The Siege of Drumrankin

 

On Saturday Ben and Sara came around and we made a start on the overgrown flower bed next to the lawn. Ben was the spade man and I just pointed at things and wheeled barrows to the compost heap. A mass of blue iris was removed, a huge cephalaria gigantea disposed of and yellow crocosmia, irises and Sidalcea lifted and shared with Sara. Bert absented himself from these endeavours as he was helping Clint with his beasts.

Cleo likes a bit of digging too.

We had a leak in the upstairs bathroom which I discovered at 6am on Sunday morning. I’m usually up at that time as Cleo needs to be toileted as early as possible. Bert was informed of the leak and got up to look at it. Then returned to bed saying he would sort it later. I placed a basin under the drip and returned to bed for a few hours. Finished my Jane Gardam – the third part of the Filth trilogy already ordered from World Books.

Four hours later Bert got up and I fed him porridge and peaches and he got to work. I’m not sure what he did but the leak was fixed – temporarily.

Clint was on the yard first thing this morning. There was a bit of a siege on. Apparently, some boy’s cattle along with some other boy’s Simmental bull had broken out of another boy’s field and some decent sort of a boy had come along and got them all off the Dreen Road and into Clint’s silage field. So a posse of boys were gathered up and the cattle were to be moved into our big shed for collection.

I went up to tell Bert.

You know the other day, when you were telling me a tale about J’s sister-in-law, who was letting Clint cut silage in her fields for free and this boy came up and said he’d no business as the grass belonged to him and it was very confusing and it was either ‘this boy’ or ‘that boy’ and I couldn’t make head or tail of it – well do I have a tale for you, boys, cows and bulls galore and the good news is that there are that many boys coming to round them up that you can stay in bed.

It must have taken the boys a good half hour to get the beasts out of Clint’s silage but eventually, all landed in the yard and the cattle were safely deposited in the shed. The boys were a mixed bunch. One of them was a grizzled old fellow who looked like he belonged in a Western movie. One had a shifty look about him. One wore his trousers belted close to his armpits and one young one’s jeans were hanging halfway down his arse with a good expanse of his hairy crack on view. One was a girl and one was Clint.

It goes without saying that Clint wasn’t that impressed with twenty cows and calves and a bull trampling through his silage but the boy who owned the bull said he could have the loan of it for a month and Clint reported tonight that it has its courting ears on and he’s hoping to have an excellent wee crop of calves in 2024.

Yellow crocosmia, sidalcea, iris, cephalaria. Don't worry, I've still go lots of them left. These had just gotten out of hand in a small flowerbed

And Bert was up reasonably early this morning, off to the plumbing supplies store and has fixed the leak.

And I have bought yet another dress for Naoise's wedding. 

Ten Things I Did on Mother's Day

 I woke up worrying about the Antarctic Ice Shelf, then decided that my fretting about it would not help.

Listened to the dawn chorus and estimated that there must be at least a thousand birds living nearby. Sounded like it anyway.

I thought about my own mother.

I sowed lots of vegetable seeds.

And entertained two adopted sons and a girlfriend. Received a Mother’s Day gift from Locky.

Participated in the naming of the most recent calf born on this farm. He is to be called Sparrow.

Spoke to my Katkin from Norfolk. She has had a bout of Covid. That’s all of my children have had it now.

Pondered my tendency to feel guilty about everything.

Did lots of knitting.

Did lots of weeding.

This Time of War

 Wasn't it always so?

The News and all our thoughts are dominated by Putin's invasion of Ukraine and almost everyone has something to say. My say? I'm not as scared as I was back in 1962 when the world stood on the brink of nuclear war. I was in primary school then and I remember our teacher, Cassie O'Neill leading us in a prayer for peace and her fear was palpable. All the grown-ups were scared and never in my entire life has there been a more terrifying time. 

Until sometime in my thirties when I got so down that I went to my GP. He was that old-fashioned pull yourself together kind of doctor. I said I was depressed. He said something along the lines of, 'How so?' He was all prepared to be sceptical, or so I believed. I replied, truthfully, 

I keep looking at the sky and imagining I see mushroom clouds.

