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One of the great and never-ending fascinations within our agricultural life is the relationship between farmers and their neighbours.
In a perfect world, the bungalows and properties that adjoin farmland would be occupied with first generation farmers’ sons and daughters who are sympathetic and tolerant of normal countryside practices.
But we don’t live in an ideal world, or anything close to it. So much so, that if livestock stray unintentionally into a local garden, the understanding neighbour tends to be the exception rather than the rule.
If we do have to have one of those awkward and uncomfortable conversations after a straying incident, the whole tone of the encounter is set within a few seconds, and by the initial opening remarks.
Sheep in garden
About twenty-five years ago, I had a flock of sheep that opened a gate in the yard, wandered down the lane, and up into a nearby house and garden. As I walked onto the occupant’s driveway, I was greeted with the words, “You’ll be getting a solicitor’s letter for this”.
Being younger than I am now, and with a slightly shorter fuse, I responded by pointing out they had neither gate nor cattle grid, so what was there to stop sheep from walking in?
This seemed to infuriate him even further, and he continued to antagonise me with his general attitude (isn’t it funny how a certain tone of voice during an argument can be the most irritating part?).
I then descended to his level, and a general slagging match took place. Things got so bad that I resorted to using the ultimate insult that a countryman can deliver to someone. I didn’t question his dubious lineage, or his lack of wisdom and intelligence, but suggested he went back to whatever town he had crawled out of. Can you think of anything in the world more insulting than an accusation of being a townie?
Heifers get out
By contrast, I had about fifteen heifers escaped from a field at the back of the yard recently, and they ambled around the sheds for a while before exploring my garden, and then sauntering down the lane and up the Ballybunden Road.
To cut a long story short, they walked into just one garden (potentially, they could have been in fifty gardens since we live close to a development of new houses), before two local heroes steered them back down the road, up the lane, and back into the field. I subsequently went down to apologise to my neighbour (ironically, he now lives in the same house as the previous sheep incident), and he could not have been any more civil and pleasant. He even thanked me for calling down to see him! And therein lies the key to solving a potentially nasty conversation.
When people are reasonable, calm, and pleasant in these situations, it makes me ten times more apologetic and triples my feelings of guilt. And because they continue to be so nice about it all, I then overcompensate by grovelling, apologising repeatedly, and offering to repair the damage in any way possible.
Compare that with someone who crashes into your yard, shouting and giving off while spraying you with saliva which immediately raises your heckles and elicits an equally aggressive and defensive response.
I’ll bet there isn’t a single farmer who hasn’t had one of these situations to deal with, and I am equally sure most of us could tell some great stories, centred around who said what.
(You know the sort of thing, “So I just said to the hateful wee slabber...).
Complexities
Part of me would love to climb up on my soapbox and denounce all these urbanites for living in our beautiful countryside without any appreciation or knowledge about the complexities of livestock farming, but it isn’t that simple.
I live in a house that was built by money provided directly by the sale of two building sites – I have no mortgage, and no real financial worries.
And therefore, if I yapped and whinged too much about these people living here, that would surely make me a hypocrite?
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