped with their lives i n tact when those girls turned their handbags on the visiting men and decided to charge at them for daring to suggest that mother and baby were ready to leave the maternity suite. The fantastic distraction of two farmers running for the hills appears to have stopped any in fighting among the girls. I was most impressed that the task of moving cow and calf from one field to the next had turned into such a challenge for the Happy Farmer, it included a happy jaunt around the field and back, with a bit of a fitness workout included, and those ladies refusing to give in to any demands placed upon them at such a delicate time in their lives.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fXdjUAmP1Aw/VDUHcujSRXI/AAAAAAAABAE/F_u0BKlJx9k/s1600/WP_20140930_004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fXdjUAmP1Aw/VDUHcujSRXI/AAAAAAAABAE/F_u0BKlJx9k/s1600/WP_20140930_004.jpg" height="179" width="320" /></a>This morning in the sunshine we could hear strange roaring coming from the direction of the Happy Chappy's house.....a rutting Happy Chappy or is it those stags on the neighbouring island? Autumn and all of its surprises are definitely unfolding...<br />
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Until next time...<br />
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<br />Posiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12844732200803572416noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8979792592477995756.post-49704926167615744942013-09-24T12:29:00.000+01:002013-09-24T12:29:03.970+01:00Bramble 'Houdini', the Party Pup.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Bramble the pup is now four months old and is proving herself to be a Houdini among pups.<br />
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She arrived on the farm as a totally unexpected surprise. Mist, the sheepdog, had kept her midnight shenanigans with the amorous Labrador from down the road totally to herself, in fact she even concealed the whole pregnancy, preferring to surprise us with a little black bundle snuggled in close one morning. This is how Bramble Berry Fletcher came to be. <br />
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The children were over joyed, a late birthday present from Mist proclaimed eldest, I was immediately smitten, the happy farmer not so convinced but he was easily cajoled along into welcoming the new black bundle into the clan.<br />
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This summer we celebrated one hundred years of the happy farmer's family residing on the farm with a garden party that started at 4.00 in the afternoon going on until 4.00 the following morning. There were many bodies scattered around various corners of the farmhouse however they surprisingly all seemed to disperse just before the happy farmer's wife surfaced to a scene of obliteration as the farmhouse was somewhat unrecognisable among the strewn bottles, cans, discarded burgers, a sign of a very good party indeed.<br />
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I was rescued from the cleaning chores when various visitors arrived from the holiday cottages armed with goodies for a full cooked breakfast for anyone who could find their way to the Kitchen. The smell of bacon sizzling from the Aga is a sure way to waken the house.<br />
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The problem facing us before this big extravaganza was that Bramble up to this point had wandered freely around the garden all day and then in the evenings had taken herself off to snuggle up to Mist. Being ever so tiny I did worry that with so many friends and family coming along little Bramble could be trodden on, or eat something that would upset her delicate little tummy. Much nagging later and the happy farmer built a new enclosed kennel for Mist and Bramble, one which would keep visiting amorous Labrador s at 'paws' length, and one which would keep Mist and Bramble safe during the party. As people began to arrive and the BBQ was heating up little Bramble took one look and ever so gracefully toddled through the bars of her new kennel and joined the party...for the duration, so much for the happy farmer's new kennel.<br />
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Now at four months old, and nearly as big as her mother this little Houdini of a pup has learnt that if she wriggles and shimmies ever so gracefully she can still squeeze her ever so fat belly through those bars, so she spends her days wandering happily around the garden joining in any party that she happens upon.<br />
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Until next time...Posiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12844732200803572416noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8979792592477995756.post-42836693776704336382013-06-23T11:35:00.001+01:002013-06-23T11:35:48.100+01:00Bar-bugled with a Sore Spring hanger....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The island has been busy with visitors from all over the globe travelling here to sample all of the delights and charms this unique community has to offer, namely malt and magic, spectacular scenery and oodles of wildlife (happy farmer included, as well as a few of the other local worthies).<br />
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Even the 'dancing girls', the happy farmer's sister and cousin, sailed over for a repeat painting experience at the chateau down the road, one of the very few, very last remaining tin houses in Scotland.<br />
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You would think those ladies after their last experience of toiling away in the blistering sunshine, painting the exterior of the house, while their brother performed his acrobatic balancing acts from the high ladder, would have steered well clear of the island for a little while longer. However such is the island's charms they just could not keep away and having nothing left to paint, bar the interior of the house, they made another pilgrimage to their island home, laden with paint and brushes.<br />
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Those girls, in the words of an old farmer from bygone days, 'booted and revved those engines', which roughly translates to working their socks off all day, slapping away with the paint brushes, and then getting heavily refreshed, by way of tucking into a plentiful supply of 'refreshments', into the wee small hours. It made for a good recovery and prepared them for another day of hard slog. As I mentioned in a previous blog, the most entertaining part of this is that the happy farmer's sister will tell you that she has, to quote the old farmer again, 'run up many miles on the clock', as she is, nearly sixty years old, (which is a tad of an exaggeration, but she holds that it does make her look ever more youthful if she piles a 'few extra miles onto the clock', or years onto her youth!!).<br />
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We do miss the old farmer from up the road and his lovely use of language. In his eyes all people were motor engines, some had a 'good chassis', others were simply 'bugled', and if you were really bad, well you were 'bar-bugled', if you were limping then you had a sore 'spring hanger', and if you weren't right in the head, the gear box was failing. Those girls' 'gear boxes were definitely failing' and their 'spring hangers' were mightily challenged by the end of their painting experience, so I was heartily entertained when the new tenant in the 'chateau' commented on the gleaming paint work. Luckily he is a painter and decorator to trade, and has very kindly offered to touch up the stripey walls.<br />
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Until next time...Posiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12844732200803572416noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8979792592477995756.post-79232243860729226562013-06-06T10:10:00.000+01:002013-06-06T10:10:09.511+01:00I want to ride my bicycle...<div class="MsoNormal">
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and the farm is bustling and buzzing with activity. A whole crowd of my family
are over for a visit, the bed and breakfast is going like a fair and the
cottages are booked up, so last weekend saw me doing sofa changeovers too, swapping
one set of visitors off the bed settee for another….<o:p></o:p></div>
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Yesterday I took a well-earned break. I had been invited to
cycle around the Isle of Colonsay with my action man brother and his super fit
cycling girlfriend. I was encouraged along by the happy farmer who assured me,
in his ever calm, happy state that he would look after the pottery, the farm,
the bed and breakfast, the laundry, the children, the pet lambs, the horses, the chicks,
the dogs, oh and Bramble, the birthday surprise Mist, our collie dog, introduced
to us on Sunday morning. </div>
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that and the fact I hadn't ridden one since I was about 12. The happy farmer, ever
resourceful at overcoming life’s challenges, went for a quick rake through his
handy shed and appeared some hours later with a rusty specimen, which had few problems
that a quick squirt of oil and some pedal power couldn't<o:p></o:p></div>
fix. He called me away
from customers to have a quick check that the bike would be fine for me. Now
the fact that both of my feet could sit flat and firmly on the ground reassured
me that although I was a bit wibbly wobbly and shaky I would be quite safe.<br />
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Next day I kidnapped the happy farmer and his trailer to
give me a lift down to the ferry port, I wasn't brave enough to free wheel down
the very steep brae with all of the Lorries and passing traffic. </div>
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Safely deposited
with the old rust bucket I purchased a round the world ticket at the ferry
office and took my place among all of the seasoned cyclists and their shiny bikes, waiting for the
ferry to Colonsay.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We sailed into Colonsay a short while later, cycling along
the pier up to the only single track road on the island and we were off, and
the challenges began, firstly there were the gears to get a hang of, I was
putting in more pedal power than my brother put in for the whole day’s cycling
just to make it up the first hill, if you could call it a hill. I quickly also
realized that while my feet could indeed sit firmly on the ground this also
meant my knees were up round my ears as I cycled along on old bertha. It didn't
help when people with bottoms twice, even three times, the width of mine went
swiftly past me while I was huffing and puffing away. I discovered that I do have a bit of
a competitive streak after all, which quickly led to my behind becoming very
saddle sore with all of the effort, indeed by the end of the day I had mastered
cycling standing up in the pedals, or at least raising myself slightly just to
ease the pressure as the roads seemed to get ever more bumpy, just to add to
the challenges.</div>
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<o:p></o:p><br />
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We cycled to nearby Oronsay, and then around the island,
each twist and bend in the road opening
up more spectacular views of turquoise seas and white pebble beaches. The
strong coconut scent of the gorse bushes in the air, the soothing sea breeze
and the brilliant sunshine made for an amazing day, that and the fact that my
brother swapped bikes with me half way round, which made my bike ride ever more
amusing as I watched him pedaling like mad with his knees going way beyond his
ears, and luckily I didn't get a puncture until we were two minutes from the
ferry, having had a well-earned refreshment at the local hotel</div>
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<o:p></o:p><br />
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Until next time….<o:p></o:p></div>
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Posiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12844732200803572416noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8979792592477995756.post-67465383824221186422013-05-29T09:22:00.001+01:002013-05-29T09:22:18.683+01:00Farmyard antics...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It has reached that lovely time of year when the days seem
endless, you go to bed in broad daylight and get woken by the sun’s rays, to
broad daylight.</div>
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<o:p></o:p><br />
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I got woken this morning by the Black Labrador from down the
road, yodelling outside my window. I looked out to see what all the commotion
was about. The lab was announcing his presence to Spog, the tabby cat, who took
not the slightest bit of notice, as he lay sprawled out on the bench in the
sunshine, waiting for ‘opening’ hours at the farmhouse.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This whole episode
warned me then that Ruby is in season. The lab was up for a social call, but
when Ruby was refusing to entertain, well she would have, but the fencing
around her kennel prevented anything further than some serious flirting, he
took to yodelling outside my window, and although broad daylight, it was
actually 4.00am.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZbBKmGUn2u4/UaWzuAPbGgI/AAAAAAAAA7k/4JuNF6gS7F4/s1600/WP_002199.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZbBKmGUn2u4/UaWzuAPbGgI/AAAAAAAAA7k/4JuNF6gS7F4/s320/WP_002199.jpg" width="320" /></a>Charlie hen arrived a little later on with her new family.