He started writing my prescription.

And so began a period of five years or more when I took reuptake inhibitors. They worked on my anxiety and I began to live in an unreal world. 

Eventually, I felt strong enough in myself to leave that cloudy place where I'd stayed too long.

It's so different when you are old. No matter what happens I know that I'll not suffer (or enjoy) it for long. Now I only worry about the younger generations. Sometimes I think we've all been foolish to procreate. Which doesn't equate with the joy and delight I'm feeling in my grandchildren, my great-nieces and great-nephew and all the other bright and lovely children entering and inhabiting the world. 

Today I had the pleasure of seeing a two-week-old calf  (Dudley) leave his shed for the very first time to frolic in the sunshine in a soft green field. He was loving life. Yet, at some point, he will enter the food chain. And that is a hard thought. He's not my calf. I'm not in charge of his future, But I saw him taking pleasure in his first experience of the great outdoors and, for me, that will have to do for now. 

Dudley and Eunice

Dudley and Eunice could be the title of an early unpublished novel by Hilary Mantel, or a pair of breeding bloodhounds owned by a Church of Ireland minister. Or, the names of an elderly Telegraph reading couple who still think that voting Brexit was an excellent idea.

The Storm Dudley didn't affect us too much here in Cullybackey. The winds were a lot stronger at the coast as First Daughter knows to her cost. She told me this evening that she had to go to A&E today after a gust of wind blew her off her feet and caused her to have facial contact with a metal gate which resulted in a busted lip needing to be glued together. Poor Zoë.

Storm Eunice is next. Due to impact this Friday, the very day that Zoë and I are due to travel from Ballymena to Tralee by rail. Fingers crossed we get there. 

We had a bull calf born on the farm today (one of Clint's). He's a big strong lad. We shall call him Dudley.

Obviously.

Success (Of Sorts)

When all around the world goes sad, mad and bad, it is the simple pleasures that count - one's chickens, the new calf that was born today - Martha says her name is Ava and we must never sell her. I say that we must but she shall have first refusal. Our other pleasures include friends, family and music.

And, of course, there is food. This weekend was not one of my better ones when it came to home-cooked food. Supper was shop-bought sausage rolls, tinned beans and an interesting salad made from tender leaves of kale (home-grown), olives, tomatoes and little sweet peppers. The dressing came out of a jar. I made (at Evie's request) the steamed chocolate pudding, chocolate sauce and ice cream dessert.  It was the wrong ice cream. Not popping candy ice cream. I made the excuse that I'd forgotten to bring my glasses which was a lie. It didn't matter anyway as Evie had been to a birthday party and was full to the neck of sweets and cake. She didn't even have dessert, said she was 'tired of it.'

Breakfast was Kellogs Variety Pack and Peppa Pig on Netflix. I wasn't part of it as I was reading The Guardian in bed. Some lad from Buckna was supervising the young'uns, helping them eat Variety and watching Peppa Pig. Lunch was (hang my head in shame) shop-bought pizza. I attempted to jazz it up with extra toppings and Lidls mozzarella cheese. But then, my triumph, the food that made up for all other culinary shortcuts and shortcomings, my first successful sourdough loaf. For, even though the first attempt resulted in rolls that could have served as missiles, I kept the mother going and made this...

I know it is boastful but that loaf was not my only success this weekend. At Martha and Evie's storytime I selected a book of fables, beautifully illustrated by Janusz Grabianski. But one forgets how shite fables are. There is no real story, no satisfying ending, no resolution. The one I chose was about a fox who fell down a well and couldn't get out. Said fox tricks a decent old billy goat to jump into the well and help it escape. Then, the fox being wily and all, fucked right off mocking the billy goat for his gullibility. And that was the end. So I said to the girls,

I didn't think much of that story! I think I could make a better job of it!

