Raven Is Quite Tame.

 


She's really cute & is in there with all the others for her feed, as are two other Hebredians. One is still aloof, but she'll come around. That's the Pudding in the background.

That's Gem the orphan having a sniff at my pocket for pellets - she's turning into a beautiful sheep.

Hebredians & Cold Weather.

It's really cold. The calor gas has frozen - well the regulator has, so we have to tip boiling water over it so we can use the cooker.

Jim walked to the little shop today as the track is frozen solid. The roads seem passable, but we don't really need to get out, just need bits & pieces really. We are having a young cockerel for our tea. It was getting bossy & was too close to breed from, so I have a cockerel on order & another Scot's Grey hen to bring in some new blood.
There's 4 young cockerels growing on for the pot & three young hens who are perfectly marked - so they're a great addition. Scot's Grey's are number 2 on the endangered species list.

When I got the 4 Hebredian ewe lambs I was told that I'd never be able to get near them. So I've posted a picture of one coming to be hand fed this evening. ( Hebredian's are black )Out of the 4 there is one who is still a little aloof, but it'll come around. I also got told that they wouldn't flock by someone who shall remain nameless, but who has never kept sheep, but talks as if they are some sort of expert. They do flock Mr Armchair expert. We feed them all sugar beet pellets twice a day & they get hay. Jim even goes up last thing at night to check them. We hear there's a big dog fox on the prowl & has taken large lambs from a neighbouring township. Well not taken, but had deadly bites out of - either a fox is responsible or someone's arrived up at a holiday home & is letting their dog attack sheep. Or just letting it run wild. It'll be shot if it's caught.

The water's frozen, but we have the burn to hand, so it's easy to fill buckets up & bring them in.
Last year we were frozen solid for a couple of months - really deep ice - this hasn't been too bad until lately. Old caravans aren't the warmest places to live. Thank goodness we have the wood burner - I love my wood burner.

Hebredian Ewe Lamb.

 

The Pudding.

 

A Cold Day, But Healthy.

 

Chez Choille

 

Smoke gets in my eyes & the cat's lungs.

We've been smoked out in the caravan for a couple of weeks at least. I thought it was the new hay shed that we built (but haven't quite finished) at the back of the caravan. I thought it was causing a down draft - somehow.
We had to take Weemon our elderly tabby tom back to the vet with a weezey chest the other week. The vet thought it maybe an allergy & I blame the stove. I was scared it was Weemon's heart, or possibly cat flu. The vet couldn't hear Weemon's heart as he was purring too much. He even tried blowing in his face, running a tap - everything he could think of including banning me from stroking the poor cat. He still purred very loudly - as he does. So he gave him a steroid injection & told us to bring him back if he gets worse. He couldn't believe that Weemon's at least 16. He arrived on our doorstop nearly 16 years ago. We put notices up, but later found out he was dumped by someone who sits in the House of Lords. He is still scared of men apart from Jim & the vet who he rather likes even though he something unmentionable to him with a thermometer.
Weemon had a nasty eye injury a while back & saw the same vet. He was really pleased with the way Weemon's eye has healed & so are we.

Today we took the stove chimney down and it was choked with clinker & soot - it's a wonder we could get the stove going at all. It's now on & going a treat without filling the caravan with dense reek - bliss.

I got an email today:
Dear Caroline, Six-Word Memoirist extraordinaire,

Congratulations! Your Six-Word Memoir, "Married Saturday. Left Sunday. Reconsidered Monday" from SMITH Magazine is being published in the new book, It All Changed in an Instant: More Six-Word Memoirs by Writers Famous and Obscure, on sale January 5th. (But available for pre-order now!) Thank you and welcome!

Of course, I'm one of the obscure ones.
I forgot I'd sent my micro tale off to them. Funny really as now I'm trying to write longer stories - much longer than 6 words, even longer than 1000 words. Well, I'm procrastinating a lot, in fact a lot longer than I used to.

Another One Away.

It was a lovely dusk so went for a run, saw an eagle riding the thermals, but then unfortunately came across this poor wee squirrel.

As it was a collared one we took it around to Alaister the Dundonnell gamekeeper. It seems that this is the seventh that someone has brought in, but how many haven't bothered?
It was quite stiff, had been dead a while. Was a wonder the eagle hadn't spied it, or a fox, pine marten, crows.........

Slow Down.

Dundonnell Estate are attempting to reintroduce the red squirrel to these parts. These signs are a necessity, but unfortunately people don't seem to be taking any notice.

Fish Farms.

We have a fish farm at the top of the Loch, I know nowhere is perfect, but many would prefer it was not here, would prefer if they didn't exist at all.
On our run round today we saw Brian a gamekeeper we know well repairing a wall that deer are getting through. The other week there was a meeting at the local hotel about fish farms, but we couldn't go, so we stopped to spear Brian about it as we knew he was in some way involved.
As it was getting dark & I we needed to get on & get home to lock the hens in, he told me to look at YouTube. Here's the link
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eggrGn0V0fg

A Favourite Tree

I love this tree on Dundonnell Estate. There's some thing Art Nouveau about it's roots.