She has been patiently sitting on her nest for weeks now, barely venturing off
it, but this morning, eggs hatched, she was at the front door, proud as punch.
The happy farmer fed the brood and then scooped them up into a safe box in the
shed, away from the cats, dogs and other predators that may be lurking.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The farm is positively buzzing in the sunshine. We have a
scout troop camping in the field, French guests camping at the pottery and the
bed and breakfast suite and cottages are full. It is whisky festival time on
the island. The happy farmer is positively beaming with all of the socializing
he has to do, out of duty you understand.</div>
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<o:p></o:p><br />
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Polo Bear, the pet lamb, has been joined by Sugar Lump the
Second, both are now thriving. Although Polo Bear did have a touch of joint
illness so has been on a course of daily injections administered by the happy
farmer as he does his rounds, in between his whisky duties.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Muffin, the cheeky pony, is in barracks with a mild touch of
laminitis, usually if he sees the happy farmer coming anywhere near, he happily
gives him the fingers, or should I say hoof, as he gallops off in the opposite
direction. This week however he is the happy farmer’s best friend, obligingly
lifting his hooves to be picked out; butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.</div>
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<o:p></o:p><br />
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Eldest is home for the summer, and has landed a dream job at
Bruichladdich distillery doing distillery tours and whisky tasting sessions,
she is in her element and the job comes with good perks too.</div>
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<o:p></o:p><br />
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The pottery has been filled with visitors from all around
the globe, and my days have been spent having some weird and wonderful
discussions, in between being an octopus, serving sandwiches and cakes, selling
pottery and taking pottery painting classes.</div>
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<o:p></o:p><br />
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It is very hectic, very entertaining and very rewarding.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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Until next time….<o:p></o:p></div>
Posiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12844732200803572416noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8979792592477995756.post-73106442457897024332013-05-07T12:40:00.000+01:002013-05-07T12:41:26.967+01:00A good few miles away on the clock...<br />
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The happy farmer’s sister was over visiting on a working
break, for a wee spot of partying, I mean painting and maintenance, to the
cottage she owns down the road. She breezed in off the afternoon plane, having
sent her cousin, who she had enlisted to join her for a relaxing break,
involving non-stop painting with a tad of partying thrown in, on the very long
car and ferry route. Her cousin and the car were needed to deliver the
necessary sweets and cakes, variety of bottles, not forgetting the huge tubs of
paint, that always accompany the happy farmer’s sister on such visits.</div>
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<o:p></o:p><br />
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Those two girls spent their days painting away, even
surprising themselves with the amount they managed to get done in the short
space of time they had, especially as my sister in law is nearly sixty, as she
always reminds us, even though sixty is a good few miles on the clock away.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />
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The evenings were spent around the farmhouse kitchen table
eating hearty meals and catching up with us all. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The happy farmer was getting increasingly frustrated as the
demands of the lambing rounds were preventing him from giving his sister a much
needed hand, until eventually on their final day he did manage to pop down for
an hour or so of painting. Armed with a ladder he was determined to reach the
parts no other painter had gone before. He gaily climbed some steps and lent the ladder against the back door, proceeded to climb up and start painting,
gallon tin of paint in hand, when the back door suddenly burst open, allowing
the ladder to fall in the way and slip down the concrete steps at the same
time, transporting the happy farmer flat on his face on the ground, tin of
paint still in hand and unspoiled His sister and cousin spent the first seconds
alarmed and concerned, before creasing into helpless bundles of laughter at the
happy farmer’s misfortune. Luckily he escaped relatively unscathed, apart from
the huge concrete burns on his arms and knees, nothing a good dram couldn't sort out later on! The happy farmer’s big achievement that he was immensely proud
of was the fact that not a drop of paint was spilled during his free fall, a
skill he puts down to years of acrobatic training in various bars involving
various bar stools and varying amounts of alcohol…. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Until next time……</div>
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<o:p></o:p><br />Posiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12844732200803572416noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8979792592477995756.post-2822780552678900482013-04-29T15:50:00.000+01:002013-04-29T15:53:15.183+01:00A spring in the happy farmer's step...<br />
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Spring is well and truly here, although the weather still has
a lot of catching up to do as it clings onto very wintry temperatures, sunshine
mixed with hail storms and biting cold winds, at least I have an excuse this
year for not having planted up the vegetable patch yet.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The labour wards on the farm, also known as fields, are
bursting with new life as the sheep continue to cause the happy farmer more
than a good dollop of stress, as he continues on his lambing rounds from first
light until dusk. The pottery has a new pet lamb, Polo Bear, who entertains the
visitors and happily suckles away from a baby’s bottle. The happy farmer is not
keen on pet lambs, but when Polo Bear’s mother flatly refused to acknowledge
the white bundle of fluff belonged to her, the children over ruled the happy
farmer and insisted a new nursery was set up opposite the pottery, and Polo
Bear was welcomed into the family.</div>
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<o:p></o:p><br />
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Visitors come and go to the cottages and bed and breakfast suite,
with the happy farmer swapping lambing rounds for his role as tour guide.
