Spring Steps; Cheery Me

After a long week, Amy and I took the dogs into the fields and I armed myself with the camera. Here are the panoramic views we are fortunate to have as we walk through our farm land. It helped get rid of the unwanted cobwebs and made me feel tons better about living in this beautiful part of the world without transport.

Looking towards the coast, the North sea in the distance

Seahouses in the distance (center of picture)

Bamburgh Castle just over the fields

Looking towards the Cheviot Hills

Looking at beauty...

Looking north towards Berwickshire

Again, towards Berwickshire

A little bewildered at the sight of 4 collies and 2 humans!

An Orange Tip Butterfly; Amy pointed it out to me

Back at the farm

Bitter and Twisted Tears

I'm not telling you this because I want you to feel sorry for me, but because I need to get something off my chest, something that's been eating away at me for some time now, 18 months to be precise. Yesterday afternoon it came to a head when the Farmer had his new car delivered. As you would expect, he's like a child on Christmas morning.

I'm like a bitter old cow.

He asked my opinion about changing the car and I gave it. He didn't like what I had to say so he walked away and ignored me. That was months ago. He's toyed with the idea of changing the car since the beginning of this year and last week made the decision to phone the garage. I didn't show much support and when he ignored my opinion again I decided there was no point saying anything else.

So the car got delivered. As did a bouquet of flowers for the "Missus". And I sat in the office with my head in my hands and sobbed. The car's beautiful, really it is. But it's automatic and I've never driven an automatic. But what's eating away at me desperately, is the fact that I can't drive. I'm 41 years old, have been driving since I was 17 and I'm now unable to take the new car for a test drive. I'm sick of being epileptic. I'm sick of being dependent on others. I feel embarrassed every time I ask for help and I feel pathetic every time I sit in the passenger seat having a lift to the nearest shop. Right now I feel like a pathetic excuse for a woman. I can't have a lock on the bathroom door, I can't go to the cinema, I can't drink, I can't go to clubs and I can't sit on this computer for too long. And if I swear about it, I feel bitter and twisted, not the happy-go-lucky farmer's wife that I am. I've looked after myself so well these past 10 months and know that if everything goes well from now until the end of June I'll be back behind that wheel. But I can't even say I'm okay; I can't tell people I've been fine or that I feel great. I can't even tell people that the medication works. Because I can't stop myself from crying about being this little girl who looks up to the world and looks down on herself.

Behind Closed Doors

The Farmer showed me some old photographs the other day. He found them in a box buried at the back of a cupboard. All black and white and very sentimental. In my experience with men, I find they hide a lot inside, prefer not to talk about it, put on a front. But when we were going through these photographs, I noticed a few tears escaping, moist blue eyes and a nostalgic expression. He misses his mum, dreadfully, but can never find the right words to tell me. She passed away before I moved here and although my mum and dad met her when they were up here on holiday, I never did. She had a lot to put up with but in every single photograph she looked happy, truly content. I always got the impression she lived a dog's life, having to dance to her husband's tune, doing as she was told, playing the "little woman". I now know she was far from being the "little woman" and was much more assertive than I realised.

She was actually quite beautiful in her day; a striking young woman who worked damned hard with the Land Army in Northumberland. That was how she met the Farmer's dad, through the farm. I wish so much I'd have known her and been able to talk to her about her life back then. But when I saw those tears in the Farmer's eyes it made me realise after all these years of being together, just how little I know about my husband. He never talks about his mother. And now I know why. Because he misses her. He misses her like I miss my dad. I wish he'd talk about her and I did ask him to, but it isn't in his nature. So those closed doors remain shut. And I doubt I'll ever open them.

My late mother-in-law is the beauty in the beige swimsuit

Sweet Sex

"Mum?"

"Yes?"

"If a woman has a baby then years later decides she wants another..."

"Yeeesss?"

"...does she have to mate again?"

Sometimes, living on a farm can be confusing, especially for a child who takes everything literally; sees life as black and white; lives on a "need-to-know" basis. The tups are put in the field once a year, left there for a few months in order to seek their pleasure before rolling over with a satisfied claim. One day, I hope to get inside Amy's mind and pick my way through all the loose wires. Perhaps too many to count, and perhaps too many to connect together. What a fascinating world in which she exists. If only we could all have a little peek at the wonderful workings of autism.