Good News.

Today was one of those cold damp days where you have to get outside for a while or the day will melt into the next.

I'm attempting to tackle the brambles on the bottom of the croft. The long fronds are as thick as men's thumbs, the jagged spines like barbed wire. I've been using a mattock to get the root balls out - that are the size of fists. I do a couple of hours down there most days. A couple of lambs that are getting under the fence have been trapped by them, but I've got them freed. It seems quiet now that most of the male lambs went off to market last Thursday. I'd love to keep them all, but I can't. I didn't get great prices, but it's always a little something towards the feed.

I entered a Halloween competition over at Microhorror & was delighted to learn that I was one of the winners: http://www.microhorror.com

A Sad Day.

We had to go over to Ullapool today. It lashed down again. When we got home it was already starting to get dark, even though it was only 4pm. I went and gathered a box of twigs from down the wood. It's a routine I have, clears the brash off the floor. After it's sat drying overnight beside the stove, I use it as kindlers the following day. By the time I've got a big box load I've made my way up to the hen houses, so I shut them in for the night, keep them safe from pine martens, foxes & otters.

Jim had gone to feed the sheep, but got delayed rescuing a male lamb from a patch of brambles down on the bottom field. They are fenced out of it, but about three Houdinis seem to be able to limbo dance under the tiniest gaps. He came back, we had a coffee & he went back to fence off the gap he thinks they are getting under and also to wash his bloodied hand. We seem to have the nastiest brambles in the whole of Scotland - the fronds as thick as a man's thumb & the spines as jagged as barbed wire. I've got them tamed on the top fields, but the bottom is a jungle of them. Another Winter's job.

By the time he went onto the lower apportionment to feed the ewes & the female lambs it was dark, although a blurry moon gave off some light. I thought Jim was slow, taking his time, so I went to see what was keeping him. I heard him shouting for Harriet as I walked up the track. I knew then in a way that she was away, but you hope. She'd become trapped the other week & I'd feared the worst then & we'd found her wedged - I hoped it would be the same, but kinda knew deep down she was gone.
We walked, looking & shouting for about an hour, in the, by now torrential rain. Hardly having eaten since we'd left for Ullapool in the morning, we'd started to flag, so we came back to the caravan, had a quick something to eat & went back out with torches.

We found her drowned in a shallow part of the burn. She must have fallen further up & been swept down. It's been heavy rain for a few days.

It feels such a waste. She was a character, but dippy, yet so friendly, and like an eager puppy wanted your undivided attention, would follow you across the croft. It seems such a short time ago when I used to hop over the fence to give her & Jem (the other orphan) their bottles. The only Cheviot I've had - I got her from Harry the fencer to rear as he couldn't spare the time being busy  & working away from home during the day, & she was a good mate for Jem.
I shall miss her.

Tomorrow we have to double ear tag the male lambs that are going off to market. It'll be a time of catching them & getting them transported along to a neighbour & he'll take them through to Dingwall for us.

Tonight I have to decant some wine into other demi-johns, strain the apple wine & get that going, & tidy up this cluttered space. In a way I'm glad I'm busy, one shouldn't feel so sad about the loss of a lamb, but I bloody well do.

Spider says happy halloween.

The Last Of The Apples.

T'is that time of year: the clocks are back, the harvest in. The last of the apples need using up as they won't keep being a bit blemished. I was given another bucket load by friends, so I decided to make wine this evening.

Do you like the pan, it's actually huge in reality? I rescued it from a skip about a decade ago. It's ideal for making jam, chutney - things that are in big quantities, and it sits on the stove a treat.

My back has eased a good bit, so it's been a few days gentle weeding & enjoying the mild weather. I got quite mucky, so that's good, but I do look a bit of a minger in the photo - I should change out of my playing out clothes for photies really & do something with the hair.

Today we needed to lift roof beams up onto the hay shed, but I'm still abit not able. But we got Jeff from down at Burnside & he helped, which is marvellous. He was telling me about jiggering his back & going to a 'cranial chappy' who fixed it pain free. He had to rush off & go to the beach before it got dark. I'll have to have a spear at him about this cranial stuff as it sounds like it could be beneficial.

It's such a clear night - looks a nigh full moon. It's nice sitting here listening to the logs crackling in the stove & the pan coming to the boil.

Halloween Brew.

Back-Ache Blues.

I have jiggered my back. I hobble about like a hunch-back, or a bandy legged cowboy. I'm not doing anything but whingeing and watching rubbish telly. There's plenty of paper work stuff I could be doing, but like a spoilt child I would rather be playing out getting mucky.  I sit & sigh.
I don't like me when I'm in pain & useless - I'm ugly when confined in these metal walls.

