Life on the farm is different everyday, no matter what you think you may have planned there is always surprises. Early October Nellie and I were picking blackberries in the crossroads field. Although I was busy the weather was too good to miss the opportunity. It was a beautiful autumn day, Glencree valley was basking in a warm glow of late Indian summer sunshine. We both had little buckets which I was braving the thorns to fill. Following the eager instructions of ‘there’s a big juicy one Mummy’ I push nettles aside and tease the black prize from the safety of its prickly nest. My bucket was filling up pretty well but Nellie’s blackberries went into her mouth before they ever saw any bucket!
Family
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Michael is dosing and foot bathing the ewes across the way in preparation for meeting the rams and he wanders over for a few minutes. I stand back and smile at the two of them playing as Michael tickles her and says her tongue is as black as the Gruffalo’s and she shrieks her delight. When he is gone, and Nellie and even Buttons the dog are tired of eating blackberries we hop into the next field to forage a few spuds for dinner. I have no bag to carry them nor fork to dig them so we claw the red roosters out of the soft ground with our hands. Nellie is ecstatic as we ‘discover’ each potato like finding ruby jewels and use my jumper as a makeshift bag to carry home our treasure. ‘Will we see if Goldie has any eggs for us?’ I ask, feeling blessed that we have such an opportunity to be able to offer her this ideological ‘sow it, grow it, eat it’ lifestyle. The truth is life can be so good on the farm, on any farm, but there’s a flip side. So we take these good days. We grab them with both hands and we saviour them to stave off the bad times for when they are sure to visit us.
Injured hands
Like tonight, tonight is the flip side. Michael comes in for dinner, I hear him in the hall and instinctively I know something is wrong. Blood is pouring from his hand. He was moving the plough when it fell on his hand. Luckily the fingers are not severed but he’s is lacerated very deep, to the bone. Instantly I am thankful for two things; one he has his fingers and two, I completed my first aid refresher course recently. To his protests I instruct him how to wash out the wound while I fish out the necessary first aid equipment. He grumbles at my fussing, really he should go a hospital but he insists that steri-sutures will do. Then we argue over who gets to put the plasters on. Me of course, I’m the first aider! Nellie is being such a good girl eating her dinner by herself and asking Michael all manner of questions including ‘why?’. When we settle down for our own dinner I breathe again. The danger of the farm and farm accidents are always on my mind. The farm is our life and rules everything we do, but our family is more important, it is everything we are and I am grateful that our little family is in one piece.
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Blackberries
Life on the farm is different everyday, no matter what you think you may have planned there is always surprises. Early October Nellie and I were picking blackberries in the crossroads field. Although I was busy the weather was too good to miss the opportunity. It was a beautiful autumn day, Glencree valley was basking in a warm glow of late Indian summer sunshine. We both had little buckets which I was braving the thorns to fill. Following the eager instructions of ‘there’s a big juicy one Mummy’ I push nettles aside and tease the black prize from the safety of its prickly nest. My bucket was filling up pretty well but Nellie’s blackberries went into her mouth before they ever saw any bucket!
Family
Michael is dosing and foot bathing the ewes across the way in preparation for meeting the rams and he wanders over for a few minutes. I stand back and smile at the two of them playing as Michael tickles her and says her tongue is as black as the Gruffalo’s and she shrieks her delight. When he is gone, and Nellie and even Buttons the dog are tired of eating blackberries we hop into the next field to forage a few spuds for dinner. I have no bag to carry them nor fork to dig them so we claw the red roosters out of the soft ground with our hands. Nellie is ecstatic as we ‘discover’ each potato like finding ruby jewels and use my jumper as a makeshift bag to carry home our treasure. ‘Will we see if Goldie has any eggs for us?’ I ask, feeling blessed that we have such an opportunity to be able to offer her this ideological ‘sow it, grow it, eat it’ lifestyle. The truth is life can be so good on the farm, on any farm, but there’s a flip side. So we take these good days. We grab them with both hands and we saviour them to stave off the bad times for when they are sure to visit us.
Injured hands
Like tonight, tonight is the flip side. Michael comes in for dinner, I hear him in the hall and instinctively I know something is wrong. Blood is pouring from his hand. He was moving the plough when it fell on his hand. Luckily the fingers are not severed but he’s is lacerated very deep, to the bone. Instantly I am thankful for two things; one he has his fingers and two, I completed my first aid refresher course recently. To his protests I instruct him how to wash out the wound while I fish out the necessary first aid equipment. He grumbles at my fussing, really he should go a hospital but he insists that steri-sutures will do. Then we argue over who gets to put the plasters on. Me of course, I’m the first aider! Nellie is being such a good girl eating her dinner by herself and asking Michael all manner of questions including ‘why?’. When we settle down for our own dinner I breathe again. The danger of the farm and farm accidents are always on my mind. The farm is our life and rules everything we do, but our family is more important, it is everything we are and I am grateful that our little family is in one piece.
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