DIARY FROM A FAMILY FARM IN ULSTER
MORROWS WORLD
DIARY FROM A FAMILY FARM IN ULSTER
THIS could well be the last month of builders invading our home. I first mentioned their arrival last October – and they are still here.
Granted, we have achieved a lot in that time and they havent been here full time, but there hasnt been a week when we havent had part of our lives disrupted. It has given me a fantastic opportunity to undertake a major clear out of all the outgrown clothes, shoes, sleeping bags, worn out towels and sheets.
Actually, I had to get rid of some perfectly good sheets that I got as wedding presents nearly 20 years ago because my daughters refuse to have anything so ugly on their beds. I insisted that those lovely moss greens and mustard yellows were the height of fashion in the early 80s, but they only regarded me with that despairing look that teenage girls keep especially for their mother.
The truth is, I have never been able to afford such quality since, and while their current lilac and silver bedwear might look the latest fashion, next winter they will be so balled that the girls will have razor rash sleeping in them.
Of course, I have plenty of time to do all this clearing because Streamvale Open Farm is firmly closed, with the disinfectant mats and foot-and-mouth warnings out.
I am trying hard to believe that this more relaxed lifestyle is better for me and the whole family, but its hard to relax with the severe drop in income.
However, I am not completely idle and as visitors cant come to me, I am now going to them with my Chicken Run Roadshow. The mixture of stories, songs and general chat seems to be going down well with the primary schools and I am really enjoying getting out and about round Belfast. I was at my own primary school yesterday – indeed in my old classroom – although when I told the four-year-olds this they looked at me with total disbelief that such an old lady could ever have been at school.
In my presentation there is a time at the end to ask questions. Well, this is what I initially thought it would be, but now I realise it is more accurately described as a time for the children to tell me interesting stories. Once they get on to a particular theme, it is almost impossible to move them on. I find death is a favourite topic and have spent an amazing length of time chatting about the various ways a chicken could be squashed to death – by anything and everything from a tractor (reasonably likely) to a passing elephant (rather unlikely).
Of course, the children insist that all these incidents have actually happened. Usually to their grannys chicken.
Johnstons life has changed as well. He is now back to milking cows and tractor work instead of maintaining the visitor farm. He is surprised that he fell back into the way of it so easily and indeed finds cows more manageable than people most of the time. The strange thing is, everyone still seems to have to work just as hard as ever. Isnt it true that the work around a farm is never done – no matter how many people you have working there is always a job which needs to be tackled immediately or really should have been done yesterday.
Addie, my father-in-law, speaks nostalgically about the days when life moved at the pace of the working horse. Johnston often feels he was born in the wrong era and would really be better suited to a slower pace of life. Who knows?
Im off now to another inner-city school with my chickens, so Ill say cheerio with our now familiar farewell greeting "cock a doodle do".