I did however manage to write a tale for Micro-Horror’s Halloween competition. It's here:http://www.microhorror.com/microhorror/author/caroline-robinson/samhain-2/

But apart from that I’ve not done much except watch rain lash against the windows.

Counting sheep.

Jim fed the sheep yesterday & couldn't find two of the lambs. In the afternoon I looked everywhere, but still no show. I wasn't overly worried as I know they are getting down into the bottom fields under a fence, but there are so many nasty bramble fronds that could tangle them up. The ground has dropped leaving escape routes under the fence, and although we've put boards along the bottom you always miss bits.
This morning I went down & after ages found them happily munching on willow scrub (Choille means willow scrub, or just scrub dependent on the area). They are still a little shy of me, but ate a handful of sugar beet.

By the time I went up to the apportionment to feed the ewes & Harriet & Gem  the orphans, the morning had marched on. I fed the sheep, but no sign of Harriet. I shouted, but still no show, which was strange enough to be worrying. I walked over most of the bottom apportionment (about 3 acres) calling her name, but still nothing.

I went & got Jim from his hay shed construction. We walked and called. Walked and called, stopped and listened - straining to hear a weak bleat - nothing. I had a sinking feeling. Each time I ventured up a deep stream I dreaded rounding a corner, fearful I would find a heap of damp, life-less fleece. How must it feel if you are hunting for a human loved one - I can only imagine?

Jim found her wedged upright between a V of rocks. He managed to drag her out and up a steep drop to me, but she was off her legs. We checked her fearing she'd broken limbs, but she seemed fine apart from the lack of movement in her legs. She could have been stuck for hours, over night possibly, but I doubt that. The rain has been so incessant that the burn (stream) was roaring, she wouldn't have heard me call & I couldn't have heard her bleats over the noise of it. I rubbed her limbs, to warm her up, but also I was  checking for jaggy breaks, odd lumps. She took a wee while to get walking, but the relief was immense. I had a bag of sugar beet pellets with me & she gobbled them hungryly, found her legs & strength very quickly.
Stress is a killer, and especially for sheep. I think another few hours and she may have been gone - but she's a wee toughy. How do big farms manage - probably they just have bigger losses as they can't possibly check all their stock twice a day as we do?

Well what a glorious day. Everything is blinding bright, the Loch mirrors the mountains and every crevice is picked out like an 'O' Level geography map. The deer are moaning in full rut and the bracken has turned ginger. Would I live anywhere else, would I swop the caravan for a luxurious apartment?
Naaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

An odd sunset.

Another freebie!

Another very cold & dreich day, but kept warm barrowing home a free door that was given to us. It will make a grand addition to the hay shed Jim's constructing, and there is something rather satisfying at keeping something alive, keeping something out of land fill. Plus it's free.

Another freebie!

Winter Is Around The Corner.

The weather has gone cold, leaves are blowing about. The gales are back, shaking the caravan, making it creak and groan. The deer have started the rut. Their moans and bellows echo off the mountains.

Yesterday we had to go over to Dingwall and there was snow on the tops, but it was glorious over on the East coast. Tatties were being harvested and hay is all cut & baled. We've started collecting bales from a farmer over that way. Jim is building an extention to the big shed that will house all the hay the sheep will need over the Winter months. We were at the sawmill getting the wood on Monday for the frame. What a price wood is. We were given, scrounged, some old roofing material off our neighbours The McSporrans. They've had a new tin roof put on, and very smart it looks too. We will use their old roofing to clad & roof our hay shed. Not much goes to waste here, which is a good thing.

Today we ate home grown chicken with home grown veg. We had to cull a couple of Scot's Grey young cockerels. One is in the freezer for later. My carrots have been marvellous again. I'm going to leave them in the ground as I did last year & just harvest them as I need them. It's nearly two years since I had to buy a carrot and I use loads of them, even made carrot & parsley wine in the Spring. I fed a load to the sheep over last Winter too. We are still eating lettuce & courgettes from the garden. But the tatties were a bit disappointing this year - not the taste, just the size & amount. I'll have to start buying some soon. All the onions are hung in the shed & they're beauties. I've made wine, chutney & jam. Tonight we had the last of the apples in a crumble. They weren't too great this year, having been blown off the tree. They were all a bit bashed & many filled with a brown veins- tiny maggots? A virus? Must have a read up on it.
They wouldn't have stored, so I cut all the bad bits out & either jamed them or chutneyed them, some I also fed to the sheep. They seem to like them.
I have a good crop of leeks in & winter cabbage that I'm using all ready - just the odd leaves I nip off! I planted curly kale that is good in soup. I also give the sheep some of that too. It was slow to start & not as many plants have come through as I thought would, but it's coming on. The weather's been such a nasty devil lately that I have been down  in the shelter of the wood snapping up dead twigs & attempting to drag dead limbs up to the saw bench. I'm struggling with a rotten tree down the gorge, but I'll fight on with it. I think I'll have to use a rope as I'm not making a lot of progress - but it keeps you warm even before Iit's been sawn up & burnt.The wood burning stove does well, heats this metal box & sometimes I cook on it. I always have a kettle on the trivet when it's on - the only means of hot water really. So our fuel is free. I like free things.

