Opinion: Quiet time on farm at Christmas worth the compromise
© Tim Scrivener There’s another explanation as to why the innkeeper sent Mary into the stable to have her baby.
He knew that immediately after the birth, she would wrap Baby Jesus up in whatever was handy, jump out of her makeshift bed and tend to his animals before she did anything else.
She simply wouldn’t have been able to settle into “mummy mode” while the chores were literally staring her in the face.
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This year, like thousands before them, there will be lots of farm children snuggled up in old jackets, lying in straw racks or sitting patiently in a cosy bedded calf pen, waiting for Mummy to feed the calves or milk the cows before there is any mention of presents or Christmas lunch.
Frozen solid after two hours playing in mud and milk powder, it’s time to head back inside to watch her prepare dinner while she downs the sparkling wine quicker than a Fastrac on a dual carriageway.
The Christmas morning ritual is a rite of passage for farm kids, learning from a very young age about work ethic, patience, commitment and priorities.
I’ve done my own fair share of festive jobs – carrying water to sheep pens, helping feed the pigs and even plucking turkeys. Mum and Dad appreciated the help and I loved the time I spent with them.
For many of us, it’s those early jobs that instil a connection to the land and animals, ultimately shaping our futures and leading us to a career in agriculture.
As I’ve got older, I’m thankful for the upbringing I had and want to create similar memories for our kids.
Unfortunately it’s not quite as idyllic in real life as it is in my head. We have a lot less time, and the relentless pressure of dairy farming today is a far cry from the small family farm where I grew up.
It’s true to say I’ve been very disillusioned with farming recently.
I started to resent the situation we were in and desperately wanted to give it all up for a life I thought my children would enjoy more.
The urge to throw off the shackles, buy a campervan and travel the world was quite strong some days.
Recently, though, when new government policies have threatened to take from our children everything we have worked so hard for, I realise that this corner of Lancashire and my family home in Derbyshire are the most important places in the world to me.
I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel a touch of envy watching our friends jet off on fancy skiing holidays, while we spend Christmas trudging about in the rain.
It’s hard not to feel we’re letting our kids down, or guilty for not providing them with wider life experiences.
Over the past couple of years we’ve made the decision not to calve any cows over Christmas and New Year.
Looking at the dusty old Bray Board in the office, I can say with some confidence that, although it’s not going to be good for the calving interval, we might get a couple of quiet days which we can spend with our boys.
Will they appreciate it? Maybe one day. When they’re feeding their own animals, watched by their own children patiently waiting to open presents, they will understand the compromises we made in order to make their childhoods happy ones.