Roy and Sally Abel moved to Rye earlier in the year, but they didn’t come here alone. In the first part of their story about making the move from the north of Scotland, we find out who they decided to bring along too.
February is a cruel month in the Highlands- newborns dropping onto hard ground in wind and cold. Highland cattle are well adapted with their unique twin coats. The outer long hair shedding rain and the inner tight to the body like a sporting ‘skin’. Adults lose the outer coat for summer but calves are cocooned in thick curls for all of their first year. But still, those first few hours…
Sal and I were headed for a romantic winter weekend. A trip to our favourite west coast hotel with views over Lismore island and fine seafood.
Of course, I check the herd before leaving.
“Banarach’s in calf.” I run back with the news. (Most of our girls are named in the Gaelic tongue).
She is a sweet heifer calving for the first time, walking around with the rest of the herd, uncertain what is happening to her. Her baby is revealed in spasms, the front hooves protruding and then retreating as though testing cold water. She needs to ‘nest’ so she feels secure, but she walks … and walks. Finally, we move her through the gate, leaving the herd rubbernecking at the fence.
Birth is, after all, a social event.
By now the weather has closed in. Wind blowing in from the Atlantic and driving snow – horizontally! We catch the hooves when we can, pulling with the contractions until her baby slips out in a rush, deposited in a long slick sack. A wee girl, a pedigree heifer calf. She cannot stay out in this weather.
An hour later Sal is pulling the quad trailer to a warm pen. Baby onboard standing already while anxious mum follows behind blowing hard.
We name her Lucille, Sal’s second name. In the following months she recognises us second only to her mother, running up wagging her tail like a dog.
But this will be our last calving.
The farm that I built is up on our sale site (www.countryescape.info) lock stock and barrel. This includes the animals, individuals that I have birthed or bought. All of them known and loved.
One, of course, especially so.
When Sal suggests wistfully “Wouldn’t it be nice to keep Lucille”, I write her out of the contract of sale. Also, her two sisters born the same year: Valentina and Twinkle. We leave for Rye at the end of June with just six months to find a place for them.
Living in Rye takes on a new complexity with three hairy heifers to settle as well as Sally and myself.
In those first weeks we enjoyed many conversations in this most gregarious of towns. At some point the conversation always came round to this: “Lovely to make your acquaintance: do you have any grazing?”
There’s more from Roy and Sally Abel in next week’s Rye News as we continue their story about moving to Rye. Where do they all end up?
Image Credits: Roy Abel .