Tractor and trailer at the ready, bread boxes as makeshift seats, he took our
lovely French guests out the hill to meet his clan of Highland cows. Now the happy farmer cannot be totally relied
upon to behave himself on such occasions, but when he stopped the tractor, hid
behind a rock and then jumped out shouting moo as he mimicked horns with his
hands, the French guests did thankfully see the funny side. He did however
manage to cause them some concern when his sense of humour led to the tractor
grinding to a halt in the very middle of a deep swollen burn. He proceeded to
inform them they would need to jump off and push. As the guests looked
worriedly from the farmer to the water, a huge grin spread across the farmer’s face,
and the tractor sprung to life once more, this time taking the guests straight
to where those Highland girlies were happily grazing.<o:p></o:p><img alt="Photo" class="img" height="403" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-h-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-prn1/p480x480/12530_10151557799214255_1197486557_n.jpg" style="left: -101px;" width="606" /></div>
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Later on Polo Bear was happily guzzling a bottle from our
guests.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Until next time….<o:p></o:p></div>
Posiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12844732200803572416noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8979792592477995756.post-29645389479640868862013-02-05T13:28:00.000+00:002013-02-05T13:28:13.076+00:00Please horses don't gobble me up....I spent yesterday running around like Sooty the chimney sweep. Why is it disaster always strikes when the Happy Farmer has exited to the mainland?<br />
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My mantra of, as I am on feeding duties, 'please horses don't gobble me up today' worked wonders. I gingerly retrieved the buckets from the horses field without them spying me, safely managed to deposit them over the gate, complete with sugar beet, before the horses came galloping over, and then scaled the far away gate while they were busy munching, to sort out their daily hay rations from the back of the horse box. Hansel's jacket half hanging off did require a call for emergency back up though, rather pathetically I know my limitations, even if Hansel is a gentle giant, it is the 'giant' that I am a little cautious of to say the least.<br />
<a href="http://cdn-www.cracked.com/articleimages/dan/workdiseases/chimney2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://cdn-www.cracked.com/articleimages/dan/workdiseases/chimney2.jpg" /></a>Anyway, having admirably, I have to pat my own back here, taken on the various feeding duties about the farm and overcome various hurdles and anxieties gnawing away at my imagination, I woke up yesterday to find the sitting room awash with soot. Gales had cracked and blown away half of one of the chimney pots. The chimney that runs at an angle, so has lots of soot deposits hiding away in various corners, lots of soot deposits that decided to travel along with the gale into the comfort of my sitting room. Everything was covered with black ash and dust, sticky, thick soot. So yesterday was spent peeling every cover and cushion off various settees and seat, washing down lampshades, glasses and various ornaments. The never ending sticky soot clinging to everything and hiding in every corner. I fought a pointless battle yesterday and to make matters worse found the towels I had tried to block up the fireplace with just wasn't holding back more flurries of soot deposits. Last night saw me battling against those gales, with pillows shoved up the chimney, bin liners taped, although the tape kept peeling off with the draughts, towels and finally a big bed sheet covering the whole fire place. Just a light sprinkling of soot today then, and no roasting, roaring fire.<br />
Until next time.....Posiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12844732200803572416noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8979792592477995756.post-63285162928763700292012-09-25T15:59:00.000+01:002012-09-25T17:22:20.807+01:00Farm diversification at its best.....<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
It is blowing an absolute ‘hoolie’ here today. The ferry
boat has been diverted from one island port to another, and the
library van just stopped by and reported seeing it sailing on past, heading off
north, having failed to berth at any of the island’s ports….. But don’t let
that put you off visiting our lovely little farm, in the middle of nowhere!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today’s bed and breakfast guests were literally ‘blown’ here
from Switzerland. They arrived looking mighty windswept, but nothing that a
swift dram and a few distillery visits can’t put right, and so off they headed
into the storms, Kilchoman bound.<o:p></o:p><img alt="" height="66" src="http://kilchomandistillery.com/sites/default/files/styles/front-page-thumbnail/public/frontpage-slide-images/Bottling.jpg" width="96" /><img alt="" height="66" src="http://kilchomandistillery.com/sites/default/files/styles/front-page-thumbnail/public/frontpage-slide-images/Outside%20best.jpg" width="96" /><br />
<br /></div>
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The ‘roofers’ who are staying in one of our cottages have
arrived home early for the day, no chance of being up on a roof in these gales,
a roaring log fire beckons. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The happy farmer, complete with marigolds, is busy cleaning
the other cottage, in preparation for more visitors tomorrow, farm diversification
at its best, farmers in marigolds!! He is having his usual social time though
as he side tracks another group of pottery visitors to do the grand tour of his
sparkling cottage, booking sheet in hand!!<o:p></o:p><img alt="persabus cottage" border="1" height="261" src="http://www.persabus.co.uk/graphx/Persabus-Cottage..jpg" width="400" /></div>
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The pottery has been busy too, this week with little people painting
various animals, while the big people tuck into pots of coffee and home baking.
There is never a dull moment in the old byre that now houses the pottery, this summer we have had impromptu ceilidhs, with
singing farmers, joining in the banter with our local jazz artist, and even
songs in Japanese from our visiting guests….yes it is a pottery, an all singing
and all dancing pottery!! This weekend we played host to the West of Scotland
Highland cattle society, when about forty or so Highland cattle enthusiasts and
breeders called by for refreshments and to visit our happy herd, Marmite,
Toffee and the girls all providing the entertainment.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My lovely social butterfly fluttered home too, and it was so
lovely to see her again, and she was so happy to see her horses again. Hansel galloped
across the field to see her, and it wasn't long before his ever so long neck was nuzzling tightly round her. A little while later he was all tacked up and galloping round the fields with the butterfly
safely on his back. The weekend then seemed to pass all too quickly, but I got my ‘butterfly fix’, and she got to go to the party she was home for, and got her
Hansel fix.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Until next time…..<o:p></o:p></div>
Posiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12844732200803572416noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8979792592477995756.post-72806134357255448042012-09-13T12:51:00.000+01:002012-09-13T13:16:54.635+01:00A rare and beautiful butterfly...<a href="http://www.butterfly-conservation.org/images/insects/butterfly_Adonis-blue-Jim-Asher.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Adonis Blue - Photograph by Jim Asher" border="0" class="imageRight noCaption" src="http://www.butterfly-conservation.org/images/insects/butterfly_Adonis-blue-Jim-Asher.jpg" title="Adonis Blue - Photograph by Jim Asher" /></a>Where does the time go?? Eldest has flown the nest....already...it only seems like yesterday that she made her dramatic entrance into the world.<br />
We have got through the teething and potty training, the sleepless nights and the anxieties of childhood illnesses. Watching full of pride as she babbled her first few words and took her very first steps. The 'terrible twos' and the tantrums phase, where the world revolved totally around our precious little one. The glimmers of a lovely young girl emerging as she learnt to sing and dance and follow that incredible imagination of hers that led to wonderful adventures of fairies and unicorns and mermaids. The teenage years of horses and ponies, with a dollop of teenage attitude thrown in, where nothing we said or did was quite right..... and then she emerges....like a fabulous butterfly, full of colour and vitality, amusing and good company, into someone you really love and appreciate having around, and just as she emerges as this well balanced, well rounded, talented individual, full of rock star dreams, she flaps her wings and flies...without even so much as a backwards glance!!<br />
You fly girl and have the time of your life!<br />
Until next time.....Posiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12844732200803572416noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8979792592477995756.post-17504727706159015852012-07-17T09:50:00.000+01:002012-07-17T09:50:20.237+01:00It's a dog's life<br />
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I have become a human tornado, racing around the farmhouse
at incredible speed. My new super-efficient self has a body that is adapting to
the speed of light, my brain however seems a little slow to catch up. A point
that keeps getting illustrated to me on a very regular basis, like yesterday
when I was hovering over the very whingey cat’s bowl about to empty the
contents of my muesli box into it, no wonder the cat was whining. I did stop
short of feeding myself a very large bowl of cat food for breakfast.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y20Pq96laXk/UAUlndv1v7I/AAAAAAAAA3o/xR2wxhBwm2o/s1600/WP_000035.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y20Pq96laXk/UAUlndv1v7I/AAAAAAAAA3o/xR2wxhBwm2o/s320/WP_000035.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BPvgp64amC4/UAUl2sjbRaI/AAAAAAAAA3w/7hZU9ITF8Uk/s1600/WP_000037.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BPvgp64amC4/UAUl2sjbRaI/AAAAAAAAA3w/7hZU9ITF8Uk/s320/WP_000037.jpg" width="320" /></a>Even the farm animals are noticing this transformation into
super woman and are doing their best to join in. Mist, the sheepdog, was very
inventive in acquiring a super new luxury pad for herself. I looked out of the French
windows to see her huddled in my white plastic washing basket under the washing
line. She did look remarkably cute, and I obligingly took photos of her new
sleeping quarters, as I got closer I realised she had also pulled several items
of washing off the line and nuzzled them into the basket to make an
exceptionally cosy bed, and all with her exceptionally muddy paws. Having met
the bed and breakfast guests, and having vacated her kennel to Charlie hen, I
think she is demanding an upgrade on her own accommodation to five star
residency.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-i8BTwbZDHXQ/UAUmClKGezI/AAAAAAAAA34/4I36HTX83gw/s1600/WP_000003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-i8BTwbZDHXQ/UAUmClKGezI/AAAAAAAAA34/4I36HTX83gw/s320/WP_000003.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I-DTCM628hg/UAUmlDdqxuI/AAAAAAAAA4A/kpwBnlmcea0/s1600/WP_000040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I-DTCM628hg/UAUmlDdqxuI/AAAAAAAAA4A/kpwBnlmcea0/s320/WP_000040.jpg" width="240" /></a>Luckily I did not have much time to fret about dirty laundry
scattered around the garden with the dog lying in the middle of it, the pottery
and another successful kiln load of goodies was beckoning me, adding to the
madness and mayhem of life on this particular farm.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Until next time….. <o:p></o:p></div>Posiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12844732200803572416noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8979792592477995756.post-40770667437301793692012-07-03T19:32:00.001+01:002012-07-03T19:36:46.782+01:00Pottering Around......<br />
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I have been AWOL for a good few weeks, not from the
farm, but from the blog, life has suddenly upped a gear and got incredibly
hectic, something I am sure most of you can relate to. The holiday cottages are
full, and we have started to venture into the world of bed and breakfast, as
the Happy Farmer's building work is all now completed, what a star he is!
