THERE was a high chance that I would be dictating this column from a tractor cab this week, while simultaneously begging for a deadline extension and attempting to answer emails as I tried to gauge how much water was left in the old girl, and how long I had before the whole shooting match melted down.
When I say, old girl, I mean the tractor, but you could be forgiven for thinking I was referring to myself. I’m frazzled – and have been for months. It feels like this entire year has been a case of running around with my hair on fire, leaping from one thing to another, everything needing attention now.
My nearest and dearest often point out that I can’t type and breathe at the same time, so thinking I can answer emails while driving a tractor is probably a stretch, but it rarely stops me trying. You’ll be glad to hear that I wasn’t on the road whilst endeavouring to multitask – I’m in a field with enough of a margin for error to be reasonably safe – as long as I remember where the ditches are, but based on last year’s antics (and the mockery from those who had to haul me out) that is not a given. Yesterday I had to pause my tractor-based activities to nip home and urgently file two trademarks.
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Two businesses, a croft, a column and a part-time job bring with them quite the deluge of “things” and most of the time, I can handle those five roles and responsibilities quite well.
I take pride in prioritising, time-boxing and pomo-ing. I write tasks on digital cards and use a kanban board to track progress. I break things down into smaller tasks and work my way through them methodically, ticking things off my list. I love a list so much that even my lists have lists. Random thoughts go on Post-it notes ready to be added to my backlog of tasks. The tasks are colour-coded depending on which hat they belong to. Life is purple, the Development Trust is blue, tea is racing green, website client work is a light green, the croft is brown, Scottish island gifts are pink … you get the gist.
My head might be home to a lot of hyperactive squirrels but as a rule, I can keep them in check to the extent that I fool myself into thinking I have some semblance of control.
That control is lost at least twice a year. Lambing is one. This time of year is the other one.
Lamb sales, family commitments, baling and for me, a couple of big, time-sensitive and complex projects have combined with being horribly over-committed, run down and generally exhausted. I simply cannot think. I’m forgetting things that I would normally remember, I’m on a short fuse and bereft of patience. I’m burnt out.
All year I’ve been picking things up – wonky lamb madness, increased sales and all the logistical hell that comes with that, as well as a newfound requirement to feed the social media content beast. I have failed to put anything down.
If it can wait, it’s having to wait. If I’ve not answered your text, DM, email or phone call, it’s not because I’m ignoring you. It’s frankly worse – you just didn’t make the cut. That, bless them, includes my family, who often only know I’m still alive thanks to my social media output.
At this time of year, it’s the things that cannot wait that have to take priority. If it’s good enough weather to cut grass and get baled, then that’s what you do.
It doesn’t matter how many flames are coming out of my nest of squawking inboxes. Last week, the priority was selling lambs. This week, the priority is getting the harvest in and getting orders away to the US before the de minimis rules change on August 29.
I’m prioritising things ruthlessly (not always correctly, I might add), and hoping against hope that next week will be less manic. It never seems to be.
My priorities may vary over the course of the year but the top one never changes. Animal welfare. I may not always spot a problem as soon as I should, but as soon as I know about it, I have to prioritise it. I can’t miss dosing the lambs, or dealing with fly strike, or sorting out a lame sheep.
The priorities then go in order of web clients, paid employment and the sanity of my staff (although they might beg to differ). Then comes tea and yarn. Somewhere in the mix is the following week’s 1200 words for the Sunday National. Next, it’s general croft tasks – fences, gates, and all the things that naturally go wrong when you have 60 acres and livestock. After that, it’s grass cutting, invoicing, accounts, remembering to put the bins out, housework (haha) and smoke detector batteries. Then it’s me. I’m well aware that that is the root of the issue. I don’t need self-proclaimed wellness experts on TikTok to tell me. I just need to look in the mirror.
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Help doesn’t help, because I don’t have the energy to explain what needs to be done. I just want to be left the hell alone. Which is not working. Messages fly in all the time. On at least three occasions in the last four days, not getting an instant response from me has precipitated follow-up emails, texts and calls. All important in their own right, but none important enough to get an immediate response – not least because I’m in the middle of a field.
Some might tell me to leave the bales alone and focus on the other priorities – but I won’t, because being in a tractor is one of my happy places.
This week, in the midst of everything, I spent a day in Gunna (a small island between Tiree and Coll), helping shear the resident flock of Hebrideans. It brought me joy. It’s a task that has a start and a finish – with the bonus of going over on a wee boat and a terrible mobile signal.
The baling is the same – contractors have cut and baled, but the bales still need to be moved, wrapped and stacked. It’s a job that has a start and a finish. I pick up the bale, I move the bale, I put the bale down. The bale is wrapped and stacked. Rinse and repeat.
No-one is asking me to circle back, or asking me a clarifying question. No-one is asking me to quote for a project that even they don’t understand. No-one is asking me to reduce my quote, or wanting to know whether I can hop on a call. No-one is having a meltdown over an insignificant element of a large project.
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So much of my life involves things that never end. Even building websites results in ongoing queries, issues, server failures and inbound support requests that need attention “now”. It’s exhausting.
But me, my beloved Massey Ferguson 390 and a pile of bales? That’s a delight.
And in that cab is where I remember that for all the pressure and chaos, the life I’ve built is one that works for me.
The two sides of my life – the tangled web of never-ending people related things – and the clear-cut crofting year of mainly manageable tasks – balance each other out. I can’t imagine one without the other, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
No-one is more surprised than I am to discover I’m filing this early, so I’m off to celebrate with a day in the tractor. Please don’t call. I’m not going to answer.
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