The little chicks are doing well & their Mum is really good keeping them fed & teaching them how to scratch. We have to move the run every few days - give them fresh ground to scratch. One chick that we thought may not make it, is fine, but seems half the size of (his?) siblings. He's a fiesty wee thing though & he'll be alright, I'm sure. It's so cold though, with really bad gales - again. What a windy year.

The other day we moved the ewes over onto the apportionment beside the new Hebredians. They appear to be ignoring each other. We managed to shift the orphans Gem & Harriet too. We still have four ewe lambs to move over. It's really to give the croft fields a rest. They are really wet & pretty well grazed off. We will have to put away some tup lambs to market next month. We'll keep four to grow on. Now sheep, and I presume cows need double ear tagging if you move them, so I ordered those in. Next year they are talking of electronic tagging. Everything seems designed to get rid off small farmers.

At the Scottish Crofter's Foundation annual gathering I was at the other week, I spoke with a group of Lewis crofters who were a great bunch of guys & interesting. They feed their sheep on seaweed - rather they let their sheep graze the shore. I need to go gather sea weed for the raised veg beds soon. It mkaes a brilliant compost. I think I'll give the sheep a try of it - The Hebredians will love it - that is in their blood no doubt.

I have three naughty lambs roaming the croft which I'll try & catch tomorrow. The ground has dropped and they seem to be like Houdinis, escaping from letter box sized slots. As soon as we put boards along a gap, they find another means of escape. They've scoffed my crysanthumums, made a mess of the Broom, but you can't blame them - the grass is greener and all that.

Scottish Crofting Foundation Annual Gathering.

I am not long home from the SCF annual gathering that was held in Granton-On-Spey.

It was incredibly interesting and so uplifting to meet such a great bunch of people. The craic was something that will stay with me for a long time, bring smiles to my face throughout whatever Winter decides to throw at us. The theme was Small farmers: backbone of rural development or barrier to efficiency? Which sounds rather dry, but was the complete opposite. It was a fascinating line up of speakers from Finland, Portugal, the Scottish Islands & beyond. I feel very tired, but in a good way. The projects that are happening despite such legislative constraints really showed what a dedicated group of small farmers throughout Europe are attempting to achieve. And these achievements are, not only low impact environmentally, but also create 'healthier communities'.
It was very condensed into two and half days & I feel it will take me a while to allow my brain to take it all onboard & process all the things that were talked about, but I do feel quite hopeful after a time of relative doom & gloom in crofting.

Sorry I am waffling, so I think I shall be best to sign off & get an early night & adjust back to the caravan.

Jackdaws Painting.

Saturday was a strange day, Saturdays often are.

We helped catch a feral ram over at a friend's croft.
Although rather gorgeous, he's a devil in a wooly jacket.
The ram evaded capture as we ran up and down the muddy field, jumping over dangerous ditches, his mad, slitty eyes taking it all in. His horns are very curled & the points stick straight out about hip height. We were all a bit wary, a bit cautious, but we got him eventually. It inspired me to write an entry for this week's challenge on writewords, albeit an embroidered version, there are grains of truth to it: http://www.writewords.org.uk/groups/show_article.asp?group_id=84&article_id=24133

The clutch went on the car at the little shop about a mile away. Jim managed to get it down to the garage at Aultbea & they kindly lent him their Mother's car, a posh BMW with white leather interior. I go away to a conference tomorrow on crofting & this car only does 20 MPG. Jim will have to take me as I don't drive a car - pathetic I know.

While we were away I bought an unfinished painting entitled Jackdaws at an exhibition in Peebles. I had a phone call on Friday evening to say they'd like to deliver it, pop in. Does one pop in from Peebles?
And they did & I love it. It was great of them to come - the painting was ridiculously cheap. They said they had a few folks they knew in the Highlands & they fancied the run.
I think this painter will go far. I wanted her to post it, but they insisted on trailing up here to the back of nowhere.
Let's know what you think of the painting.................

Catching Chicks.

When we came back from our few days away Senga, one of our Scot's Grey hens was missing. I looked for her everywhere, but as it's all rather wild I hadn't a hope of finding her really. I did wonder if she'd been snaffled by a pine marten, eaten by a fox.

I heard peeping coming from the shrubbery & found her with her 7 newly hatched chicks. They are a devil to catch & the Mothers get very fierce. Jim lifted her with welder's gloves on. I had a bucket to hand & lifted them in - the easiest method I've found. Senga managed to splatter Jim with what appeared like 3 weeks worth of shoite.The chicks & Senga are now safely ensconsed in a nursery house with a secure run.