Although he is incredibly busy these days making sure all of our guests are
given a true island welcome, which does involve lots of whisky and entertaining
tales. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aKbr28tbC-g/T_M6jgCHQGI/AAAAAAAAA3M/o8XBKmnD2tA/s1600/101_1629.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aKbr28tbC-g/T_M6jgCHQGI/AAAAAAAAA3M/o8XBKmnD2tA/s320/101_1629.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4ENT_sf15WE/T_M3PKbQooI/AAAAAAAAA20/0IUmmSSkiHE/s1600/WP_000007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4ENT_sf15WE/T_M3PKbQooI/AAAAAAAAA20/0IUmmSSkiHE/s320/WP_000007.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I have been getting incredibly creative in the pottery and it has
been paying off, with lots of lovely visitors calling by, lots of afternoon
teas being served and lots of pottery flying off the shelves, the latter has
been very reassuring as I have been dipping my toe in the water of
creativity and experimenting with designs, waiting to see if people
what people would like. They appear to like it all, so all my worries of
shelves lying laden with pottery that visitors look at but don't buy has evaporated. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sLhMAM1Ffrg/T_M47RYnkZI/AAAAAAAAA28/2TuHqGLk1uE/s1600/101_1636.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sLhMAM1Ffrg/T_M47RYnkZI/AAAAAAAAA28/2TuHqGLk1uE/s320/101_1636.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Last Saturday we turned the pottery and tea room into a 'Blooming Great Tea Party' and donated all the proceeds from afternoon teas to Marie Curie Cancer Care, raising £295.48 in a few hours.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--4sLCOy19pA/T_M5JPyb7iI/AAAAAAAAA3E/7jsmzG7oa0U/s1600/101_1606.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--4sLCOy19pA/T_M5JPyb7iI/AAAAAAAAA3E/7jsmzG7oa0U/s320/101_1606.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The pottery cats have been endearing themselves to all of the
visitors, waiting patiently for them in the car park and lying out in the
sun with them as they have alfresco lunches. The photo is of Doughball, posing on top of one of the smaller kilns...after a busy day in the pottery. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Thankfully Charlie and Joey, the
hens have remained in the garden, and not ventured over the road to the
pottery, now that would be a disaster. They are still laying beautifully in
the nesting boxes, and Mist, the sheepdog, is still giving up her sleeping
quarters in the kennel to Charlie hen, even though she is no longer getting her
dietary supplement of an egg a day, so all remains calm on the animal front.
Sugar Lump, the pet lamb is growing bigger by the day and we have plenty of
volunteers to give her a bottle now we have a lot of younger visitors at
the pottery.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Now all I need is to get the Happy Farmer and the rest of the crew
to behave so well....<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Until next time....<o:p></o:p></span></div>Posiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12844732200803572416noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8979792592477995756.post-69451933778378406452012-05-17T14:37:00.000+01:002012-05-17T16:05:45.510+01:00'Handbags' over sleeping quarters....<br />
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Two sets of googly eyes have been following my every move.
Nose and beak pressed firmly against the window, one waiting for me to feed her
and the other waiting for me to stop dawdling around, tidying up last little
bits, and get outdoors and into the lovely sunshine, to take her for a run
through the fields. Charlie our resident hen, and Ruby dog, have been waiting
very impatiently on the patio. In the hedge, Mist the sheep dog lazes, keeping
a watchful eye on events. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Charlie has always absolutely, firmly and resolutely refused,
with a huge capital ‘R’, to use the nesting box and hen coup the happy farmer
built for her several years ago. The gate to the enclosure lies ajar, the door
to the hen hut swinging gently, long since deserted, or so I thought….. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4J0IQ-nBrk8/T7T91a38FEI/AAAAAAAAA1s/D18XcycrN48/s1600/101_1054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4J0IQ-nBrk8/T7T91a38FEI/AAAAAAAAA1s/D18XcycrN48/s320/101_1054.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
There was a huge kerfuffle coming from Mist’s kennel the
other evening. When I investigated, I found the hen and the sheepdog having a
‘set to’. Prompt action was called for on my behalf, as it appeared that Mist
was positively attacking Charlie. She appeared to have her cornered in the
kennel, a quick ‘bark’ from me, and Charlie came strutting out, clucking away
loudly, as she shook her flustered feathers down. Mist looked on submissively,
ears bent firmly down, a guilty look spread across her face, as she sprawled
across the length of her kennel. I looked across a few minutes later only to
see the bold Charlie back in the kennel, and Mist, gently but firmly
head-butting the old girl around the kennel, trying to nudge her back out, the
way she had arrived in. Charlie was having none of it, and kept jumping back
behind the dog, further into the kennel, and so it went on. <o:p></o:p><br />
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Each night since Mist has refused to share her kennel, but
Charlie is a very determined hen, and so the sleeping arrangements now consist
of Mist sleeping in the hedge and Charlie roosting happily in the kennel.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ido7XhUcJzE/T7T6Ltpr6QI/AAAAAAAAA08/6BpRiyT6NCk/s1600/101_0833.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ido7XhUcJzE/T7T6Ltpr6QI/AAAAAAAAA08/6BpRiyT6NCk/s320/101_0833.JPG" width="320" /></a>Imagine my delight the other day then, when I went over to
the old hen coup and found it is being used once again, maybe not as sleeping
quarters, but was laden with a nest of eggs. We have not had a ‘Charlie’ egg
since last year, as Mist has been merrily guzzling her way through the nests
Charlie had been making for herself around the various corners of the farm. Possibly
Mist views it as rent for lodging in the dog kennel, maybe as a necessity to
keep her coat all glossy and shiny, or perhaps more likely because she thinks
only of her stomach! Charlie, however, refusing to be out done by that clever
dog, has simply taken to laying fresh eggs on a daily basis in the hen coup….clever
chick that she is!!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Until next time….<o:p></o:p></div>Posiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12844732200803572416noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8979792592477995756.post-64701869064334118832012-05-04T22:13:00.000+01:002012-05-04T22:14:30.723+01:00An eviction notice has been served....<br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The latest addition to the farmhouse kitchen has been playing up
and involved the Happy Farmer serving an eviction order.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The Happy Farmer's attention was drawn to our new lodgers when the
kitchen began to have the faint smell of oil fumes. The game was a bogey when
we overheard the lodgers merrily chirruping and tweeting away, the happy sounds
echoing down the flu of the Aga and into the kitchen. Prompt action was called
for as the Happy Farmer diagnosed the problem as uninvited lodgers 'nest
building' in the chimney.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">He immediately got to work, sweeping out the chimney with rods
from behind the oven upwards. Much to his frustration those brushes and rods
would not go right through. The lodgers departed, and the Happy Farmer had no
choice but to scale the farmhouse walls and go up onto the roof, a past time
which has become second nature to him with all of his various building
projects.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The Happy Farmer removed one huge nest made of sheep's wool,
twigs, plastic and all sorts of other odds and ends. These fantastic 'eco'
birds had done a fabulous recycling job, the nest consisted of
various bits of debris. Thankfully the birds were still at the 'construction
phase' of nesting so there were no eggs inside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Satisfied the eviction had been successfully carried out the Happy
Farmer once again lit the Aga and was a tad disgruntled when fumes began
bellowing out of the ovens like never before. The whole house was
'gassed' out. More roof top clambering and chimney sweeping, and another huge
nest was dislodged from further down the pipe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Finally the Aga was re- lit, and going like a dream once
more. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6TU0HujPPUs/T6RGQogEajI/AAAAAAAAA0w/N46J_Tl0o5c/s1600/101_0941.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6TU0HujPPUs/T6RGQogEajI/AAAAAAAAA0w/N46J_Tl0o5c/s320/101_0941.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Next morning the lodgers had returned, merrily chirruping away as
they commenced the re- build. A very disgruntled and frustrated farmer went
back on the roof with chicken wire in hand only to find those birds had been
extremely busy and there was another completed nest in situ.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Nesting has now resumed, but not in the chimney....the Cuckoo has
arrived and appears to have moved onto the farm too....<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Until next time.... <o:p></o:p></span></div>Posiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12844732200803572416noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8979792592477995756.post-40316761311220974742012-04-23T20:54:00.000+01:002012-04-23T20:54:47.616+01:00'What's new Pussy Cat...'<br />
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The weekend was spent overseas; we had been invited to three
days of celebrations for a good friend’s birthday. The events were to take
