Coming out of winter - an update

This week, our weather has changed — well, for three days anyway!

We’ve had a glorious yellow ball in the sky, and it’s amazing how we react if we stop and take a little notice. As humans, we are so tied to nature. When you hear birdsong in the morning in those first few days of spring, it feels as though we’re waking up right alongside everything else. The vitamin D our bodies have been craving begins to flow into our bones, and like shaking the dust from an old sheet, we begin to wake from our winter cocoon.

I, for one, always struggle a little in the winter months. The short island days and the long stretches of damp cold can really get to you if you let them. This winter, though, has felt different to most. There’s been that air of anticipation as we, as a family, waited for This Farming Life to come onto mainstream screens — not quite knowing what to expect, or indeed how we’d look — and that’s helped keep spirits a little higher through the darker months.

But now, it feels like we’re finally beginning to come out the other side of winter.

It’s been a wet one — the kind of winter that seems to seep into everything. Crofts and have been heavy underfoot, jobs have taken twice as long, and every dry spell has felt like a small victory. But even with the mud, the rain, and the endless damp, there’s a definite sense now that the seasons are shifting, and spring is beginning to edge its way in.

And with that comes lambing — just around the corner.

As always, there’s plenty to do before the first lambs arrive. We’ve been busy mending fences, mucking out the barn, getting things back into shape after the worst of the weather, and making sure everything is as ready as it can be. We have made a start at to bringing the hill ewes home for lambing, which always feels like the real sign that things are about to begin in earnest.

There’s a certain change in atmosphere at this time of year. The days are stretching out, the work starts to gather pace, and there’s that familiar mix of anticipation and pressure that comes before lambing starts. No matter how many times you’ve done it, there’s always that feeling of standing on the edge of a very busy few weeks.

This year will bring a few changes for us too.

Noah is heading away to Fife to do lambing on a large mixed farm. It’s a big step for him, and naturally there are a few nerves, but he’s looking forward to it all the same. Truth be told, I’m proud of him for taking it on. I’ve always felt it’s important to push ourselves outside our comfort zones if we want to learn and grow, and this will be Noah’s biggest step yet. It won’t always feel easy, but those are often the moments that teach us the most.

Back here at home, that means Bethany will be in full command, and it’ll be just the two of us holding the fort. It’ll be a challenge, no doubt about that, but we’re as equipped and ready as we can be — or at least that’s what we’re telling ourselves just now.

Of course, no lambing season on our croft would ever run without the rest of the team stepping in too.

Dad — Gordie, the hi-vis hero — will do his utmost to help wherever he can. He’ll keep the barn fed and watered, keep things ticking over, and take charge of feeding the pet lambs. Well… we try not to have any pets, ever! But until another mother can be found for them, there always seems to be one or two who find their way into the “temporary pet” category.

Mum — the project manager — has a vital role at lambing time too. She dons her black-and-white T-shirt, picks up a football whistle, and referees us like a sergeant major in charge of young soldiers. At lambing time, sleep is precious and nobody ever gets enough, so the referee is a vital cog in our wee crofting chain. She keeps us moving, keeps us focused, and probably keeps us from turning on each other when we’re all running on fumes.

And then there’s my partner Maggie — ever the organiser — whose role I’m not even sure I can properly name. It’s a bit like a David Blaine illusion. She somehow seems to pre-empt everything. Food appears when it’s needed. On the worst of days, a strong coffee is put into my hand before a word is even said. Bethany’s chocolate stash somehow stays permanently topped up. And then, just when you need it most, a quiet message appears: You got this x.

So little is ever said about these roles, but they have a massive part to play in our lamb cheque come August.

They’re every bit as vital as the heat lamp or the frozen colostrum for a chilled lamb. In many ways, they’re the things that keep crofters and farmers going when you feel like you’re at your wits’ end. The unseen jobs, the quiet support, the steadying hand in the middle of the chaos — they matter more than most people will ever know.

Like most things on the croft, you can prepare all you like, but there’s always an element of the unknown. That’s part of the job, and part of the life. So for now, we keep going: fixing what needs fixed, bringing the ewes in closer to the house, and getting ourselves ready for the long days and sleepless nights ahead.

Spring is nearly here, and with it comes the hard work, the worry, and the excitement of another lambing season.

Here we go again.

On a wee side note: I showed this to my mum for her to read: her response “that’s as long as a church sermon” the referee has spoken.