I'm so pleased for her. Senga has 'sat' twice this year unsuccessfully, jumping off her eggs a couple of days before the eggs were about to hatch. So it is good, and she is so pround of her brood & such a good Mum.

Catching Chicks In A Bucket.

High Days, Holidays & Hebridean Sheep.

We went away at the end of August; ran away to Peebles and then up to Edinburgh to catch the tail end of the fringe. Jim’s brother kindly came to mind the animals. Before he arrived we had to dispatch Jock the Cock as he’d become so vicious. We also had to send Big Old Stripy away too. I thought she was brooding as she was sat in the egg house, but she was not well, seemed to have had a stroke: one eye closed and almost paralysed down her left side. She really was quite ancient, but a lovely girl.

Andy was happy staying in the caravan, mainly because we have a faster broad band connection than him and he’s addicted to ebay. He really was good to the animals, bought the cats ’special’ treats, and had trips about. Even though the weather was not good when he was here he took some great photos. Which I'll upload here when I've worked out how to do so.

We saw some wonderful sheep down in the borders, mainly Black faced & Blue Leicester’s, oh, and some Texels - which I’m non too keen on as they look a bit like pigs with wool.http://www.texel.co.uk/
Or a wolly pit bull - like something Peter Howson would paint.
However at a sale one achieved £231,000 - Can you believe it?

I’ve just acquired four Hebridean ewe lambs and they are far prettier.

There was an art exhibition on and we bought an unfinished painting that will arrive once it’s been done & framed - hopefully. It is really rather striking and called Jackdaw. The girl who is painting it is very shy and too modest by half. Her stuff is excellent, quite surreal, but with almost photographic images of mystical things. I think she will go far.

We saw some brilliant street performers at the fringe: a guy juggling a fired up chain saw, cutlass & an apple over the top of a Danish tourist he’d got to foolishly lie down on the cobbles. How happy his wife looked taking photographs & laughing!
At the end a young guy set up a tripod over the Danish tourist and took photographs all around and one looking at the sky. He had a stall near by and had some of his work mounted and on sale. Here’s his website - truly incredible stuff.
www.maoartland.com.

We hardly saw any beggars which is unusual for Edinburgh. I wonder if they’d cleared them away for the duration of the festival, and I wonder where to. There were men walking around with uniforms on, not the Police, but something similar. They had ‘Street Wardens’ written on their jackets. Maybe someone could enlighten me?

We went to a few exhibitions, free ones I may add as I’m a tight wad. We found the Dean gallery excellent. It was packed with beautiful things & the tea room is great: home backing and really good coffee. The gift shop is a place to avoid if you like to keep a hold of your money - really unusual things stacked everywhere. Jim bought me a brooch I couldn’t stop looking at. It’s a rabbit galloping along pushing a wheel that came from an old watch, it has gems and a tiny window with curtains & a gem stone. There’s a little heart dangling beneath it. The workmanship is superb, miniscule rivets - most clever. It’s like an intricate sculpture of less than two inches. I haven’t worn it yet, I just keep opening its little tartan (I know Tartan) box and looking at it. I’m well chuffed with it.

http://mudmetal.stores.yahoo.net/pins.html
As you can probably gather I’ve just realised I can do link things.

I’ve been quite savouring all I saw while away. We haven’t had a holiday in years - just mad dashes down the motorway when disasters occur with my family, so it was good to get away & relax, see new things.

I wanted to go to Little Sparta, http://www.littlesparta.co.uk/ as I had bought the book a while back for Jim. We did go, but were a bit disappointed. It all seems a tad run down. It was a dreich day, low cloud and damp which sort of lent a gloomy air to the place. There were clusters of barking posh people traipsing around. An elderly woman just about had my eye out with her walking stick as she loudly explained in cut glass vowels ‘The Meanings’ of the calligraphy, the sculptures. She was a visitor too, not a guide, there wasn’t one. I didn’t want the meanings, but she looked rather terrifying in her tweeds, so we just avoided eye contact. It was £10 each to get in & they wanted £5 if you had a camera. There was no tea room or toilets & a half mile hike across a cow & sheep infested field to get there, not that I minded (felt like being at home, but I’m sure plenty will.

After all the staying in B&Bs & hotels, having things like baths & showers I sort of settled back into the getting washed in a bucket again. Then yesterday I got an invitation to be a delegate from this crofting area at a conference at Granton on Spey. I’ll be away for 2 days and put up in a hotel - whoop. I’m really excited about it.
http://www.crofting.org/index.php/conference

I don’t know why I got asked. I have been a bit vocal at some of the meetings about the Crofting Reform Act, but not overly, I just feel passionate about crofting. But maybe they couldn’t get anyone else to go, or someone backed out? It is all a bit last minute.

Eric Bogle and vertigo.