A Harsh Warning To Dog Walkers

I just wondered how many people actually realise that if their dog is seen wandering in a field full of ewes and lambs, the farmer has every right to shoot it. Sounds drastic doesn't it? But how would you feel if someone  ripped up your manuscript, destroyed your artwork, burgled your shop, stole your taxi or pinched your tools? Why do some people still not understand that allowing their beloved dog to roam amongst a farmer's livestock is not only destroying his livelihood but is also, more worryingly to the owner, putting their dog at severe risk of death. The other day I watched two people with their young child, walking through one of our fields full of ewes and lambs, letting their two dogs run about without a lead. I noticed them in the distance as the scattering of sheep caught my eye, and I reached for the binoculars to see what had spooked them. There they were, totally oblivious to what they were doing and completely ignorant to the fact they were actually putting many lives at risk, including their child. If a ewe feels her lambs are being threatened by humans or canines, she will attack. They are large and heavy animals and like all creatures will do anything to protect their young.

They were too far away for me to shout at and the quad bike was with the Farmer at the other end of the farm but I was very tempted to take the Land Rover, arm myself with an air rifle and just teach them a lesson. They must have seen how upset the sheep were and they must have realised that it was their dogs' presence that was causing such a disturbance. But no, they just carried on, stopping occasionally to pick up the child and swing him in the air, not a care in the world. The countryside isn't a park. Farmer's fields are not a playground. Like it or lump it, these animals put bread on our table; they are our work, just like a builder's tools, or an artists drawings. I love animals too much to shoot one and could never harm a dog, but I'm an exception to farming life. If a dog is seen roaming in a livestock field, it should be at the owner's risk because believe me, some farmers I know wouldn't bat an eyelid. It's a hard life being a farmer, rewarding, wonderful but hard. And you won't get anywhere if you allow people to destroy your livelihood through their ignorance.

Feeding Time; a little Easter treat

A little Vlog for you, taken in the lambing shed on Sunday afternoon.
Edit;  since making this video, the tiny lamb we called Miniature, has sadly passed away.

Stop the World...

...perhaps for a day or two so I can get some rest. Boy, I'm knackered. For someone who usually has her pj's on and is tucked up in bed by 7.30pm watching television, these late nights in the lambing sheds are just about wringing me out. I'm finding myself wishing my life away, wanting the weekend to arrive quickly so that I can at least have an extra hour in bed in the morning. I need my beauty sleep, and right now the bags under my eyes are showing that I'm not getting it. But the problem is, I'm exhausted all day then come tea time I get a second wind. My body has obviously adjusted to the upside-down cycle leaving me feeling like I have jet-lag between 7am and 5pm. How I have the energy to write this blog post I'll never know. I guess I'm on auto-pilot, tapping on the keyboard, hoping it'll all make sense.

I had an off day yesterday, was like a bear with a sore head. The Farmer kept out of my way as every time he spoke to me I growled at him. I don't know how he does it; springs into life when I'm going to bed then works all round the clock for the next 20 hours. People are so kind and keep telling me I deserve a rest but I don't think I do after seeing the way the Farmer works; I'm positively lazy compared. I don't want time to disappear and have nothing to show for it. If someone could press the pause button for just a little while so that I can catch up on sleep and not feel as though I've missed out on something, I'd be ever so grateful.

This is Sick in the Head....