So, putting down the book, beautiful illustrations and all, I finished the story bringing in two brave young animal rescuers called Martha and Evie, a grandfather (Bert) with a length of baler twine in his pocket, a lovely woman called Denise who was in need of a billy goat, then a billy goat in a new home in The Parks with two wives and four lovely kids (three girls and a boy) and a nasty fox who called round and ended up getting butted over a hedge never to be seen again while everyone got to live happily ever after. I believe I enjoyed telling it far more than the girls enjoyed listening to it. My reward came this morning when Evie joined me in bed and said,

That was a good story last night.

Thanks, Margaret Green (and Aesop) for the beginnings of the tale and thanks to Janusz Grabianski for the wonderful pictures.

Bert's Tough Day

Bert had a tough day yesterday. First of all he had to move the herd, all seven of them, from one field to another. This involved shunting them out of one field, crossing a busy B road, and shunting them into another. He had at his disposal three sturdy cow hands, Les, Peter and myself. Les was in charge of halting the traffic at the Portglenone end, I took care of the Cully side and Peter and Bert gathered them up. That was the plan anyway. One of the 'bastes' was a visitor, a young bull belonging to Clint - that was in with our lot to act as a teaser. A young Lothario there to help Bert figure out when the girls were ready for the AI* man. And he was a teaser all right. With no intentions of doing the right thing he made a mad dash for the hedge and charged through a barbed wire fence into another man's field - and the two calves along with him. Meanwhile the cows were all in the new field enjoying the luscious grass. Peter and Bert did their best but they hadn't a hope. We brought one of the cows back and eventually the calves joined her and back to the luscious grass they went but no sign of Clint's bull. Bert tramped the fields but no sign of the teaser. He had to tell Clint who, it turned out, took a philosophical view of the matter.

They both went out to look for the bull, Clint driving the roads and Bert tramping the fields in torrential rain. At last the bull was found and penned and Clint drove off to get a trailer. Bert trudged home, soaked to the skin. He had just reached the end of the lane when one of the neighbours stopped him, a trim woman in her fifties, driving a smart little car. She called him over.

Bert, I was meaning to ask you. What are you doing about the trees?

The trees? What trees? 

The wood. The wood at the back of our house. What are you doing about it? 

Nothing. Why do you ask?

It's just that we were told it was only going to be there for fifteen or twenty years and now we can't see the road or the nice green fields. All we can see are those trees. We all hate them. 

Well I have no plans to do anything with them in the near future. They'll be there for a while yet.

Bert was disconcerted about this exchange. It never occurred to him that anyone would have a problem with the wood. He loves it, loves the wild life that lives there and is delighted that bluebells are beginning to flourish in it.

He told Clint who was practical as always.

Huh! If she doesn't like it she should move house. It's the countryside. Things change.

Later that afternoon the AI man turned up. Not Henry VIII this time, his brother Prince Arthur. He'd been caught in a short, sharp hailstorm where big chunks of ice had hit his car. We could actually see where the paint had flecked off. That made the downpour we'd had seem like a treat.

It faired up later and Bert took four dogs and the wee grey cat for a walk in the woods where they saw a fox. It wasn't a bad end to the day but it made me nervous for the hens, especially as he'd spotted fox cubs earlier whilst tramping other fields looking for Clint's young bull.

Bert's Wood

AI* Artificial insemination.

Stop Thief!

My youngest brother was robbed of a shed load of gardening equipment this week. The most expensive item was his ride-on mower. The thing is, his own lawn is tiny, he mainly uses his gardening tools to maintain our late mother's home.

This is the time of year for garden equipment thefts. I'm informed it is big business. Tools, garden ornaments, patio furniture, barbecue equipment  all make good money when the weather improves and we get back into our outdoor spaces.

I sometimes wonder about these daring daylight robbers who break in to sheds and garages and make off with people's belongings,, I wonder too about the people who buy these ill-gotten goods. Do they ever consider the misery they bring to their victims? I expect they don't. Ride-on mowers and quad bikes are particularly popular with thieves. Which means, of course, that there is a ready pool of punters prepared to buy these items at knock-off prices.