A couple of Sundays ago we had to give the lambs their Heptavac injections and tick and lice repellent stuff. This involved chasing the lambs up and down the croft for over an hour until we'd managed to pen them in. We had friends to help, but it was a devil of a job and so frustrating. Three lambs evaded capture even after bringing in a dog to assist.
We did manage to catch the lambs a couple of days later, but as the opened Heptavac loses potency after 10 hours you do wonder if they will be protected.

The weather has been overcast, raining & very midgey, making it almost impossible to bear being outside. There seems much to do & it is so frustrating I feel like banging my head off the caravan wall.

There are new proposals to the Crofting Act that are rather frightening, so as it went out to consultation and we attended each stage of the public meetings we felt we had to add our comments before the dead-line - which we did and ended up talking for hours about the depressing implications. It would appear that Crofting will be finished if the proposals go through the Scottish Parliament. The meetimgs were 'vocal', but when chaired by suited Edinburgh civil servants you feel you would be as well talking to a tree, or a a call centre, or the Loch - probably the Loch would understand better, knows these things.

When a breeze has picked up enough to blow the midges away I've been snipping out bracken that is everywhere. The croft hadn't been used for at least 50 years and I try and rescue it from encroaching nature. Somedays it feels a lot like pissing into the wind to use a cliche. I wish I had some machinery - big boys toys: a digger, a tractor, a quad bike....I did have a quad bike else where, but it died a premature death when someone borrowed it and forgot to put oil in. I will always remember the noise, the way it screamed, the run down the fields as I tried to stop them, but they didn't see my frenzied waving, they couldn't hear me as the engine started to seize.....
The byre is tumbling down and I have to do something soon or else it will melt into the field. Because of the midges I have been imprisoned in the caravan. The walls seem to be closing in and I have been fretting about the never ending list of things that NEED doing.

We wanted to go see Eric Bogle when he was playing in Ullapool on Saturday, but all the tickets were sold out, but we managed to get some for The Eden Court Theatre in Inverness on the Sunday. When I sat down I glanced downwards and felt a slight unease. We were on the third tier, right at the front. Jim came behind me and had a full blown panic attack and walked out after a few seconds. He really suffers from vertigo. I sat until the end of the first song, felt it was better to leave Jim to calm a little. He gets embarrassed and wouldn't want me fussing - people turning around to see what was happening. A woman who works there came and told me she'd managed to find us other seats. We ended up in a box on the ground floor facing the centre of the stage, the best seats in the house.
It's the last tour Eric Bogle will be doing, so I'm glad we went, glad we got good seats in the end up. He sings sad songs about injustice, racism, and a lot of anti-war stuff. He writes well, and he does funny stuff too. The craic between songs was easy, flowed so well you couldn't see the seams.

My old striped hen has just come out of moult and has gone broody I think. She sits on about three eggs in the 'egg house' - the house that the hens go in to lay. It's not occupied, well wasn't until Old Stripey decided to sit. She isn't a Scot's Grey, but looks like a bigger version of one. The other hens squeeze in around her to lay and she's snaffled their eggs, tucked them under her. It's been an odd year for the poultry, quite disastrous in some ways. I doubt she'll sit full term, she has never gone broody before. I think she's about 10. I don't know for sure, she was a rescue hen. I must mark it on the calendar else I forget the date. It's a strange one when they sit and the others are using the nest as you have eggs that are older than the others. When they start to hatch after 21 days of being incubated there is a risk that the hen will keep sitting for days until the others have hatched. I wonder if the other hens will stop laying in the egg house, start hiding their eggs again. I hate buying eggs, they're never the same.

The Long Road.

My Mother isn't good I was told. She has Alzheimer's disease and is now in residential care. Jim and I headed down to Fife on Wednesday - up at 4am to feed animals who seemed perplexed at the early call.

My Mother perked up and I took her for a short walk. She didn't want to put her shoes on but keep on her slippers, so we shuffled along the road to where she used to do voluntary work, help out at a lunch club. She couldn't remember it - going there for twenty odd years, but surprisingly there was a flicker of recognition when I mentioned a woman who worked beside her, but when I spoke about this woman's daughter the shutters came down, she was back in the confusion of the damnable disease. She is hardly grey, still has a fantastic figure and looks much younger than her 76 years, but she's gone - is no longer present for the majority of the time.
I was lucky - visited her on an up day. We laughed at a builder leaning out of a half constructed roof, a dog taking itself for a walk that was too busy to stop and chat. I picked lavender from some municipal planting and she kept rubbing it and sniffing it. The sense of smell is strong. She grew lavender hedging and would make beautiful bags that she filled with the flower heads. When we went to leave she tried to sneak out with us a couple of times. She was as agile as the cat who has its own chair in the lounge ( where thankfully the TV isn't permanently switched on).
The matron came and distracted her, lead her back to the dining room where lunch smelt imminent. I felt guilty, felt like a bad daughter, but also fear - is this my fate? Will I end up in a home wearing clothes I did not pick, surrounded by people who are paid to care for me with only a snatch of my past scattered around a tiny bedroom?

