It’s been a weird rollercoaster of farming vibes over the last year or so. Farming on any level is time consuming, relentless and unforgiving. And at our level you have to pay for the privilege. You make a loss not a profit. You are shackled to the beast.
10 years after we started the dream, a dream that had lived and grown like a carbuncle for all my years in advertising, the holy grail, the pasture ever so lush, just out of reach. 10 years of growing our Dexter herd, nurturing them like a family, seeing them grow from little poppets, into obstreperous teens, into honest patient Mums then Grans with gravitas… but it all seemed so much work, day in day out….maybe times were a changin’. Maybe it was time to travel, to live en Francais, experience the new, we are only here once.
Canal St Martin - Paris
Out of the blue, a lady from Wales, calls, she says she wants the whole herd, it seems too good to be true, they all go together, the generations of Tremewan Dexters all off together, as a big family unit.
Goodbye lovelies….
The day comes, a desperate day, it broke me, I wasn’t right for days, it was the loss of a close family member….
I bought a kayak, made me feel better, it was symbolic of freedom, of travel, of journeys.
The year rolled on, the fields were empty, the grass grew, I cut and cut. We rented the fields out, but it was desolate, we wandered the fields, hmm. There was something missing, like a city without people, pointless.
It was inevitable. Back in October, we relented. Pathetic. We didn’t last long!! 3 charming heifers turned up. Nosy. Cantankerous, oozing character, the fields had purpose.
Last month, we ran out of beef. We bought the best Aberdeen Angus steak mince we could find. It was pink, no depth. We made a Spag Bol. Same recipe, same everything, bar the beef, it just wasn’t the same. Devoid of that rich beefy undertones...
Next week I am going to pick up another 3 cracking 8 month old calves….
You can’t take the farm out of the boy.