place on the neighbouring Isle, and as usual it was no mean feat getting
ourselves organised and onto that ferry boat, although we did have to succumb
to a slightly reduced ‘party time table’, missing out on a clay pigeon shoot and cask visit. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The mad dash there involved getting everything in place,
from lambers, to cottage changeovers, meals for hungry children, hens and dogs
and feeding/walking routines, and a last minute visit from the local farrier to
shoe the horses’ feet, and Muffin just was refusing to be shod, playfully
galloping off around the fields as eldest tried in vain to catch him, and all
as our ferry awaited to take us away to our ‘other island’ destination. So, we
left in our usual melee of madness, not in the least bit organised, despite our
best efforts, but realising that things would take care of themselves,
especially as we were leaving teenage children at home to hold the fort for the
first time (no sweat there then as eldest was madly texting near and far to
announce she had an ‘empty’).<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lKGRQ23_3Zo/T5Wyoak0i_I/AAAAAAAAA0E/2xZuxGyatyM/s1600/Photo0084.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lKGRQ23_3Zo/T5Wyoak0i_I/AAAAAAAAA0E/2xZuxGyatyM/s320/Photo0084.jpg" width="320" /></a>Naturally once you step off the little ferry boat all of
your troubles and worries melt away aided of course by a large glass of
something very tasty, with or without bubbles.<o:p></o:p><br />
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The celebrations took place in the village hall, tables were
all laid beautifully, and guests from all over the world had made the journey to
this remote location to celebrate with their friend. Of course the obligatory
power cut happened right at the crucial moment when the food needed to be
heated and just as everyone was taking their seats. Visiting guests were
concerned as we sat in candlelight, but the hosts and locals were not in the
least bit ‘phased’ – this is island life, power cuts happen on a regular basis,
and reassuringly, after a few drams or so, the power flicked back on and the
most wonderful food was served. This was followed by a ceilidh that went on
well into the wee small hours as everyone hurled and burled around the hall,
dancing the traditional Scottish reels, a true Highland celebration. When the
band retired, they were replaced by another guitarist, who took to the stage
and sang and played to his heart’s content, as the dancing continued. He
apparently, honestly, did not hurt himself when he fell flat to the floor with
an almighty bang, as he vacated the stage. The partying did not stop there, ipod
located and partying went on. We rolled up the hill to our beds around 4.00am,
the dancing still going strong, but the party goers gradually dwindling in
numbers.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The following day, beach events were cancelled due to the
inclement weather, but the partying continued with a BBQ and house party, with
lashings of food and drink, more music and more hilarity. The happy farmer
excelled with his performances of Tom Jones and Freddie Mercury, yet again the
farmer’s wife finally had to sweep him up and prise him away mid performance as
she made a mad dash to catch the final ferry home.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Lambs and children intact, normality resumed.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Until next time…..<o:p></o:p></div>Posiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12844732200803572416noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8979792592477995756.post-67214797766264736752012-04-18T15:12:00.000+01:002012-04-19T09:49:03.038+01:00Spring has sprung, a leak in the whisky barrel....<br />
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Yikes
spring has sprung and we are halfway through April, and not a blog to show for
it…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RdSQFCV8GWE/T47JguLEzXI/AAAAAAAAAyw/kTfdzouP5pk/s1600/101_0894.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RdSQFCV8GWE/T47JguLEzXI/AAAAAAAAAyw/kTfdzouP5pk/s320/101_0894.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;">The
cyclical nature of farming life continues here on the ‘croft’, lambing is well
underway and just as the Happy Farmer thought that he was getting an easy time
of it, a dab hand at the old ‘lambing’ job now, and the weather turned. The
heavens opened. The wild winds blew, and a whole load of lambs fought in vain
to survive the night. Each year the happy farmer toys with the idea of lambing
indoors….on the plus side; youngest has a new friend to care for. Sugar lump,
checked into the five star lambing suite in the byre, just as the weather
turned particularly horrible, and has now left the confines of her cosy
cardboard pen and is bleating happily outside, awaiting youngest’s return from
school, so she can get another feed of milk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-em4N_2fJWBo/T47J05TdI7I/AAAAAAAAAy4/y9pOxUiT3xg/s1600/101_0901.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-em4N_2fJWBo/T47J05TdI7I/AAAAAAAAAy4/y9pOxUiT3xg/s320/101_0901.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;">The
farm has been very busy with visitors, Easter really heralds the beginning of a
new season and ‘team Balerno’ arrived en masse, all 39 of them, for a week of
island life. Tractor rides out the hill to feed the Highland cows, and daily
quad bike hurls around through the sheep, interspersed with trips to the
beaches, and lashings of food and drink, together with the ultimate pottery
party (of course), and a good time was had by all. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1Khdw6ZV-z4/T47KCYWOJfI/AAAAAAAAAzA/e1HqZVYjBaM/s1600/101_0889.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1Khdw6ZV-z4/T47KCYWOJfI/AAAAAAAAAzA/e1HqZVYjBaM/s320/101_0889.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ktnRLJpqhJw/T47KRFWpEgI/AAAAAAAAAzI/aLDq5nUZyfE/s1600/101_0906.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ktnRLJpqhJw/T47KRFWpEgI/AAAAAAAAAzI/aLDq5nUZyfE/s320/101_0906.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;">More
family and friends followed, with of course the necessary cask visit to
Bruichladdich distillery, which always comes at this time of year, as wee
Hughie gathers the farming fraternity to sample his cask and see how the amber
nectar is maturing. This year it seems to be maturing particularly well going
on the state of the Happy Farmer and his cousin upon their return to farmland.
The cousin went for a short nap and did not surface again until the next day. Stories
are gradually pouring forth as the days unfold and the blurry haze is becoming
one of clarity with fine tales of balancing garden fences crashing, and the
case of the missing spectacles, which incidentally still have not turned up, in
fact if you do happen to be visiting a butcher’s shop in Tiree be sure not to
mention glasses, whisky or otherwise. I am actually beginning to wonder if
there will indeed be any whisky left in that cask for next year’s gleeful
reunion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Thankfully the Happy Chappy from nearby had
taken over the necessary lambing routines for the day, ably assisted by
youngest, as his little helper. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Until next time.....</span>Posiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12844732200803572416noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8979792592477995756.post-87044660255532247972012-03-12T17:09:00.000+00:002012-03-12T17:09:10.591+00:00A squirt in the eye....<br />
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Each week the old byre door has burst open and another group
of excited children have gathered together to celebrate another birthday. We
have had Barbie, Justin Bieber and SpongeBob, with all of the traditional fayre
of sandwiches, cakes, sausage rolls and crisps, together with pottery painting
and party games. I often wonder what the farmers of yester year would make of
it all as balloons and streamers are hung from the rafters of the old byre, and
the island’s children gather to celebrate another birthday. At the weekend we
had a cat themed party, complete with storytelling, before the youngsters each
got to paint a pottery cat in their own individual creative style.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mcgkbdavl0A/T14sij5HU7I/AAAAAAAAAyY/hZvjUDSenzo/s1600/P1210010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mcgkbdavl0A/T14sij5HU7I/AAAAAAAAAyY/hZvjUDSenzo/s320/P1210010.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_WF5A28kNFw/T14qbGzDmKI/AAAAAAAAAyA/sPHhVoQm_7k/s1600/P1010003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_WF5A28kNFw/T14qbGzDmKI/AAAAAAAAAyA/sPHhVoQm_7k/s320/P1010003.JPG" width="228" /></a>Last month the happy farmer’s sister was over visiting. The
two of us sat in the pottery showroom eating our way through the various cakes
on offer; we justified it as quality control. Over tea she entertained the
visitors with stories of bygone days, recalling how her father used to keep a
Jersey cow. He would milk the cow daily in the byre, where we now sat eating cakes;
any unsuspecting visitors would get a squirt of milk, right in the eye, if his
aim was on target, as he sat chuckling away to himself on the milking stool.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Years later when I first came to the farm, my father in law
could often be seen pretending to busy himself at the farmhouse door, before squirting
unsuspecting visitors with the hose at the standpipe, my father in law
chuckling away. He graduated from the hose pipe onto water pistols, allowing
him a greater aim from any part of the farm. A good sense of humour was an
absolute must; any sign of anger would ensure a good old soaking every time, as
this was the reaction he savoured the most. My poor brother in law’s wife got regularly
drenched, as she failed to see the funny side, and my father in law would be
bent double with laughter as she got more and more angry. I am sure that if my
father in law were still around today he would be highly entertained by the