On a daily basis I get emails, sometimes several, which leave me wondering how on earth we get by as a human race. I received this email yesterday:

My Dear Friend,

My name is Sarah Morris, who is diagnosed with oesophageal cancer. To cut the long story short, I have few hours left to live, depending on my surgery which will take place soon. Although I am rich, but it doesn’t matter anymore. I want God to be merciful to me and accept my soul and so with that reason I decided to give what I have to charity and I never had children. I want this to be one of the last good deed on earth. I now give you the authority to dispatch my last funds to any charity of your choice. I have Eleven million dollars in a financial institution. I want you to keep fifty percent of this amount for yourself and time, while you keep the other fifty percent to any charity of your choice. May God be with you as you carry out this task.I believe with this, I can now be free to depart peacefully. You can then contact my lawyer who will assist you in getting the funds to you when I pass. He would give you more details. His name is Andrew Toland, and his email address (andtoland@aol.co.uk ) He would guide you through receiving the funds.
Lot of Love
Sarah Morris


Now, if anyone's gullible enough to believe this crap then in my opinion, they need to be extremely careful as soon as they get out of bed in a morning because they'll be hard pushed to get through life without being seriously conned. First of all, to use cancer as a ploy to trap an individual is disgusting enough, but when they start talking about how God will be with you just beggars belief. It isn't the fact that this person has included God in "her" plea that has offended me but the fact that I might have this form of cancer myself, or I at least may know someone who has. I have a few blogging friends who have had cancer; my best friend had breast cancer when she was 32; one of the Farmer's dearest friends has cancer of the lymph nodes. These types of emails need to be stopped; they are offensive, cruel and a disgrace to us as a society. I wouldn't dare click on the email address because I am sure this vile person would then immediately have access to all my personal data. But what can we do in order to banish this type of correspondence? The delete button is effective enough in the short term, but the emails continue.

p.s. I have created a promotional video to accompany my book. It's only a minute long, I'd love your input.

Do You Drink and Drive?

Not being able to drive right now completely sucks. I'm so sick of having to depend on other people; it's frustrating for someone who's been driving for 24 years and passed her driving test first time. There have been many times during the past eighteen months when I've been so tempted to drive but I'm not stupid enough to risk it. Then I heard about some woman who lives in our nearest town, has access to buses, taxis, her parents and family for lifts and who recently got stopped for drinking and driving. There is absolutely no excuse for it. I often hear people who live in remote countryside like myself saying, "I've only had a couple," and "there's no one about," and "if I didn't drive I'd never go anywhere." Well, tough tit, that's the way it goes, my friend.

I don't drink because it interferes with my medication; I haven't touched a drop of alcohol for four years now. There have been times when I've thought, "I just fancy a glass of red wine," but I wouldn't dare. It's not worth it. Why do people think they will get away with drinking and driving, knowing they are taking a huge risk with not only their own life but the lives of others on the roads? If you want to go to a pub you have a choice and it's very, very simple; a) you get a taxi, public transport or a lift, or b) you don't drink alcohol. Which part of those two options don't people understand? I hope the woman I read about will struggle as much as I have done; I hope she will realise what it's like to have a car on the drive and be unable to use it; I hope her kids will go without and that she will feel desperately guilty, just like I have for the past eighteen months. Drinking and driving needs to be stopped. And if people get caught doing it, the penalty should be a ban for life.

Garden Antics

It's been an eventful week on the farm but we have many strong and healthy lambs. My night shifts have been varied in their work load, the most distressing being Thursday night when I found a dead ewe and her two babies crying beside her lifeless body. I moved the lambs and bottle fed them which I'm very pleased to say did help. Both orphaned lambs are doing fine. The pictures below are of the lambs we currently have on the garden. We prefer to keep triplets or weaker lambs nearby so we can keep our eye on them.

Support at its Best

Isn't it a wonderful feeling when people pull together? I recently asked Amy's school if they would help me with my support for the National Autistic Society by asking if the children could attend school for one day during April, wearing their own clothes. The children would pay £1 for doing so and the money would be donated to the Society. The school have agreed and I am thrilled to bits. I have never had any doubts about Amy's school from day one and have recognised their wonderful ability to bend over backwards thus helping all children. This is exactly how a school should be. Not one child is discriminated against for anything; bad behaviour, good behaviour, intelligence or lack of, and certainly not for having special needs. The support they give to Amy is second to none and I know I will always be in their debt for helping my daughter achieve her potential. Taking her autism into account, she came home the other day with a glowing school report, one any parent would be proud of.