I'll never forget a night, a few years back, when I was driving on the A26 between Antrim and Ballymena. There were blue lights flashing ahead, an accident. As I drew abreast there was a dead bullock, being winched on to a truck. Other cattle lay in the road waiting to be removed, It was a horrible sight. Next day I heard the story. A local farmer, someone I knew, had a quad bike stolen from his property. The thieves, in their rush to escape, had left gates open and cattle being cattle, they strayed on to the dual carriageway at evening rush hour. One vehicle ploughed into them, injuring several of the animals and the car driver. It could have been a lot worse. Just one man in hospital, the injured animals shot by a vet and removed from the scene. And all for a stolen quad bike. I wonder who bought it? For it was bloody - it may only have been cattle but they hurt too.

A Calf Is Born

When Martha and Evie came out this afternoon Bert told them it was highly likely that the cow would have her calf before they went home. They stuck to him like glue for the rest of the afternoon, made him fix them up a den and got him to push them everywhere in a cart. Honestly, you would think the man hadn't any work to do! At one point I saw him race past the window, two excited girls in the cart and five dogs bringing up the rear. Round and round the house four or five times. Bert was exhausted. Eventually he sneaked off for a coffee and Martha took the opportunity to check on the cow. She then raced to the polytunnel to inform her mother that the cow was lying down and it was panting and straining. Zoe let Bert know and they all went out to the shed where the girls saw, for the first time in their lives, an animal give birth. They were absolutely delighted. They are calling the new calf, a little heifer, Polly.

 Evie watches the proceedings

New arrival

The Twelfth of Flickr

Quiet, quiet day today with no visitors. It was wonderful yet it will not go into the record books as The Day Without Callers as we are expecting the Bar Room Buddies to call in after their gig at the Wild Duck in Portglenone. I don't mind and the dogs will be very pleased. We have four of the buggers here tonight as Ziggy is having a sleepover. Hannah phoned to ask if he was 'being good'. I had to say that he was not, having pooped on the good Ikea rug in my bedroom.

Ziggy is very happy as he has discovered that fat old Roy cannot outrun him. It is comical to watch them. Roy goes really, really fast - for Roy. I reckon he has had more exercise in the past month that he had in the previous five years. 

And now to Flickr.

980 views

An Irish Moiled bull that was part of a herd that used to hang out at the Ecos Centre in Ballymena. The Irish Moiled are, in my opinion, a very handsome breed. A few years back we had a calf that was half Irish Moiled and he was a cute little beast. He didn't make much of a weight though, so we didn't do it again.  

401 views

A photograph from September 2013 that is rated 12th most interesting. I remember thinking that it was Dangerous Tricks* but Evie did not come to any harm. She would have been 22 months then. Martha had just turned four and was so enamoured of her new tights that she removed her skirt all the better to show them off.

* Any caper that might result in an accident

Cattle, Kittens and Baby Pigs

My Flickr photograph with the second most views is this one of Rusty and Lily when they were very small indeed. They are nowhere near as cute these days. This picture has had 3,042 views. As far as I know it has not been nicked, not according to Tineye anyway.

This one of Holly sleeping in the decoration box is my most viewed picture with 6,835 views. It has also been widely 'borrowed'. I've found it on Christmas sites, interior decoration sites, Pinterest and, of course, lots of cat lover sites. For some reason it is very popular in Russia. It is also rated the second most interesting picture. 

And just to keep the thing going, here is a link to my number one most interesting picture. Bunch of cattle standing in a field, 1,942 views. Yawn.

https://www.flickr.com/photos/17223773@N00/2605884758/

My Life In A Day

I've been trying to get up one minute earlier every day. I had just got to 7:03am when British Summer Time arrived. Today I got up at 7:59am.

First things first. Charlie goes out to pee and start on the many hundreds of 'rounds' he clocks up every day. This done I returned to bed with coffee and got up again around half-eight. The other two dogs got up and we all went out to sort the pigs and hens.

Charlie has taken a great dislike to pigs and would torment them given the opportunity. However I found a way to deter him when I picked up a length of alkathene piping. The minute he saw it he shot off and watched the proceedings from a safe and respectable distance. I think his previous carer must have whacked him with alkathene piping on more than one occasion. I'll not be doing that which I'm sure he'll soon discover and then poor Lily and Rusty will have to watch out.

