I woke to the sound of the sea. The sound of creaking timbers. The sound is of sea on sand. I live 50 miles from the coast.
There was a storm the night before last. The sound was the sound of the forest. In high wind the trees creak and groan. The wind on the leaves of ten thousand trees sounds like pebbles rolling in miles of coastal surf. The sound can fill the farm.
It was 4:30am. The children piled into bed chattering with excitement. There was a powercut.
I gathered everything together. Stupid with lack of sleep. Slow. Torch. Keys. Walking stick. This took ten minutes. The storm was like a slap of caffeine when I stepped out into it. I untumbled the trampoline and strained to restraighten it’s uprights. I checked the back of the house where the woods fringe the garden for fallen trees. Some still in reach of the house if they go. Checked the junction box. Checked the sheep in the side field. I notice a blue barn door open, and a trio of black rams eyeing up the raspberry plants in the fruit beds.
I chase them back in and gather the remaining rams in the field to check no one is missing. It’s summer. This part of the flock have just been put on sweet grass. They sprunk and play like lambs. Fifty kilo lambs with curling sharp horns. The intact younger ram is in full blood. He’s thinking about bullying me for food. This is a thing to note. A ram flushing on sweet grass who is thinking of throwing his weight around with you is something to be aware of.
The ewe and lamb flock are in their field. The storm has tangled the electric fence up on itself, and they are out of their paddock. I call them over to the field gate and count. All present and correct. Turn off the fence, tie it off so no stray strands can wrap themselves around a ewe or lamb. The field itself will contain them. More work for tomorrow.
The storm continues. Weak grey light from the just up sun. The forest ebbs and roars, the treetops whip, the sound of the sea fills the farm, still. I’m adrift in moving air and the sound of the sea. It feels like a twilight time. A border between farm and sea, darkness and light, between sleep and wakefulness. Between fatherhood and farm.
I curl up in the kids bedroom to calm my son and soothe him and me to sleep.
I love my life.
