Will’s World: Farming women – strong in a life less ordinary
© Lee Boswell Photography In the latest episode of “Will is mentally and physically exhausted after an incredibly busy and stressful few months, so he picks up every illness known to man”, I currently have an eye infection.
As a result, I’m squinting even more than I do whenever FW sends a photographer to take pictures of me for this column, and one eye is so red, inflamed and gunky that I resemble Quasimodo’s uglier brother.
I’m considering hiring myself out to scare away trick-or-treaters at Halloween. How’s that for a farm diversification?
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About the author
’ill Evans
I only got the infection in the first place to annoy the present Mrs Evans. At least that’s what you’d conclude, if you’d heard her reaction when I told her.
“Ah, not another thing. That’s all I need,” was how she responded. There might have even been some swearing involved too, but that’s what I get for marrying an Anglo-Saxon.
In fairness to the poor, long-suffering woman, she has a lot to put up with and isn’t known for her nursing skills or bedside manner.
Just ask any of our numerous daughters, who know full well that they’d need to have a limb hanging off before their mother would keep them home from school.
Even then, it’d be touch and go. “I’ll give you a note for PE, but you’ll be fine for double maths – just bite on a pencil if the pain gets too much,” would be her typical response.
I think it’s because she rarely gets sick herself, being far too energetic to indulge in such trivialities.
She’s too busy making the world a better place for everyone in it to be bogged down by illness, and I strongly suspect she’ll outlive me by about 40 years and be one of those older women who regularly gets described as “formidable” by people in the community.
Ruling the local Woman’s Institute branch with an iron rod and still winning every prize in the village produce show when she’s well into her 90s.
It’s interesting how many couples are so different yet seem to complement each other and, despite my obvious failures, the two of us make an excellent team.
Where she brings organisation and pragmatism, I bring ideas and enthusiasm.
And despite how much we doubtless irritate each other (don’t dare to mention my poor dishwasher stacking technique to her), after 21 years we still laugh together constantly so we must be doing alright.
Fifty not out
Farming marriages are, by their very nature, special things, shaped by a shared determination to live a life less ordinary.
Let’s face it, it isn’t for the faint-hearted.
Over the course of a lifetime, the stresses and worries of running a business that’s wide open to the vagaries of the elements, the whims of fly-by-night politicians, and ever-volatile world markets can take a heavy toll.
Perhaps that’s why they’re often so strong, forged in fire as they are. It’s also why a sense of humour is so vital in this job, even if it’s of the gallows variety. If you didn’t laugh, you’d cry, and all that.
My parents have just celebrated 50 years of a wonderfully happy marriage.
Half a century of farming together, bringing up a family, and now watching their grandchildren grow up on the farm they built is quite something.
I couldn’t be prouder of them both.
As I pointed out in my speech at their party, though, surviving 50 years of marriage isn’t half as remarkable as surviving 50 years of moving cattle together.
Luckily, the old man and I both married extremely patient and strong women.