llamedos
New Member
So Santa has been and gone, leaving the inevitable detritus of drifts of paper and packaging, leftovers, empty bottles and a slightly increased girth, and a helpful NHS Christmas report that we’re all getting fat. Thanks for that guys. A better present –and I couldn’t have asked for better- was the kind spell of weather. It helped me maintain cerebral altitude no end. The kids helped bed up, so all I had to do over the holidays was fill feeders and carry bags of cake about the place. Well, I say that…and there was that weaned calf that was arattling, and needed a 3 days course of jabs, and the yearling with the skanky eye, who also needed a jab of long acting in his eyelid. The former, at least, was small enough that John and I were able to wrestle him in behind a gate in his group each day. Oh, and one of the South Devon cows started sulking down by the river bank out over the back. She’d started bagging up, so I deemed it prudent to fetch her in within easy reach Christmas Eve, lest something went wrong and she was beyond an easy glance. Then one machine was reluctant to fire up, so spanners were out on Christmas Day as well. But apart from that, I even got my feet up for an hour here and there.
The reactor heifers are fetched into isolated, but still here. They’re a very biddable pair of South Devon 18 month olds, reasonably well grown, each with a kind eye, and a fresh bright green reactor DNA tag in her ear. Getting to know them better in their isolation loosebox, when they should each have had a long breeding life here is less pleasant. And, to try and halt the numbers from escalating further, there’s middle aged pedigree Belted Galloway cows off to the chop shop this week. Some are in calf, but they’re well fleshed, and with over 100 head of youngsters I can’t shift, it’s a simple matter of the numbers. They’re worth more to cash, while the youngsters are still growing.
It’s not that way I want to farm, and staying on the fluffy mental cloud cushion, maintaining my elevated state of serenity, takes some doing. Nick Drake and some gurt heavy Hawaiian lad playing the ukulele are on the calming soundtrack, and I’m endeavouring to think nice thoughts. Imagine a place filled with soft cuddly rabbits and puppies, hopping amongst flowers in the golden sunshine. I’m aiming for some kind of cerebral telly tubby land.
Anyway, the calendar pages have just about run out, every days date is ticked. Perhaps a New Year will bring better luck.
I found 2016 a troubling 12 months. There were a couple of popular votes in the West showing me I’m completely out of step with popular thinking –and I use the word ‘thinking’ cautiously. Both will shape an unpredictable future. Then there’s continued evidence in the Middle East, if it were needed, that humans will sink to almost any depth in their squabble over who stands on which piece of dirt –and hasn’t that general area of dirt had some blood spilled on it over the centuries. Seemingly we’ll kill and maim any number of our fellow beings to be able to say we’re the king of a particular hill….even when everything on the hill has been reduced to a pile of blackened twisted concrete rubble. From a relatively safe distance –and some of the hatred and feuding has certainly found its way back here-, others will condemn or condone the bickering factions, whilst happily selling either, or both sides, their slings and catapults. Scarcely glimpsing the irony, when one of own front line politicians has the guts to stand up and point some of this out, he gets slammed for his lack of tact. In fact, Boris seemed to have called it exactly right for once.
And then there’s much wringing of hands because a few erstwhile popular musicians and celebrities have had their tickets punched. Apparently this is due to the ‘Curse of 2016’. It doesn’t seem to occur that after the passage of 30-40 years, with a fair bit of high jinks and ‘poor lifestyle choices’ along the way, the massed ranks of baby boomer, TV era pop/movie stars will naturally start thinning. The numbers will only go upwards now, presumably escalating until we reach the natural conclusion when the hundreds of ex-reality show stars cash their chips in. The media will be swamped then.
Anyway, I’ve had better years….but to be sure, I’ve had worse. Let’s see what a fresh calendar brings. I’m facing into the rising sun, glass still half full.
The reactor heifers are fetched into isolated, but still here. They’re a very biddable pair of South Devon 18 month olds, reasonably well grown, each with a kind eye, and a fresh bright green reactor DNA tag in her ear. Getting to know them better in their isolation loosebox, when they should each have had a long breeding life here is less pleasant. And, to try and halt the numbers from escalating further, there’s middle aged pedigree Belted Galloway cows off to the chop shop this week. Some are in calf, but they’re well fleshed, and with over 100 head of youngsters I can’t shift, it’s a simple matter of the numbers. They’re worth more to cash, while the youngsters are still growing.
It’s not that way I want to farm, and staying on the fluffy mental cloud cushion, maintaining my elevated state of serenity, takes some doing. Nick Drake and some gurt heavy Hawaiian lad playing the ukulele are on the calming soundtrack, and I’m endeavouring to think nice thoughts. Imagine a place filled with soft cuddly rabbits and puppies, hopping amongst flowers in the golden sunshine. I’m aiming for some kind of cerebral telly tubby land.
Anyway, the calendar pages have just about run out, every days date is ticked. Perhaps a New Year will bring better luck.
I found 2016 a troubling 12 months. There were a couple of popular votes in the West showing me I’m completely out of step with popular thinking –and I use the word ‘thinking’ cautiously. Both will shape an unpredictable future. Then there’s continued evidence in the Middle East, if it were needed, that humans will sink to almost any depth in their squabble over who stands on which piece of dirt –and hasn’t that general area of dirt had some blood spilled on it over the centuries. Seemingly we’ll kill and maim any number of our fellow beings to be able to say we’re the king of a particular hill….even when everything on the hill has been reduced to a pile of blackened twisted concrete rubble. From a relatively safe distance –and some of the hatred and feuding has certainly found its way back here-, others will condemn or condone the bickering factions, whilst happily selling either, or both sides, their slings and catapults. Scarcely glimpsing the irony, when one of own front line politicians has the guts to stand up and point some of this out, he gets slammed for his lack of tact. In fact, Boris seemed to have called it exactly right for once.
And then there’s much wringing of hands because a few erstwhile popular musicians and celebrities have had their tickets punched. Apparently this is due to the ‘Curse of 2016’. It doesn’t seem to occur that after the passage of 30-40 years, with a fair bit of high jinks and ‘poor lifestyle choices’ along the way, the massed ranks of baby boomer, TV era pop/movie stars will naturally start thinning. The numbers will only go upwards now, presumably escalating until we reach the natural conclusion when the hundreds of ex-reality show stars cash their chips in. The media will be swamped then.
Anyway, I’ve had better years….but to be sure, I’ve had worse. Let’s see what a fresh calendar brings. I’m facing into the rising sun, glass still half full.