31

There's a couple of other crofter sites I've been put onto. The first is that of the Mangelwurzel Ale - Dennis with his Musings from a Stonehead, and also Paul on Raasay. Apparently Paul works on the wee ferry there.Tis a nice ferry to - Eve & I were on it last year :-)

30

Here it is the 30th post of this little blog-ette - and the crofters are still speaking to me. In fact we had quite a lovely conversation this morning in the sunshine on a cold winters day. We were discussing the raising of the Manglewurzels - along with the turnips and swedes. Mr Crofter Sir uses the Manglewurzels for feed for the livestock - and I can refer you to a previous post regarding the anceint machinery from Wexford - is 'chipped' by the mangle-chipper. That's what it is.

I'm also reliably informed that manglewurzels can also be used to make wine - but then so can just about eerything else it seems. I did some digging around on the ww and came up with a recipe for Manglewurzel Ale courtesy of another Scottish crofter. Please tell me if you try or have tried this!

BTW; the weather is still holding out. Cold but lovely and the hebridean sheep are just loving it! Seen above.

29

I called into see Mr Crofter, yes the new grazing committee man, and had a little chat. As I do. We passed the time of day, I passed on a few hints on how he should do his work - and he rightly ignored me. All the time Mr Crofter was expertly making some teeth in his dental technician mode. I mentioned a stroll to the beach. Mr Crofter worked a bit faster and joined me in the lovely sunshine. Piggy grunted contentedly outside.

28

I mean, just look at that. Eh? I get this every morning. Well at the moment it seems that way. When the winds not howling, the rain not coming in horizontal and roof-tiles flapping, threatening to break loose to form little flying head-cutters.
I snapped this up on the way down to The Croft the other day. I'd already been down on the beach for a paddling/walking meditation and then I get this! It just fair lifts the heart at this time of year.
The Crofter has a collection of machinery aimed at aiding the running of the croft - although sometime it takes more time to keep this ancient kit going than it does help. Or something like that. This is the dumper truck. I know its hardly F1 or even Massey Ferguson - a marque loved a revered among the locals - but it does Mr Crofter and his dad. Currently it sits on the croft slowly turning rust red - but i am assured it will start first - or maybe second time. Well, they will get it started somehow anyway. Possibly.

27

It seems at one time, that Wexford in Ireland was a centre of much agricultural machinery manufacturing due in the main to the work of Philip Pierce &Co. Needless to say, one of its implements has made its way onto Mr Crofters premises. I have no idea what it is called but it looks fantastic and does a great job at doing what it does. Apparently. According to the newly elected grazings committee man anyway. I must listen next time he tells me what it does.

I took these snaps in a gale - a complete contrast to yesterday i can tell you. Then I was out on the beach at dawn! Now, its wet and blowin and the ferries have stayed put for the day.

26

I had the full saga of the Moving of the Coows last night. Mr Crofter came over for a spot of Eve's famous Cullen Skink and a natter. Apparently, and its a pity I missed this, Hyacinth and her cohorts were eager to be moved down to their winter quarters. Ever since Mr Crofter and Mum & Dad crofter braved the elements [followed meakly and briefly by myself avec cameras] and sorted the fence post they had cruelly knocked down just as the weather closed in and merely a day after Mr Crofter had been triumphantly voted on to the Village grazings committee etc, all the fun of upsetting an easy life of The Crofter at a short distance had been taken away. And, since the air is a tad colder now, the wind stronger, the lure of a nice byre with some of the countless bales of hay that lay waiting outside for their delictation became too much of a draw.
Only to get from the croft where the coows had wreaked havoc on the fence - just a day after the vote and the committee etc - to the warm byre, the cows were required to negociate the road for a hundred metres or so. Did I not tell you that Hyacinth and co are Shetlanders? No? Oh dear.

If you Googleup Shetland Cattle [its ok I'll wait here till you have read a bit] then you see they are small, environmentally friendly and calm. Not this lot I can tell you. I suggest this lot have been exiled because of their stroppyness. And size. I might even regail you of the lassoing saga one day.

Anyway, everytime Mr Crofter Sir ['Sir' because he is on the Grazing Committee. Voted on you know] tried to get Hyacinth to show her pretty little head - the one with sharp horns an all - every time she did show at the gate to the road the flippin Coop delivery van came then, no sooner had that gone the bus arrived. I mean, it only comes once an hour-ish. The buses are great I tell you. Eve left her purse on the bus the other night [for the second time. I might add] and duly next morning Mr Bus Driver produced the aforesaid lost purse. He would have brought it round to the house like last time it happened but he kept getting held up by the Cow Saga outside - all through the afternoon!

In between each visit of the bus Sir Crofter would be dancing round the croft trying to entice Hyacinth and Co to have a little look-see, perhaps a little tit-bit from the bucket and possbly, pretty please a walk gently and with great control down the road to the nice warm byre.

By now, the villagers were beginning to look out their windows since this was now Wednesday and if this saga continued till Sunday, there would be Trouble Looming. Sundays, we, the Tolsta villagers, go to church, relax, meditate or in some cases watch TV. So I'm told. We have have no TV here so we meditate or walk. Or something. We don't walk cows down the road that's for sure!

But eventually, the coows decided the coast was clear and obviously had spotted the long lush grass on the other side of the road that hadn't been eaten to a bowling-green length by the Hebridean Sheep that spooked me the other day and to whom I spoke to VERY HARSHLY.
Hyacinth trotted off down the road with Sir trotting everso slightly faster in front. Then, like a flash, Tinga - one the tother-uns shot off at great pace down the lane causing an up-roar in the English Crofter-clan which got Sir Paul sprinting away out of harms way so quickly Mr Bolt would be proud of him. Then Tinga, recognising the bails of lovely hay and the byre came to a very abrupt halt, hooves skidding on the Tolsta Tarmac in true Road-Runner style.

Eventually, all the coows were safely housed in their warm-winter quarters again, sanity had reared its familiar head, Sir's heart had stopped beating at 300bpm and nice cup of tea was had by all.

As I said earlier, I wasn't there. I have no snaps of The Saga of the Coows. So you'll have to put up with these; Dad Crofter playing with the metal things to keep the beast from straying. And, Sir Crofter wondering what happened

25

Fashion; just because one is a crofter, it doesn't mean that the latest fashions pass you by. In fact, I can honestly say that Crofter and Dad crofter are fair setting the fashion. In the village. Well, down that end of the village anyway. As you can see here.
Ah hem.