The Crofter found a patch of land that still had grass on it. Seems like it got to him and no sooner that you could say "stroppy Shetland cow" than he had removed the detritus that had been hiding the grass - utilising Lucy the Land-Rover, pulled over the ancient digger machine thing and got to work. Once the digger had been started that is. Always a bit of a pain - especially when it's been stood out in the snow and ice covered only by a diaphanous re-used aggregate bag. It did start eventually,Mr Crofter all red-faced with a cloud of smoke enveloping us all. I left him happily digging away!
He's still playing with the Land Rover. No, not Lucy who still awaits her turn but the other one. Mr Crofter Sir has been very busy of late, ordering the seeds in for the veg patch - or the poly tunnels, once the ducks have been evicted that is. Making more teeth to pay the bills and playing with his toys.
It's always busy down at The Crofter's especially when the sun is shining and you can do more outside work.
I can hardly believe it. A week has passed since my last visit on account of me being away on the mainland saving the world and other things. Coming back to the Croft I find Mr Crofter Sir, 'im of the North Tolsta Grazing Committee and all that stood rooted to the ground looking for all the world like he had been there for the week. Granted, he looked a tad tidier than last time I was there, his hat a little perkier and the 'lawn' a smidgen muddier but he was in the same place all the same.
It seems the good Mr Crofter had acquired some croftering 'bits' and was retro-fitting them to the bijou stys - no doubt much to the delight of PigPig, Maclaren et al.
The snow is back again and coming down a lot more as I write. The Crofters have mixed feelings about this. On one hand the place looks nice and the ground is frozen or almost frozen so one doesn't sink up to your armpits in 'stuff'. But it also means that more feed has to be taken to the coows and the sheeps- who have also suffered a sad loss. My partner and I were strolling on the beach and came across two little black lambs who had fallen off the icy cliff to their demise. The Crofter's dad popped down to bring them back to give them a decent burial but sad very sad.
Still Mr Four Tractors. Even though he has six tractors!
Things change. But not Mr Four Tractors caught here whilst chatting to Dad Crofter. Even though he now has six tractors, The Crofter and I have decided that he must remain Mr Four Tractors however many tractors he now has!
The sun was shining down on The Croft this morning, glistening off the mud on the ground. The chickens are not too keen on this and took to the bench to bask in the sunshine. And why not, surely that's what its there for!
He's not up out of bed. I knew he wouldn't be up this early - sort of 11am and all that. You see Mr Crofter was out of the locality last night living the high-life in New Tolsta which, as it happens just happens to be north of North Tolsta. How did that happen?? Well, I could tell you but it is a bit early in the year for the historicals.
Anyway, Mr Crofter went over to a lovely family for a glass of iced water and a chat before the bells chimed twelve. I went along too with my partner Eve and had a fine time meeting Lassie, Midge and a lovely family. We left Mr Crofter there playing with a radio-controlled tractor [what else!] and came home to bed. I wondered if the iced water was going to last the evening. It didn't and The Crofter resorted to an amber nectar I'm told.
I went down to The Croft all full of energy and good will this morning to find Dad Crofter chatting to Donald six-tractors over t'fence. 'Six'? I hear you exclaim! Tis inflation an that I'm told. Not only that but one of those six tractors - not sure if it's a red one - has four wheels that work. Or something like that. Maybe all four wheels drive - unlike Lucy the Land-Rover who seems to have hidden that capability of late. Pleasantries and wishes for the year ahead were exchanged while Mr Crofter huddled in his bed no-doubt planning the year ahead.
On the Isle of Lewis off the west coast of mainland Scotland lies a croft inhabited by an English off-comer. His Mum and Dad live nearby and help him run the croft. This is a photographic record of their lives as it unfolds.