Little sheeps are still living in the lap of luxury in the back kitchen, enjoying the warmth and the company. But they where encouraged outside today to enjoy the fresh air and sun - in between showers that is.
At least that way Sue, Mum Crofter gets to clear up their mess and make the place a little more presentable - till I tramped through in my muddy boots that is.
Mr Crofter had better things on his mind - the new copy of Chicken Weakly or something like that. That helped his cornflakes go down well.
Did I tell you it was damp? As you can see from this parade of fashionable crofter types, it was. Note the slightly ill-fitting jacket, the thick gloves and the hats. You can tell summer is on its way.
Mr Crofter was so very attentive to his flock, checking that the little ones have been looked after nicely by their mothers - even if that meant penning them in together so they get the idea - and then sitting in the sheeps hutch to keep an eye on things. This one was a result and the little back sheeps was cuddled next to her mum and taking a snack too.
Meanwhile, back at the house, Mum Crofter was shepherding the orphans/delicate ones. Feeding them when they called, mopping the kitchen floor after them and ushering them outside when it was dryer to get a breath of fresh air. All part of a long day.
It was wet. After I trasped home bedraggled, I stripped off and hugged the stove trying to get warm. Steam rose all around me and the cat - Her Highness Henrietta Cartier Bresson - gave me the look. I can't blame her to be honest. I'd been down to the croft on a dampish morn to find The Crofter and his dad down the croft playing with the lambs. I went there to take a snap or two, then the rain and wind came. The sheeps were not too happy I can tell you - but happier than the Crofter.
There was rain-drops all over the lens distorting the image somewhat. The sheeps gave me a quizzical look while I pointed this thing at them.
The Crofter and his dad were tryiing to make the little sheeps housey all cosy and wind-free to help the little sheep-lettes from getting over cold. One tiny black sheep-lettes was shivering till Dad Crofter wiped it dry with the straw and put it with its mother to bond.
There's been a bit of gate leaning today. Eve and Mum Crofter were gawping at the piglings running hither and thither round the place in the sunshine [now gone and replaced by a gathering storm].
See there's Mrs Pig - and no, I can't remember her name - maybe PigPig - one has to remember it's often The Crofter giving them names Eh? And there's a few of her Piglings creating havoc and trying to escape the croft.
Mum Crofter has been lamb-sitting. Keeping the little orphan mites alive and out of trouble as they sleep, eat and whatever lambs do. Here is Number 1, the first of the mites to be around the place and doing very well since you ask.
The Crofter is around - being grumpy as is his way from time to time. Still, the gate into the croft year has a nice new wheel - yes, Wheel - so it opens and closes oh so very nicely.
The sunshine was warm. The cold wind had abated somewhat and Mr Crofter Sir, him of the committees etc, had his best flat hat on - all proper Yorkshire like. Apparently, believe this if you will, it's to prevent him getting sunburnt on his head! Sunburnt! In April! On the Isle of Lewis. Eh?
All the same it makes him look very 'authentic' or something - and I told him so. In fact I told him he looked rather smart. I didn't add 'for a change' - even if that was what I was thinking.
I mean, how northern is that look eh? Nice shape with the old water trail though - just to annoy the piggie who was lurking under my right elbow as I snapped the shot. The poly-tunnel is still without it's summer covering. I should imagine that might be imminent. Who knows?
Ohh, he looks proper smart from the back as well. What's going on? Who is he trying to impress? Maybe it's the result of 'being in print'
The Crofter has been busy - even if I haven't been reporting it. For a start he's been gazing at the book where he features regularly. He is impressed. But then, he is easily impressed. He's been feeding the coows - hence the hay. And making teeth. And - well, living.
The piglings are doing fine - all how ever many there are of them - growing almost as you watch them. How cute they look [at the moment]. Here's the youngest ones doing what they know best. Sleeping.
And yes, the sheeplets have started arriving - although the weather has been a tad cold so a couple of them have been warming their little bods by the Aga, basking in the sunshine coming through the window - and being bottle fed. Oh the life of luxury.
What with all the dry and now warm weather we have been having up here in the 'frozen' north, the grass still isn't growing much. Dad Crofter has to venture off round the village to find some sweet stuff for the guinea pigs. That's what the bucket is for.
The visitors have been roped in for this task too - well, one of them anyway. Richard is his name. From Yorkshire and all.
Richard and Dad Crofter.
Mr Crofter Sir is busy in the tooth factory meanwhile.
As I mentioned, The Croft is crawling with little piglings at the moment. Fifteen to be precise. Just in time for the visitors they have staying - to coo over. Only they are Yorkshire folk who are staying so not sure cooing is what they do. Bah Tat or not.
See, they have been busy down on the Croft. Well, the piggies anyway. When I say 'the piggies' I mean the little piggies since the big piggies have yet to produce. They just eat sleep etc. I begin to wonder what they are for.
Geese in hoops
And while we are talking good for nothings, has anyone out there got a goose recipe to send the Crofter Sir, him of the committees etc ? I have never been so fed up with his beings as these I can tell you. If they squawk - or whatever they do - at me again making me jump out my skin I shall be looking for a dish to fit them myself - and I'm a vegetarian!
Yorkshire men - with Tats
The sun is still shining you'll be pleased to hear - although the croft is as dry as un-buttered cold toast. Along with the cool wind it's not encouraging the grass to grow. Ooh er.
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.