We briefly called in on a couple of friends then headed back up the long road. We got back after 11pm.

On Thursday we had to take Weemon back to the vet so he could see how his eye is doing. Again dye was put in his eye and we could see the hole that has caused the problem. The vet is pleased the way it's healing fast and said he thought he would have had to remove it. In a fortnight, if the eye is still clouded we will get steroid drops, which he would rather not give, but he trusts us to see if there is that need and he will post the drops out. They are so good like that in the Highlands - understand the distances that have to be travelled.
Last year I had an awful outbreak of cocidious {sp?} in newly hatched chicks. I phoned the vet, he diagnosed over the phone and left medicine and syringes behind a litter bin in the vet's surgery car park as the vet's was about to close.

We still have mad weather - all the seasons in one day, but we eat the fruits of our labours. Salads are compulsory.

Today I must tackle the pea, mange tout and bean surpluses and dig more tatties and build a house and weed acres and acres and acres of ground, but first lunch and a read of yesterday's newspaper.

Cat's eyes and asthetically displeasing knees.

On Tuesday Senga one of my Scot's Grey hens appeared back, abandoning her hidden eggs which were due to hatch in a few days.

Wednesday was such torrential rain Jim had to anchor down the little bridge in case it swept away down the waterfall. We've never seen the burn in such spate, even after the Winter's thaw. The bridge is a good, simple construction and enables me to get across to the veggie patch without sliding on the slimy rocks across the burn. We call it In-Laws leap.
Maybe Senga knew the weather was to turn and decided to give up the nest.....They aren't as daft as they look you know.

On Thursday we had to travel 80 miles to the vet with Wee Mon our tabby cat who has aquired an eye injury. Possibly Spider our black monster cat had scratched him, or he'd been pricked by a jaggy bush?
Wee Mon appeared 13 years ago in a bad way. We later found out he'd been dumped in a skip by the son of someone who sits in the House Of Lords. He's still scared of men, but a wonderful creature - very intelligent and likes going for walks down to the shore.
The vet was great, examined it thoroughly, reassured me it was probably salvageable and gave us drops. We have to go back next week - go through it all again. He's scratched his cornea, not ruptured it as we feared. Wee Mon was brave, dignified and sat on my knee on the journey home.

I'd picked up a copy of the Daily Mail while we were over on the East coast, a paper I dislike, but get it once or so a year to see if it or I have changed. There was an article about the knees of models and actresses over the age of 40. There were numerous photos pointing out 'the flaws.' I have never thought about knees aesthetically before. Mine crack and creak now and again, but serve their purpose. The writer was pleading with women over the age of 40 to wear longer hem-lines. Maybe we should all start wearing a burka I thought sarcastically, but on the letter page there was someone wanting burkas out-lawed. You could almost forgive the writer of the 'flawed knees' article if it had been a man, a young, silly air-head, but it was written by a woman.
I don't wear short skirts, but I might start to so as to offend the sensibilities of Daily Mail readers.

This morning I rolled up my trouser legs, asked Jim if my knees look old. No, he said, but they're all scratched.

And so they are - must have been Wee Mon clinging on on the journey home.

Today we lifted wood, tons of stacked wood that had been delivered to the roadside. We loaded it into a van, took it down to the house site, unloaded it and stacked it.
We ache, didn't eat until 9pm, but it kinda feels good. Feels like we've squeezed every last drop out of the day - are quenched.

Hectic, hot week past.

Last week was hectic - hot and hectic. I have an allergy to clegg bites and I managed to get a few. My leg and hand swelled up during shearing. I wasn't shearing - thankfully. The wonderful Robert came with his electrickery ones and it was all done and dusted in a couple of hours and beers.
It's great for the sheeps to get their jackets off during this heat. You always worry about fly strike, and dread finding maggots - which I never have - yet, at least not in the sheeps......

Last Monday the borage brew was ready - it's an organic feed that I water onto the veggies. It does stink like a corpse, but it's grand stuff & free - I like free things. I chop the plants off near their base, stuff them in a mesh sack, place it weighted down in a water-filled dustbin, then leave it for three weeks to fester. You dilute it 1:25 and use it like tomato feed. I put the slimy leaves out of the sack onto the tattie patch. The tattie patch is near where Mrs Hopperty was sitting on eggs under the scrubby tree. I feed the ophans their bottles just over the fence from there.
Tuesday morning was hot again. Harriet and Gem were waiting at the fence for their bottles.

( Don't read on if you are at all squeamish. Cruel scenes of nature content warning.)