parties in his old byre, and I am also know that he would be poised by the
door, a huge grin on his face, with water pistol in hand!!<o:p></o:p></div>
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By far the most important birthdays on the farm happened the
other week, when my youngest celebrated her third birthday and turned twelve,
and on the same day, her Grandpa, my dad, celebrated his eighteenth birthday,
wishing both of them a belated happy birthday from my blog, I was too busy
celebrating by eating birthday cake with them to write that week.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Until next time….<o:p></o:p></div>Posiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12844732200803572416noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8979792592477995756.post-136850478544454482012-02-21T10:10:00.000+00:002012-02-21T10:10:39.910+00:00The happy farmer's away....so the animals come out to play....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cV0_TfUfSZg/T0Nqf1YQtDI/AAAAAAAAAxw/T1UYGsJPovk/s1600/SAM_3653.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cV0_TfUfSZg/T0Nqf1YQtDI/AAAAAAAAAxw/T1UYGsJPovk/s320/SAM_3653.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
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It’s a sure sign the happy farmer is away on the mainland,
word must have got out, and so those cheeky animals have all taken it upon
themselves to play up, again!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9DwDu4OWupc/T0NoWrrq4JI/AAAAAAAAAxo/jb-QgJIKGwI/s1600/P1240017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9DwDu4OWupc/T0NoWrrq4JI/AAAAAAAAAxo/jb-QgJIKGwI/s320/P1240017.JPG" width="320" /></a>It started with a phone call in the ‘wee small’ hours, a
message to inform me that Muffin, the cheeky pony, was out of ‘barracks’, and patrolling
the farm, munching away on the grass beside the single track road. The thought
of going our into the very wet, pitch dark night armed with a torch for a
search light and a bucket as incentive, did not appeal, that coupled with the
fact that I am scared of horses, and Muffin, who refuses to abide by the pony
club manual, would almost certainly refuse to play ball and be caught by me, so
I opted for the easier option of ‘phone a friend. The sleepy happy farmer’s reassurance
put my mind at rest, he reminded me that there would be no traffic on the little
single track road at that time of night, that Muffin would not stray too far,
and that most importantly I hadn’t a hell’s chance of catching the little ‘B’,
coupled with the fact that if I did, he was sure to stray once more. So a
fitful night of half sleep and pony nightmares ensued, as I was woken by every
tiny sound that echoed round the farmhouse.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This morning Muffin was highly visible. He was stood at the
shed doors, chomping his way through the soaking sugar beet, looking as if
butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. He will stay around there until teenage
daughter arrives home off the afternoon ferry. He will happily do anything for
her, and will immediately go home to barracks ‘without passing go’ once she
gets hold of him. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Poor Muffin, his troubles started yesterday, I could hear
him frantically neighing and galloping around the fields, all alone, and quite
bothered. Initially I worried something must be up with Hansel, his companion,
as the two are inseparable usually. Kitted out in ‘all weather gear’, I braved
the lashing wind and rain, and made my way out the hill to check on the other horse.
With the Happy farmer away on the mainland, somewhat unwillingly, my ‘farming
duties’ had commenced. I was very relieved then to see Hansel in the far
corner, by the burn, happily grazing away at the grass, and could see why
Muffin was also making such a scene. It was pure, ‘unbridled’ jealousy. In the
neighbouring field was another pony, stood next to Hansel, with only a fence
between them. Muffin was galloping and neighing at the other end of the field,
trying desperately to catch Hansel’s attention and coax him away from his new
playmate, but to no avail. Today, Muffin was teaching Hansel a lesson, Hansel
stood by the gate watching longingly as his ‘pal’ Muffin filled his belly full
of hay and sugar beet.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Later on as I drove son to the bus stop, we saw one lone, ‘protesting’
sheep. Well, at least we decided she must be on a protest of sorts; probably
about the speed the traffic races at along
the main road. That feisty old girl was insistent on toddling along the white
lines up the middle of the road, stopping every now and again, and flatly
refusing to budge for any passing traffic. I couldn’t see her markings at such
a distance, so am unsure if she was one of our clan. Luckily the drivers here
are very used to meandering livestock on the roads; it is part of island life.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Until next time…..<o:p></o:p></div>Posiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12844732200803572416noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8979792592477995756.post-71917266619617391942011-09-21T14:11:00.000+01:002011-09-21T14:11:49.887+01:00We are now offering beauty treatments of a particular kind on the farm....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Xr70HQTTIxE/TnngN5sMOlI/AAAAAAAAAxc/VTYDXKzyyu8/s1600/SAM_7710.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Xr70HQTTIxE/TnngN5sMOlI/AAAAAAAAAxc/VTYDXKzyyu8/s320/SAM_7710.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>It appears we are now offering beauty treatments on the farm. Mist the sheepdog and Ruby the pup are both sporting beautifully shiny and glossy coats. After much pestering Mist finally gave in and decided to share her beauty secrets with Ruby....at least one egg a day apparently, but preferably more, and the fresher the better. Now I have been searching for Charlie's nest for a while, but could not locate those eggs anywhere. The other three 'ladies', Henrietta Eggberta, so beautifully named by youngest, and her pals, Joey and Frankie (yes youngest informed me when I questioned the origin of the names, that she loves the fact that you can use 'boys' names for girls) have all been laying away somewhere in the hedgerow.<br />
Ruby the pup took the liberty of trying out her new found beauty treatment, and appeared the other day, not with a glossy shiny coat, but a sticky, gooey, egg covered coat, matted with the odd bit of egg shell here and there. Thankfully those eggs were fresh eggs, a must have tip from the sheep dog obviously, so we were at least not subjected to a week or so of rotten egg aromas in the farmhouse. Ruby has obviously realised her mistake and has not come home covered in egg again, but is laying egg shells all over the place when she relieves herself, and has been known to add a very particular scent to the farmhouse with the odd bit of wind in the evenings.<br />
She did kindly lead me to one of the hen's nests, but being a trifle greedy she helped herself to all of the eggs, so the hen has taken her nest off elsewhere.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wzGmawOUnLA/Tnnh-59Kx5I/AAAAAAAAAxk/ZBozefnck_E/s1600/SAM_5043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wzGmawOUnLA/Tnnh-59Kx5I/AAAAAAAAAxk/ZBozefnck_E/s320/SAM_5043.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Nbn1FBt5yl0/TnnfksR9WDI/AAAAAAAAAxY/-K1SriLMUMk/s1600/101_9865.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Nbn1FBt5yl0/TnnfksR9WDI/AAAAAAAAAxY/-K1SriLMUMk/s320/101_9865.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Meanwhile Charlie is not put up nor down by all of the fuss, in fact I rather suspect she positively encouraged those dogs, as she has now deserted Eggbert Henrietta, Joey and Frankie in the hen coop, and has taken to roosting in the dog kennel with Mist the sheepdog at night. However do not be fooled Charlie does not think she is a sheepdog, no that nutty hen is in training to be the happy farmer methinks, as every time he leaves the door open to his building work, Charlie is in there strutting about, clucking away expressing her approval of the new extension, inspecting the building works.<br />
Horror of horrors, you don't think she thinks he is building her a new hen house do you???Posiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12844732200803572416noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8979792592477995756.post-36784590122045524832011-09-15T15:26:00.002+01:002011-09-15T15:30:00.914+01:00Gobbled up by Sea Eagles....almost<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JaDgJ6YdAzc/TnII4unh-EI/AAAAAAAAAxA/x2eoG3FmjvM/s1600/spring++2010+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JaDgJ6YdAzc/TnII4unh-EI/AAAAAAAAAxA/x2eoG3FmjvM/s320/spring++2010+002.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3P4bZoqGKo0/TnIJCD5OBKI/AAAAAAAAAxE/-JuAMZWzitc/s1600/spring++2010+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3P4bZoqGKo0/TnIJCD5OBKI/AAAAAAAAAxE/-JuAMZWzitc/s320/spring++2010+001.jpg" width="320" /></a>The morning started with a cat fight, literally. Spog, the cowboy, I mean cat, was standing guard in the middle of the single track road, I was alerted to his presence as I made my way over to the pottery in the sunshine. It was the high pitched yowls that did it, Spog positively strutting, prowling back and forth, circling, and looking ready to draw his gun at any moment. Suddenly Henrik appeared from nowhere, and darted across the road. Spog was like lightening on his tail, the air filled with the hissing, spitting and shrieking as Henrik cowered into the hedgerow and Spog stood over him, tail wagging, menacing eyes fixated. Of course I completely ruined the moment, venturing in, easing a very angry Spog out of the way with my foot, as I rescued Henrik and lifted him up over the dry stone dyke and into the garden. Spog was not impressed and spent over an hour prowling around the entrance to the farm, before finally giving in and arriving at the back door for some breakfast.