Winter weekends with rain falling on the farmhouse roof and the fire roaring are definitely my favourite. Mainly because my hyperactive can’t-sit-still-for-five-minutes husband may be forced to actually relax and do very little if it’s raining outside. Maybe. Unfortunately, cattle still have to be moved and fed, rain gauges emptied at different properties and messy sheds organised. Okay so the messy shed probably could have waited, but not if your name is Mr I-Get-A-Twitch-At-The-Sight-Of-Unorganised-Chaos.
This weekend in between showers of steady rain the sun peeked its head out, funny old weather. We shifted steers in the mud off their lush lucerne, we restocked the pine cone box by the front door, we butchered a few lambs we killed last week, we watched some newly sown oats pop up. Then we collapsed in front of the fire with a glass of red and a snoring little black dog as company. Slow and simple weekends, with only a few thousand head of cattle needing you, are most definitely my favourite.