So we have a bull. And he is a red and white bull. Not ours, a rented one that comes for a six week package all inclusive holiday. A bull that had no experience of electric fencing. Yes, he cantered through it like it was the ribbon at the finish line when he first arrived. However, we had deliberately done it so it wasn’t the end of the world, all he had done was headed for the part of the field with less grass, more reeds and no ladies. He then refused to come back. This should have given a … Continue reading Red bull (but no wings).
Mr Hrossey was a steer. A fine prize steer (no connection to the fine prize cow in ‘What the Ladybird Heard’ by Julia Donaldson). Today, he went off to his forever home as he was just about to hit the 30 month mark. However, this wasn’t just any send off, he got a proper leaving do. For not just myself, the Mini Crofter and the Micro Crofter were involved. But a German film crew. A fine party of three who seemed to manage loading a steer, shifting a bull, babysitting a baby and dealing with the mayhem of our house … Continue reading Auf Wiedersehen Herr Hrossey
The past week (and a bit) has been a bit of a journey. A William Tell Overture with a swan song and minor key change/REM song interspersed. For where there is livestock, there is deadstock. Maybe not something we like to discuss but it can (and will) happen. In the process of collecting the sheep in so I could shear, the wee dude was spotted. Now, our Jacob sheep are a friendly bunch. They generally run towards you or just keep on with their grass cutting job when you go near them. So to have a sheep not run away … Continue reading Everybody hurts
Do you love it when a plan comes together? Then I suggest avoid planning anything that involves the weather, livestock and toddlers. Because all can be as unpredictable as the wheels on a supermarket trolley. So yes, at the end of July the Crofter headed back to ‘work’ with a few things that needed to still be done on the croft. The last of the sheep needed shearing (don’t be thinking I do 200 in a day, more one in every 200 hours). One tractor down to the neighbours to turn hay, closely followed by getting the old baler set … Continue reading When a plan comes together.
If Kenny Roger’s had been from the Highlands, his song ‘The Gambler’ would have been tweaked to be ‘The Baler’. The tone of the music matching the atmosphere when hay making. Having a clear one week sunny, light wind and no dew window would be desirable. Nearly a fantasy and seems more attune to the term ‘clutching at straws’; except it should be straw (and hay). In fact, there seems to be a strong similarity between gambling and hay making. When do we cut? Is the grass too short? Too long? Has it dried enough? Can we spread it? Rain … Continue reading Kenny Rogers and The Baler