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-S4R-d4Pta_0/TnIJ3PuWMcI/AAAAAAAAAxM/jMdyq1gXHdA/s1600/pottery+flyer+030.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-S4R-d4Pta_0/TnIJ3PuWMcI/AAAAAAAAAxM/jMdyq1gXHdA/s320/pottery+flyer+030.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Youngest and I have taken to walking Ruby pup in the early evenings. We head across the field to join the path that leads to the tree swing and then onto Lilly Loch, where Ruby gets to dive into the cool waters after sticks. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kVdC440MyS4/TnIKLktVQFI/AAAAAAAAAxQ/6fkIIou13mI/s1600/pottery+flyer+703.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kVdC440MyS4/TnIKLktVQFI/AAAAAAAAAxQ/6fkIIou13mI/s320/pottery+flyer+703.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Ruby is trying ever so hard not to chase those sheep, and is being discouraged by Meh Meh, the pet lamb, who now lives in the field with the other sheep. The happy farmer moved her and her wooden kennel into the field a few weeks ago. Meh Meh, joins the rest of the flock to graze during the day, but at night, or if the storm clouds gather, she can be found happily chewing the cud in her little kennel. This causes some entertainment for the children as she has grown rather a lot, and her huge belly and legs, hang out over the edges of the kennel as she continues to squeeze herself into her living quarters, a privileged sheep indeed. Meh Meh always makes a bee line for Ruby when she spies her, and refuses to be chased away by her, instead gently head butting Ruby if she gets over excited.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WDxXQXXUZfk/TnILZReWmnI/AAAAAAAAAxU/3y9tBb6GCaU/s1600/pottery+flyer+704.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WDxXQXXUZfk/TnILZReWmnI/AAAAAAAAAxU/3y9tBb6GCaU/s320/pottery+flyer+704.jpg" width="320" /></a>The other evening as we made our way through the field, youngest drew my attention to what seemed to be a large animal in the burn field. I couldn’t quite make out if it was a small roe deer sitting on its hind quarters, or a large group of hares all boxing. We walked slowly across the field and quickly made the shape out to be two very large eagles, sea eagles in fact. We stopped in awe, they were absolutely huge, one, on spying us, gracefully flew off and up into the air, however the other sat for seconds longer, and having read how a sea eagle attacked someone in Perthshire the other day, I did begin to wonder whether I shouldn’t turn and head back for the safety of the farmhouse. I really did not want to get gobbled up by one of these majestic animals, and I do tend to have an over active imagination, but just as my worries were bubbling up to the surface, the second sea eagle took flight, and joined its partner, we watched in awe as it soared off, high up above the hill, where it swooped and soared with its partner for quite some time, looking more like buzzards in the distance. Sea eagles have gradually been reintroduced to <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Scotland</st1:place></st1:country-region> over the past few years, and I knew they were in the vicinity, so felt very privileged that they had chosen to swoop in on the farm, especially as they decided not to gobble me up in the process.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Until next time…..</div>Posiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12844732200803572416noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8979792592477995756.post-6526409010901133632011-09-01T17:07:00.000+01:002011-09-01T17:07:50.041+01:00Constantly tripping up.....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-J4gJtDMgUB4/Tl-qdra-rQI/AAAAAAAAAws/N35nPifZQ54/s1600/101_9555.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-J4gJtDMgUB4/Tl-qdra-rQI/AAAAAAAAAws/N35nPifZQ54/s320/101_9555.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>We arrived home from the mainland to the usual chaos, children and luggage literally fell out of the jeep as we pulled into the farm yard. The race was on to release Ruby from the confines of her kennel, a squirming, wriggling black mass, wiggled her way among us panting happily, jumping up and clawing, her huge tongue hanging out as she attempted to leave slopperty kisses on one and all. Charlie hen came running, waddle running that is, across the yard from the flower beds which she had been helpfully 'grubbing' in. <div><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6ZfRF1hpoMA/Tl-qp2sw7tI/AAAAAAAAAww/SFs05XuCUcY/s1600/101_9264.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6ZfRF1hpoMA/Tl-qp2sw7tI/AAAAAAAAAww/SFs05XuCUcY/s320/101_9264.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div>Mist the sheepdog bounded across to join the welcome party and then as word got out that we were back those sleepy cats stretched and yawned before clambering from the tractor cab to find their way into the farmhouse kitchen for a saucer of milk and a bowl of food. <div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-H_5b3-gHr3s/Tl-q6qCJNcI/AAAAAAAAAw0/_otAPbLygB4/s1600/101_9895.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-H_5b3-gHr3s/Tl-q6qCJNcI/AAAAAAAAAw0/_otAPbLygB4/s320/101_9895.JPG" width="320" /></a>I struggled with the luggage from car to house, aware of an ever constant panting companion at my heel, a companion of the four legged variety, as Mist did the outside leg of the marathon and Ruby waited at the bottom of the stairs to take on the inside leg of the relay race. Charlie hen did her best to participate, and if the door was left open for a minute she could be found clucking around the farmhouse giving out those orders. It wasn't long before 'Meh Meh' the pet lamb had left the wooden home son has erected for her in a nearby field and joined in the welcome party, as we found ourselves constantly tripping over one animal or another.<div>The children of course abandoned the race fairly early on, in fact some did not compete at all, as televisions and computers were switched on and connections were resumed with cyberspace once more.</div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UYAEnj1Wln8/Tl-sFN0RqKI/AAAAAAAAAw8/iKAKxIZFbh8/s1600/101_9769.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UYAEnj1Wln8/Tl-sFN0RqKI/AAAAAAAAAw8/iKAKxIZFbh8/s320/101_9769.JPG" width="320" /></a>I have yet to decide which is more exhausting, or indeed more fun, leaving the farm for a few days, or arriving back home again. We were very fortunate as the happy chappy and the forester took charge of all of the animals in our absence, or vice versa, I haven't quite worked out which yet, and the holiday people duly arrived and got settled into their holidays in our absence.</div><div><br />
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</div><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SKnTatIgHRM/Tl-rvj1wTJI/AAAAAAAAAw4/8CWk1_44re4/s1600/101_9359.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SKnTatIgHRM/Tl-rvj1wTJI/AAAAAAAAAw4/8CWk1_44re4/s320/101_9359.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div>The trip had been a difficult one, saying our goodbyes to a very dear and special friend, a friend who has on so many happy occasions smiled as she too was enveloped in love as the whole clan gathered to welcome her on her arrival at the farm.</div><div>Until next time......</div><div><br />
</div></div></div></div>Posiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12844732200803572416noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8979792592477995756.post-71869785362477239282011-08-26T14:32:00.000+01:002011-08-26T14:32:42.248+01:00Unattended baggage and the chain saw massacre...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kQmLgMkimAU/TleflWerlgI/AAAAAAAAAwc/Jxr3I8DD8Y4/s1600/101_9792.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kQmLgMkimAU/TleflWerlgI/AAAAAAAAAwc/Jxr3I8DD8Y4/s320/101_9792.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Life has been doing the unthinkable and getting badly in the way of blogging.....maybe that is a positive thing, but I am back. The summer months are flying by and the children are back at school already. Daily routines are being re-established, as we wave goodbye to all of the visitors and the sun shine dares to disappear behind the cloud and the evenings begin to once more draw in again.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_9jQOV3AzGY/Tleeg2I3L8I/AAAAAAAAAwU/_FYriSBlhGE/s1600/102_0139.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_9jQOV3AzGY/Tleeg2I3L8I/AAAAAAAAAwU/_FYriSBlhGE/s320/102_0139.JPG" width="240" /></a>The happy farmer continues his building project and is so near to completion now. Living in the farmhouse resembles a dentist's waiting room, not because it is neat, clean and tidy, far from it, but because my nerves are constantly on edge with the regular grinding of circular saws and drop saw. It reminds me of the chain saw massacre. I wince every time the drill roars to life, listening to the clanging of tools, the shouts of despair when things are not going accordingly, the deep sighs and the general reminder that it is no easy task. The saw has already claimed one finger, luckily not the happy farmer's, and certainly not a recent claim, but the memory of the happy potter feeding his finger to the jaws of that saw remain emblazoned on my mind.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pIOzJ8t54_4/TleesaVLAjI/AAAAAAAAAwY/Klhaavm6Sgk/s1600/102_0137.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pIOzJ8t54_4/TleesaVLAjI/AAAAAAAAAwY/Klhaavm6Sgk/s320/102_0137.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>As I drove youngest out of the farmyard and onto the single track road today to make the journey to school I could hardly miss the flattened tin of silver paint that had spewed its contents out across the road, and the discarded rucksack lying abandoned at the side of the road. I tried to get my head round the clues that had been left challenging me on the road ahead as we continued our journey. A walker, leaving the rucksack while he stops to get a perfect photo of the Paps, or to relieve himself behind the hedge. The walker then became a protester, rucksack on back, large can of silver paint in hand, ready to join the march, the words never leave baggage unattended rang out in my ears, as youngest left me at the school gates. On the journey home then my head was filled with thoughts of terrorism, bombs and protesters as I gingerly drove over the paint and past the abandoned ruck sack once more.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O5UY7tEiPVY/Tlecvv7sjwI/AAAAAAAAAwQ/_w0HxevjfxY/s1600/101_9414.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O5UY7tEiPVY/Tlecvv7sjwI/AAAAAAAAAwQ/_w0HxevjfxY/s320/101_9414.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Of course the happy farmer had a much simpler explanation, work men heading to the morning ferry, in a rush, back door of van not closed properly and rucksack and paint fell out onto road. A five minute drive to catch the mainland ferry before it left our shores and the happy farmer's suspicions were confirmed. One happy workman grinned as he made his way along the ramp off the ferry boat to retrieve his rucksack out of our jeep, safe in the knowledge that his dirty linen would not be laid out in public but would accompany him home to the mainland.<br />
