It's snowing. Christmas was clear but now it's snowing quite hard.
I suppose the Scots would poo par this attempt to remind us that winter has yet still a few surprises in store. They, a more stoic, phlegmatic people are used to snow and ice and the hardship it brings, especially the hill farmer.
Out in all weathers this adds just another dimension to the husbandry of animals or the reliance on weather to grow his crops. It's a tough life often carried out living in some remote farmhouse, solidly built but spare on comfort and modern amenities.
Mud everywhere and a time table which runs to mother natures errand not our own. Severn days a week they have to be up and about doing the chores and a thousand variations, filled with expectation and chilled with disappointment. I'm not talking of the 'southern squire' with his thousands of acres under cultivation, mechanised up to the hilt, I have in mind the small holding, rented, clutching to the side of a hill or mountain, always in competition with the bank, always shuffling the bills. The suicide rate for these farming folk is extremely high as they battle their independence in a financial world which no longer values the characteristics they represent. Tenacity and a willingness to think 'long'. To solve problems by using their own imagination and having lots and lots of patience.
A regular cash flow and market security are not their provenance and in the tight air conditioned environment of a bank managers office, his view of the snow falling outside his window is, like mine, purely one of moderate inconvenience.
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