A Croft in the Hills by Stewart Katharine

Author:Stewart, Katharine
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780857907516
Publisher: Birlinn
Published: 2013-08-07T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XI

THE BIG GALE

ABOUT the middle of December occurred one of those minor miracles, which are apt to be left out of a normally well-reasoned forecast of events, and which we have learnt to accept as tokens of beneficence. After a spell of snow, which had blocked the road and held up the grocer’s van again, we suddenly emerged one morning into a day of blue and gold, with sunshine enough to set the midges dancing. We could hardly believe in it, yet we had to admit the evidence of our senses.

Our one thought was—the potatoes! As soon as the routine jobs were done, we made a final assault on the potato field. The frost had hardened the ground sufficiently to allow the digger to get a bite, and yet had not been severe enough to damage the tubers. In two days stolen from spring, we got the remaining drills lifted, and so our epic struggle with the potato crop ended in victory.

We needed every tattie we could lay hands on, for the pigs were consuming them in ever increasing quantities, and we sold none that year. Jim’s ambition was to invest in a couple of in-pig gilts, in the spring, after all the porkers were sold. He had pig-fever badly. Small fortunes were being made in the pig-trade and we needed cash to build up the overall soundness of the place. Though it was a fickle business, liable to ups and downs unheard-of in the steady sheep and beef-cattle trade, we hoped we could catch it at an opportune moment.

Meanwhile, we lost Billy but we knew this was bound to happen sooner or later. He went to take up what had always been his main interest—the tending of sheep. We missed seeing him about the place. There was an elemental quality in him, a simplicity, a generosity, that was quite disarming.

‘Little’ Billy, from over the burn, who was gleefully approaching the end of his schooldays, began to spend every minute he could spare from home chores giving us a hand. He would work away all Saturday afternoon at whatever job Jim was busy at. After supper, he would play reel tunes on his mouth organ, while Helen cavorted about the kitchen. Those were happy evenings.

We passed the shortest day, confident in the knowledge that we were adequately prepared for winter. The whole of the year’s effort is really directed towards this end. If the work has gone well, it results in a real snugness, with everything battened down and stores of food, fodder and fuel lying to hand, so that winter can be not only endured but positively enjoyed. If things have gone badly—a crop has failed or not been properly secured—then winter is a time of nagging anxiety, and sometimes the margin between the two states can be very narrow indeed.

By living thus, near to the bones of things, the simplest bounty can be a delight. It never fails to astonish me that the hens can lay eggs

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