But first an update:
We have increased our stock by 6 calves and 14 lambs. Offset against this is the sale of two Highland beasts to Loch Greshornish campsite and four yearlings cross Highland heifers at the local mart in Portree. We are near standing still in terms of cattle numbers and the lambs will be sold in the autumn.
(Image of twin lambs having a feed)
The big difference, I suppose, is that this year all our calves will be pure bred, pedigree Highland cattle. Iain the stock bull has worked well and the calves, 4 heifers and 2 bull, are thriving and looking exceedingly well. ( I'm biased, of course).
Dolly the Highland cow, for some reason known only to her hormones and genes, has still to calve. She had a nice calf last year and we don't expect any problems.
Anyway, this is what it is all about - seeing your animals safely through the winter to deliver strong healthy offspring in the spring. Beats working for a living.
The cows have nearly stopped coming for food in the mornings as the grass growth takes off. The weather has been absolutely fantastic. Sunshine and more sunshine with the only cloud on the horizon the lack of rain. Never thought I'd see the day on Skye when that was a problem.
But what about the peace and quiet and the sound of silence, et al?
Well, a friend was here recently for a visit, which was very nice and helped enormously with cleaning old wire from around the croft, but his presence sparked the thought in my head as to how quietly I live life in general. Could it be I'm becoming reclusive?
(Image of two Highland calves)
With the wife in London working most of the time I spend a lot of time on my own, in relative silence except for the occasional hour or so of television or radio. The visiting friend, however, obviously enjoyed living life to a near continual soundtrack of radio and television with news and sport interspersed with music and talk.
This was a bit of an eye opener. Is there something I'm missing?
And then, when back on my own, I listened to that old cliched 'sound of silence'.
There is the quiet hum of the washing machine in the kitchen next door;
the sound of bird song filters through the open windows from the garden;
a lost lamb bleats for its mother in the field - she replies in a deeper voice;
a car passing on the nearby road is a faint but distinct event;
a ringing phone intrudes on my writing;
Jay is moving restlessly in her basket in the kitchen.
Down by the stream:
water tinkles gently as it flows down the little water fall;primroses and bluebells are quite silent but beautiful none the less;
a skylark trills high above my head as a song thrush burst into full bloom;
two crows squawk raucously across the sky as they worry a harried looking buzzard;
Walking to the byre:
Someone is using a chainsaw far off in the distance;
A man shouts faintly at his dogs on the croft above Eyre;
a fighter jet screams so loudly as it bombs a group of cows and sheep and lambs scatter; (In training for war)
Cows begin to bellow as they see the man approaching;
At the byre:
The tractor thunders first time as its fired up for work;
the quad bike sputters badly, in need of a service;
Jay barks excitedly at the prospect of work.
You get my drift? I would hate to live my life in silence. But I must say that I much prefer a natural soundtrack to the inane prattling of manufactured sound.
Takes all sorts, I suppose.
