Bye-bye Baas
A highlight of our long, dark country winter was the magical manifestation of a flock of sheep in the field behind our house.
Black legs and faces poking out of short wirey white fleece.
They’re an ancient Norfolk breed. Nice to look at, and that’s about all they’re ‘useful’ for, to judge them economicly. They’re relatively scrawny compared to other sheep-for-meat. And even if you’re not an expert wool grader, you’ll sense the market for their wool when I tell you that its primary application is the weaving of tapestries.
So, the main beneficiaries of the presence of these sheep on this earth are me and my family.
Each morning, I take my son outside to say ‘hi da baas.’ Often they wander over to stare at us too, and stand a few feet away, until W- starts to clench and unclench his outstretched fist and say ‘bye-bye baas’. We leave them to go about their sheepy day: nibbling at grass, and huddling on the sheltered side of the Ash that fell over in the big storm.
Every now and then they break the routine. One day, they all started sporting an orange dot that’s exactly the same as the one in this painting that A- gave us for our wedding.
Then one day the electric fence broke down and one of them broke out.
I came home late at night to hear bleating from the sheep in the field, and bleating from a sheep that was clearly not in the field. Perhaps in my neigbour’s driveway. I went out with my head torch to be a hero (to try and match the heroism of my wife last summer when she rushed out to the road in her pajamas to catch a runaway stallion.)
I couldn’t find the missing sheep, but I did get this striking picture of the rest of them.
Barking in the field.
There was something to see today. A fat white collie was making tough work of mustering them into a temporary pen. A trailer was in place, ready to move them onto greener pastures a few fields down. It gave me the chance to indulge in one of my favourite activities: talking to farmers.
E- tells me he’s an arable farmer (crops, as opposed to pastoral farming, i.e animals, which I now know because Google). He seems to farm sheep for the reasons that most farmers seem to farm everything: a thick stew of love, vocation and obligation, with a pinch of pocket money to taste.
He used to take the meat and wool to Norwich market (where farmers have been taking the proceeds of this exact breed of sheep for more than 900 years!) But he’s decided to stop. Vegan activists have made it intollerable. They mass on the weekends to demonstrate at the markets, and menace vendors and anyone trying to unload animal products. I can’t remember the word he used about the effect it had on one of his coworkers, but the sense was that it had given her the jitters and she didn’t want to do it anymore. He tells me that the vegans even set about a small group of women who were doing a demonstration of looming or tapestry.
I’ve noticed that the British as a whole, and the rural residents in particular, are fairly conflict averse. They don’t stop doing what they’re doing, they just withdraw from public life, and do it on the downlow. Perhaps this is a long-standing tradition. It includes smoking, drinking, hunting related activities (2000 fines for lamping last year in Norfolk - which is sending your dog after rabbits - which is what those dogs will do naturally if not leashed - and which should give you a sense of how much lamping goes on). Well, now this includes the sale of some meat that’s reared in what appears to me to be a highly ethical fashion by small-hold farmers who are often held up as a cool alternative to ‘factory farming’
I’ve put in an order for a leg of lamb, bone in. We sealed the deal with a handshake, and E- will be over with it in the next few weeks. I’ll be inviting friends round to share it.
Bye bye baas.
I’m looking forward to the countryness that comes to me next.
P.S. In the 3 years that I’ve been living in the country and talking to farmers, the kinds of setbacks they’ve personally experienced and related to me include (but are certainly not limited to...)
Backups at the abbatoir mean pigs got too heavy for the processing equipment. Had to be fed and looked after at farmer’s expense until they could be offloaded somewhere else for much lower prices than they would have got if they were lighter.
An unexpectedly wet season causes crop loss of 30%+
An unexpectedly dry season causes crop loss of 30%+
Removal of EU subsidies due to Brexit completely changes economics of operation overnight
Too many feral deer causing undeterminable crop loss
Avain flu - all ducks culled - income loss of 100%
Avian flu - all hens restricted to barns - stopped laying - income loss of 100%
Avian flu - all hens resticted to barns - traditionally free range hen eggs have to be sold at ‘barn raised’ prices for significant income loss
Covid - lots of families buy guinea pigs, return them, and they’re returned to breeder
Covid - other guinea pig breeding operation shuts down, guinea pigs have to be rehomed by another operation that has to make room
Avian flu - racing pigeons restricted to aviary - significantly underexercised, but at least no loss to birds of prey (which usually snatch up a large number of them.
The popular BBC show Countryfile - a celebration of hobby farming and the preservation of feral animals that are effectively pests (see Deer note above) - is referred to by rural dwellers as “Towniefile”
Tough gig.
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Love the country life stories- esp with photos and captions. Pitch to Country Life magazine?! Xx