I attended to Pearlie then breakfasted on a new-laid egg and some home made bread after which I headed to the poly tunnel to sow cucumber, peppers and okra.

New baby

Clint came to help Bert move the new calf and her mother to the meadow. He was back and forth all morning in a variety of tractors. Don't ask - it's a Clint thing.

Bert cleared off to deliver clematis and I had a light lunch of beetroot soup and sandwiches. I think it was beetroot soup but it was from the Polish shop and all information was in Polish. Maybe it was blackcurrant soup. It was very nice anyway and I ate it sitting in the sunshine. Young Rooney called. He crawled about under my car for a wee while and his long shorts slipped down and I saw his bum but I pretended I didn't. Bert returned and Clint arrived up in another tractor and a road sign that said Men at Work. He looked over at us and said,

Youse boys'll hardly be needing this then.

I said,

Did you not see Young Rooney under my car? He was working. For about a minute anyway.

Clint and Bert had a very boring conversation about manuring the meadow and Clint was whinging about the price of manure. I asked him if he couldn't just use shite and he said you need the artificial stuff to give the shite a bit of a push. I think he just wants the excuse to get out on his tractor. Young Rooney said he could get him plenty of horse manure but Clint said sarcastically,

Aye! If I wanted my fields to grow every weed under the sun I would!

Then Rod (and his mum) arrived with the fruit and veg for the pigs and we gave him six hen eggs and a goose egg and his mum gave me a pen which she does every time I see her.

When we got the yard cleared of folk I did a bit of weeding, bit of housework, started the dinner and made scones for Bert's music night.

In among times I kept Pearlie's fire going. Pearlie likes a fire no matter what the weather is like. Today, while everyone else was in tee-shirts and her carer had the top off her sports car, my mother-in-law sat there with a fire roaring up the chimney, all her windows and doors tight closed and wearing, on top of her normal clothes, two shawls, with two blankets over her lap and a hot water bottle. I'm afraid I was cruel come mid-afternoon and opened a window a chink and let her fire go out as I believed she was at risk of heatstroke.

Boys all arrived for music night and since then I've mostly been sitting here scanning photographs. I got a HP Photosmart from one of the boys as my previous machine would not work with Ubuntu. I've been going through Matty's photographs but I think I've scanned the best of them already.

Then I tried to take a photograph of the Moon, Jupiter and Venus. Sadly I couldn't find the important part of my tripod so it wasn't much good. As you can see.

Camera shake

Shifting The Dandies

The first 'dandy' peeks out of the wee shed.

The brother and one of the neighbours from home called round yesterday to remove my old car from the yard. While they were there they took a look at the calves. The neighbour, name of Paddy, remarked that they were the sort of calves that his grandfather, also called Paddy, and a man I remember with fondness, would have called 'dandies'.

Today Clint and Bert planned to move them to other, roomier quarters. The big bullocks went out to the wood and the dandies were going to the big byre. I always enjoy seeing cattle being moved because they get so excited. Poor things get bored being stuck in their winter quarters. So I went out to 'help' but really to look for photo opportunities.


I didn't get much chance because they soon gave us the slip. This is the pair of them cavorting through the midden. Clint is moving in on them with ominous intent. But this picture deserves a closer look.

There goes Meadow leaping in the air with joy and happiness in her little bovine heart. She soon gave us the slip again and I'm sure we were ten minutes or more rounding her up. There was no more chance of photographs and at the end of it poor Clint had to get his inhaler out. Obviously we're not near as fit as the dandies.

Bovine

You Are a Cow

You are strong and very determined. You can remain stoic when times are tough. You are stable and patient. You are able to do mundane tasks without resentment or boredom. You are a caring, nurturing creature. You are willing to sacrifice a lot to take care of those you love. You are smart and very observant. While you may seem passive, you are just taking in everything around you.

What Animal Are You?

See! I told Hannah I was a herd animal.