As you know, I am always immensely proud of Amy, and her autism, in my eyes, doesn't make her any different from her peers. If my arms were long enough I would embrace that school for all they're doing. There will always be issues in Amy's life, just like in any child's life, but her issues are often dealt with in a slightly different way for the simple reason she sees life from an alternative view. But that doesn't make her different. It makes her interesting, fascinating, exciting. It makes me want to know about autism in every conceivable way and it makes me, if it's possible, love her even more than my heart can cope with. For the school to be doing this, it has truly restored my faith in raising awareness for autism; it has proved that they are proud of their achievements, and if they're proud of that, then they will also be proud of their students. So thank you, school, for making me a very satisfied parent.

Seething With Anger

Some people find it easy, others struggle. Some just get on with it because they have no choice. I fall into the latter category. Wondering what I'm talking about? Work, that's what. And recently I heard about someone who thinks farming is for people who aren't intelligent enough to do anything else. "After all," he went on, "who wants to clean sheep's arses, who wants to be covered in shit, who wants to sit on a tractor and drive up and down a field all day? How incredibly monotonous that must be." Well, you ignorant excuse for a human, perhaps you should try it sometime. Why not have a little taste of what "real" life is like on a farm; why not stick your hand inside a sheep to bring new life into the world; why don't you cake yourself in foul-smelling dung for the day then feel too damn tired to wash it off at night because you've just finished a 20 hour shift. I could go on. I won't bother. I don't think my rant will make the slightest difference to people who think they are far too clever, intellectual and educated to partake in a farming lifestyle. I am livid. Fortunately for him, the person who made this incredibly derogatory remark lives in a city in a different part of the country and, lucky for him, he will never have the misfortune of meeting me.

People like this make me sick. My husband is currently working on this farm 20 hours a day. That means he gets a maximum of 4 hours sleep a night. I am helping all I can and we have a wonderfully, hard-working lambing assistant here for three weeks, too. But the work doesn't stop when all the lambs have been born. I'll tell you something in my state of fury; being a farmer might not mean running a country, eating caviar and sipping champagne, it might not mean having spare cash and going on exotic holidays. Perhaps people who think farming is for the part of society that is "mentally challenged", they should think about red tape and bureaucracy. They should spare a thought for the ridiculous inspections and stupid form-filling, paperwork that is taking away valuable time from the practical side of farming, time that could be otherwise spent ensuring stuck up, infuriating snobs have their roast on Sunday and their cereal before they need to battle through traffic to work. I really wanted to name and shame but I refuse to turn this blog into a site for people to belittle each other. I'm better than that; and I'm certainly not ignorant to people's livelihoods.

700 and counting

This is my 700th Blog Post, just thought I'd mention it! Here are some photos taken over the weekend.

Having a snooze on the garden

Mother's Day

Young lambs don't stray far

Amy loves helping, she's been brilliant this year

Jigsaw Maternity Ward

Gathering in the flock for the night shift

Bringing up the rear.

I've published a new post on my paranormal guest blog, Marvellous Mable. Do keep your experiences coming; they are fascinating. And don't forget to check out my new Book Reviews page.

My Proud Mum

My lovely mum always makes me smile. I miss her though we speak every few days on the phone. She's proud of my achievement in publishing the book and rang me on Friday to say she'd finished it. "It's excellent," she said. "I'm so proud of you." To hear those few words made me feel so pleased with myself, making me realise that I'd done it, finally made my mum proud of me. I expressed how pleased I was that she's read it and gave her a little encouragement to tell people about it, reminding her that it's for sale. I wouldn't be surprised if she has everyone on a borrowing rota.

Then she said something that literally made me stumble for the right reply, it was a typical statement that only my mum could make; "How did you know all those big words?" she asked, completely oblivious to how it sounded. Somehow I developed a stutter as I replied, pointing out that I'm an author. I sometimes wonder exactly how my mum sees me. She's quite old-fashioned in her views so I added that I have an extraordinarily large dictionary and thesaurus, not to mention a brain. Still, to know she's proud means the world to me; I'm a very lucky ten year old indeed.

I've created a new page on this blog called Book Reviews (see above). The first book I have reviewed is Empty Chairs by Stacey Danson. Please have a look if you can, I'll probably try and do a few reviews a month.