Until next time.....<br />
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Posiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12844732200803572416noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8979792592477995756.post-40795708359259157372011-06-21T10:56:00.000+01:002011-06-21T10:56:36.058+01:00What's in a language......<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CFXcWzSxP4U/TgBo75YVDMI/AAAAAAAAAwE/7JKD_fuixnI/s1600/pottery+flyer+016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CFXcWzSxP4U/TgBo75YVDMI/AAAAAAAAAwE/7JKD_fuixnI/s320/pottery+flyer+016.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Exams over, and I have decided it is far more stressful to be the parent of a child sitting exams, than the candidate, especially when said offspring have thankfully inherited the completely laid back attitude to life their father the happy farmer has. This year my stress levels doubled as I had two teenagers putting me through my paces with their exams. I appeared to be the only one who suffered from exam stress in this house, which is a good thing, except when one teenager gets exam times totally wrong and is on the bus instead of in the actual exam. Lots of motherly flapping and the issue was soon sorted and said child was thankfully unfazed and sat the exam quite confidently, unlike mother who was a quivering heap of jelly on the floor at home. Other teenager then announces they have just realised they copied their candidate number down incorrectly on all exam papers and only realised their mistake when they could not log into their details on SQA website…more jelly wobbles and panicking, until I am reassured this is not going to affect the paper or mark. So finally the exams are over and I can pack my bag of nerves away for another year having endured lots of teasing from my laid back eldest two, who really could not work out what all of my fussing was about.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The laid back attitude continues when eldest daughter drops into the conversation as an aside remark that she has won the school’s award for Gaelic this session and will be presented with a £50.00 book token at the forthcoming awards ceremony. Truly proud mum is immediately texting nearest and dearest to spread the happy news, while eldest daughter is completely unfazed. It is a real asset that when success knocks at her door, she takes it in her stride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her real sense of pleasure and success is not awarded by other people or how others perceive her; it comes from deep within, from a journey through her own talents and ability.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Tr41ZA5zeZ0/TgBpcedJVNI/AAAAAAAAAwI/uDnml-Ah8HE/s1600/June06+003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Tr41ZA5zeZ0/TgBpcedJVNI/AAAAAAAAAwI/uDnml-Ah8HE/s320/June06+003.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Eldest was only 7 when she decided she wanted to learn more Gaelic, having been immersed in the Gaelic culture by her Seanmhair and Seanair ( the happy farmer’s parents) who conversed in their mother tongue to my youngsters. For years she sat in the evenings with a local Gaelic tutor learning to converse in a language which inspired her. This year, not having studied Gaelic at school for a number of years, she opted to study Gaelic and sat her Higher Gaelic exam. In April I was invited to a conference at the local Gaelic college where there were children from across the island showcasing their Gaelic studies, youngsters of all ages, singing, performing and giving speeches in Gaelic. I watched with huge pride as my eldest daughter took to the stage with her peers, in front of the large assembled crowd, and gave a fluent presentation in Gaelic. It is quite something to see your own child converse comfortably in a language you know only a few garbled phrases in, and for me it was especially poignant as both her Seanair and Seanmhair have now passed on, but their mother tongue is living on through the future generations. They would have been so proud to see their granddaughter take to the platform, to know that their Gaelic heritage is being nurtured, preserved and is passing on to the younger generations. A language that is so vitally important, because locked up in the language is the humour, dialect, idioms and culture of generations of islanders, it is a language that for many years was persecuted, has struggled at times to survive and in recent years it has strengthened, and is today embedded in the present and the future of the island. My daughter now holds the key to her own island roots and heritage and for that I incredibly grateful and extremely proud.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Gle math agus slainte! (Well done and good luck).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RSiM4fU16BU/TgBqugf4AZI/AAAAAAAAAwM/eSWNKG-eaTI/s1600/aug-sep06+041.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RSiM4fU16BU/TgBqugf4AZI/AAAAAAAAAwM/eSWNKG-eaTI/s320/aug-sep06+041.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Until next time…</div>Posiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12844732200803572416noreply@blogger.com37tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8979792592477995756.post-81064982198575938412011-06-17T10:19:00.000+01:002011-06-17T10:19:13.953+01:00Flying away in a hammock.....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q0DkkpM2_y0/TfsaCjnDGLI/AAAAAAAAAv4/r_L5gAqqiEM/s1600/Aug+2010+011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q0DkkpM2_y0/TfsaCjnDGLI/AAAAAAAAAv4/r_L5gAqqiEM/s320/Aug+2010+011.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">The weekend saw a gathering of teenagers and slightly older teenagers, invariably in their 50s, although Farmer T possibly 60s, as they gathered in the old byre to celebrate eldest daughter’s 16<sup>th</sup> birthday.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Preparations for the day had been conducted in top secret as I had been warned that under no circumstances were there to be any balloons, decorations and fuss, just a small gathering of her friends. As she sat her final exam I enlisted the help of the younger two to help transform the byre, complete with streamers, and of course balloons. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Q9mDLYyjLik/TfsaZPS2X8I/AAAAAAAAAv8/NcGH3yLCm6s/s1600/pottery+flyer+113.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Q9mDLYyjLik/TfsaZPS2X8I/AAAAAAAAAv8/NcGH3yLCm6s/s320/pottery+flyer+113.jpg" width="320" /></a>As I traipsed between byre and farmhouse with goodies the line of helpers seemed to be ever increasing. First it was just me and the children, and then the dogs began to follow our steady stream back and forth, between farmhouse and byre. Charlie hen then joined the line, waddling closely behind her pal Mist the sheepdog, much to Mist’s annoyance. Finally it all got a bit too taxing when I found myself tripping over Sherbet the pet lamb too, constantly under my feet, bleating away, faithfully following backwards and forwards, until I could persuade youngest to go and mix a bottle of lamb’s milk and put her back in her pen.</div><div class="MsoNormal">The BBQ and party went well, teenagers tripping back and forth, happy farmer and Farmer T in charge of cooking and drinks, girlies sat in sunshine giggling away, and as the evening wore on, and the sun disappeared, fading below the horizon, we retired into the byre, to the disco lights and music. At some unearthly hour I made it back to the farmhouse where various bodies were sleeping in various corners, movies playing in one room with popcorn, lights out and snoring from another. The following day they all headed off to the beach for an afternoon of sunbathing and swimming. Oh to be 16 again.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5OQ3JdF5NI0/TfsbmpWTVuI/AAAAAAAAAwA/dTcTi_DkOHQ/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5OQ3JdF5NI0/TfsbmpWTVuI/AAAAAAAAAwA/dTcTi_DkOHQ/s320/1.jpg" width="320" /></a>Finally in the early hours of Sunday evening the happy farmer and I got to relax in the garden hammocks. We were joined a while later by the happy chappy and his brother. As I went to get drinks I suggested the happy chappy relaxed in a hammock, slightly cautious he remarked that he had not ventured into a hammock before, and would not know how to position himself without toppling off. Full of the joys of the hammocks I carefully advised him to place his bottom in the middle of the hammock and swing his legs across. Being ever so over zealous in following my good advice his backside missed the middle as he flung himself right over the edge of the hammock, flying backwards through the air, and landing upside down, legs splayed and hammock landing on top of him, and hardly a drop of his cider spilt, I was most impressed.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Until next time….</div>Posiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12844732200803572416noreply@blogger.com9