I could smell a nasty smell - that unmistakable sweet scent of something putrid. Harriet distracted me by leaping onto her bottle with such force her teeth caught my finger and dragged off a bit of flesh. It's remarkable how sharp their little teeth are.
I peeped in at Mrs Hopperty on the way back. She seemed fine, but there was quite a few bluebottles and greenbottles buzzing around.
When I told Jim, he blamed the borage leaves on the tattie patch, said they honked to high heaven.
I could hear the peeping of a chick. Kept checking and still heard just the one peeping. All day I checked and started to feel something was not right as the hot day wore on.
A shell appeared later on and then she moved off the nest with just two tiny chicks leaving a couple of half dead chicks that appeared swollen at the back-end. Fly strike. We, by that I mean Jim, had to dispatch them. The nest was filled with another couple of dead chicks and unhatched, unviable eggs. This is so spooky, as a few weeks back I wrote a flash fiction for the weekly challenge on writewords (which I won - brag,brag!) and had put Mrs Hopperty in it & had 'Mother' cleaning up dead chicks & putrid unviable eggs after the hatch. I'd best be careful what I write in future, don't want to tempt the fates. Make mental note to self to delete stories where I have written about a prostitute in the first person - which I haven't been and am probably too old & ugly to now - although there's probably a market for that too. There seems to be for most things if the price is right.

We have friends in a neighbouring township who rescue animals, birds - insects. You name it, it's crawled over their kitchen surfaces, slithered under their settee. They had a spate of hedgehogs - if that's the collective name, probably should be a prickle - in early Spring. They had one who had a spine rot thing. It lifted up it's front end and spat all the time - sort of hissed, then it sicked up and rubbed it into its spines. Bit how I imagine a cross between a punk and Hell's Angel would do as a party piece. But apparently it's normal in hedgehogs. That penultimate bit was prejudiced - apologies to anyone who I may have offended.
Anyhoo - Rescuer friends had a solitary chick hatch from an entire incubator filled with eggs. Poor wee thing had no peers. A neighbour had given them a few weeks old chick with a broken leg as company for it, but that needed dispatching as it wasn't in a good way. It wasn't healing & it was swinging it's other leg out of kilter and using its wing tips as steadying props and, and....well it was all a bit tragic. So I suggest they bring it over & pop it in with Mrs Hopperty and her two wee ones.
We tried it, and Mrs Hopperty was brilliant, putting food down to it, trying to foster it, but the orpan just cheeped constantly in a high-pitched distressed way.
It eventually went in the newly constructed house and settled down. Mrs Hopperty and her two chicks settled down out in the run.
Everything seemed calm, so I set about weeding the fruit bushes as they're in ear shot.
Jim set off to mow the top two fields with a brilliant Allen Sythe thing we've borrowed and covet - we must return it this week or a friendship may become strained.
After a couple of hours of quiet weeding, Jim appeared back talking to Harriet and Gem who followed him across the fields. The potential foster chick started cheeping, ran around the run barging into the tiny chicks. Mrs Hopperty's had had enough - in a good natured way she fanned out her wings, got her chicks protectively beneath her and glowered at the interloper. It wasn't going to work.
It had to go back.
Thinking about it now, I believe that hearing Jim's voice had excited it as Jeff the rescuer sat at night with the chick on his shoulder and its crippled pal on his lap. I think the chick thought Jeff was its Mum & hearing Jim's voice......thought its Mum had come back! Or am I being daft?

Talking of poultry - which I do too much of, Jock The Cock (photo enclosed), my magnificent Scot's Grey cockeral has started attacking Jim. He's become so aggressive he may have to go to that big soup pot in the sky. ( Jock - not Jim )

As an aside I just watched The Street on BBC 1 by Jimmy McGovern - It is brilliant writing, excellent acting. Best thing on the telly in years.

Blog Day.

I've been told I 'need' a blog by Peter Urpeth - the nice chap from Hi-Arts, so here goes.



It's all rather strange, being a private - some would say secretive person. It also seems fraudulent, as I live remote, in a caravan on a croft surrounded by wild things.

A blog is for someone urban, young, trendy with a sense of fashion, a minimilist apartment. Is not for someone who spends most days outdoors up to wellie tops in mud and shit and sometimes the hours of darkness hunched over a key board tapping in flash fiction.



As I say somewhere else, I write with the curtains closed, so know one sees. It's my dirty secret, or was until now.

It all seems a bit odd, a bit blabber-mouthed, but I will get used to it, just like the nail gun, the eccentric gas cooker, the device for ringing the male lambs. T'is only a tool after all.

One of this evening's tasks is to do link thingies. But first me and better half are to construct another hen house for Mrs Hopperty who is sitting on 13 eggs (mostly not her own) , under a scrubby tree.
She was run over years ago and has a strange gait, like a drunken sailor's. She rolls along, one leg bowed. I think she needs a disabled ramp really.
I got her for free as she stopped laying, so her previous owner said, was too ancient, but she lays fine tasty brown eggs every now and again. She raised a small brood last year of her own eggs.
Now she is sitting on mainly Scot's Grey eggs. They're very rare breed. The original crofter's hen.

I breed them - or rather the hens do.
Will be interesting to see what hatches out.