Until last summer I was what you might call a keen observer of our farm life.
I took great interest in the stories our children came in with, I celebrated each new cria (baby alpaca) born and loved our farm life. All this was very much from where I am most comfortable - our kitchen.
I'm a great believer in the wisdom that we each have our strengths and while I couldn't tell the difference between Amadeaus and Arizona (two of our very similar black cria) my husband wouldn't know his tarragon from his turmeric so I thought we made a pretty good team.
However when a back injury, late in the summer, put a halt to my husband’s gallop I found myself having to step up-to the plate and drag myself, metaphorically speaking, out of the kitchen and get hands on in the farm.
I would be the first to admit - but not in Paul's earshot - that I assumed that there was quite a bit of pottering that went on outside. I knew he worked hard but I really didn't think he was quite as busy as he was.
It was a steep learning curve and not helped by himself channelling his inner dictator to 'direct' proceeding with the aid of his walking stick! Who knew that the tapping of a stick could incite such rage, one of the many lessons I learnt, and here are a few more.
All in all I am delighted to have seen farming from the other side, and while I was just keeping the chief farmer’s boots warm, I'll be happier to walk beside him than be left behind from now on.
Until next time from all on the farm...happy new year!
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