The Big Cattle roundup was gathering pace. Eric and his pals were ensconced snugly in the ex-caravan place . Mr Crofter had the movable shed behind the pimpmobile now backed into the gate and a little corral built swiftly round the rampy thing.
Then the brave Crofter went off to bring the beasts in.
Here they come!
Oh no, gone again.
Here they come again.
Bother! [or words to that effect]
"Can you see if Chris is around" asks The Crofter and I dutifully go off to find him, prize him away from the footie and bring him to the scene.
Yes, I'm telling you about the Big Cattle roundup. Not that the cattle are big - though Eric isn't a small boy, or that they were a lot of cattle but it just sounds more impressive.
Oh how very brave The Crofter was, shouted, waved his stick and everything but Eric and Co were not for playing. They trotted this way and that enjoying themselves as The Crofter breathlessly followed behind, stick frantically waving.
Now, Eric is a big boy. I may have mentioned that before but he is a big kind softie. I know this from personal experience,I went to Dingwall with The Crofter when he adopted Eric. But he is big and if he wants to go left, he goes left. Right and you follow him right. Doesn't help in getting the coows back in a field at all. But along came Chris the hired hand, purposeful stick in hand, confidence oozing from his pores and Eric knew he was defeated. He came my way, his pals following behind. I smiled kindly as he came close and I shook in my boots, waved my - whatever I had in my hand [an Olympus OM1n for the photographically geeked] and miraculously Eric trotted into the temporary pen - a former caravan park bounded by string and typical leaning posts of Hebridean fences.
Mr Crofter Sir, 'im of the committees etc and hired hand Chris look out at Eric and pals on the moor.
Did I tell you about the big cattle roundup?
No, well if you are seated we'll begin.
The cattle got out. When I say 'the cattle' I mean four of the cattle got out. They were meant to be enjoying the delights of the Glen field that The Crofter uses from time to time but Eric and his pals were not too keen on that at all. So, almost every day they went walkabout but in the evening went back again aided by a homesteader nearby who kindly opened the gate to let them back in.
Since they must have heard about the new baby Emily, they decided to come all the way 'home'. Only when they got to the village, the road stopped them. they were not too keen on that at all.
The sheeps needed a bit of tlc the other day so we all went out to help including Mrs Crofter and young Emily though Emily did sleep through it all. I felt like sleeping as well but managed to stay awake long enough to snap an image or three.
The idea was to take the pregnant sheeps into the Big Shed only some of the sheeps couldn't wait and had already had their kittens. So the crofter et al rounded up the four legged ones and put them in a small pen so they could do some ART on the wool. They painted 2 on this little fella.
Then they left left the furry fiends in the field thing as the sun - yes SUN - was shining.
Life goes on at The Croft with Crofter Paul and Dad preparing the big shed for the sheeps and their new sheepslettes. There is a stroppy coow in a pen in the corner too who is just as likely to have your arm off if you get too close as she protects her new foal. And there's a swallows nest in the rafters as well - all are welcome
Very sad news to report; Sue Rowlston aka "Mum Crofter" passed away peacefully recently after a short illness. She leaves her husband of 50 years, David, son and daughter-in-law Paul and Gemma, and newly born grand-daughter Emily Mae.
A tireless worker on Paul's North Tolsta croft in recent years, Sue was a born and bred Yorkshire-woman.
Sue will be sorely missed by everyone, not least by her lovely family.
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.