Beware of the Bull

Everyone who lives in a farming community has heard a story or two of a farmer killed by a bull. And it usually is a stockman who is killed as ‘civilians’ like Stepbar would tend to be wary, very wary, of bulls. It’s the farmer that gets complacent, especially if the bull is perceived to be quiet.

When I was a child I always scanned fields for any sign of a bull before climbing that five-barred gate. Even if I didn’t spot one I’d always keep an eye out and have my escape route planned. You’d only take younger children into a field if you were 100% certain that the field was bull-free.

It wasn’t the stories about gorings that scared me – it was personal experience. We used to stay with our cousins near Toomebridge and their father kept a very cross bull. Once when the bull was confined to a shed he spent an entire day roaring and crashing against the door in his desire to be out again and among his harem. The door didn’t look strong enough to hold him and I was terrified he’d break it down and kill someone. I think there was a story that he did break out once and my aunt looked out the door and saw the bull peering into the pram of one of my younger cousins left outside to take the air. My aunt raced out and snatched her baby from under the bull’s flared nostrils. Despite this early fright, or maybe because of it, my cousin grew up to be a respected breeder of Limousin cattle and works with bulls on a daily basis.

When I was about eight Daddy bought a Hereford bull called Mulderrick Hero affectionately known as Ferdinand. He was a handsome fellow and said to be quiet. Indeed the whole time we had him I never saw him do anything more frightening than lightly paw the ground with a foreleg. Despite this he terrified me. Daddy didn’t keep cattle dogs – he kept children and when the cows (and Ferdinand) were on the move we were made to go out and ‘kep’ them. This was very traumatic as we had to keep an eye on the bull, who might, I thought, decide at any moment to toss me in the air at the point of a horn and then trample me to death. Truth be told we had a lot more to fear from The Cross Cow who was a complete devil when she had a calf at her foot and fairly temperamental even when she didn’t.

Once, soon after Ferdinand came, the TB man was on the yard to test the cattle. I took refuge upstairs because I was sure the bull would go mad and crash through our front door and kill us all. I reasoned there was no way he’d get up the staircase. I knew he’d want to but wouldn’t be able to get the stairs to bear his weight. I spent the whole time looking anxiously out the window and praying that Daddy wouldn’t be killed.

I was a very anxious child. I also had serious concerns about the lions breaking out of Bellevue Zoo but that’s another story.

A Rare Breed

This past week Bert was considering buying in a few rare breed type cattle to graze in his plantation. He’d been thinking about Dexters but they’re hard to keep in and fencing wouldn’t be one of his strong points. Someone had told him about these Irish Moiled cattle that were grazing at the Ecos centre in Ballymena so we went along to have a look. The word was that the owner might be looking to sell them.

They are lovely cattle Moilies but nevertheless, Clint and I have persuaded Bert that there is no point in rushing into it. As I pointed out to him, he’s not actually had that much luck with beasts that certain folk have chatted him into.

Remember the rabbits Bert? Your mother was raging with you when you landed home with those. Suggested that they’d been palmed off on you by some boy you fell in with at a road-house.

It’s well seen she knows little about pubs if she thinks they’re frequented by boys with pockets full of rabbits.

Remember all those babies they had? Little brown babies got on them by wild buck rabbits that screwed them through the hutch wire.

Aye. We had to take that lot over to Gallaghers and set them free.

Then there was Bob and that palamino from Greenmount.

Bob was a lovely horse.

Aye. He was. But he was useless for riding. Always trying to scrape you off by walking tight up to the hedges. And do you remember how the pair of them kept breaking out? They were always running up and down the Dreen Road with you after them like an eedjit.

And you mind all those boys that kept stopping with me while I was running after them offering to buy the pair of them of me?

And you eventually broke and took a very bad price of the last fellow that asked you. Said they were going to a riding school. I’m sure.

What do you mean?

Far more likely they were going for dog food.

Don’t be depressing me.

Anyway – can you imagine the Moilies? When they’re not racing about the roads they’ll be out getting shagged by the wrong sort of bull. They’ll be a quare rare breed then.