Will’s World: The best job in the world but it isn’t farming
© Richard Stanton On the day our eldest daughter was born, my mother said to me, with tongue only half in cheek: “Congratulations. Now you’ll never stop worrying again.”
Amid all the euphoria of becoming a parent for the first time, I didn’t fully realise what she meant, and almost certainly rolled my eyes internally. But it turns out that the old dear was right.
Funny how mums make a habit of that, isn’t it?
See also: How careful planning avoids farm property family friction
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Now, suddenly, it’s the end of the summer holidays and our girls have gone back to school.
Although part of me is silently rejoicing at the return of my quiet weekday breakfast times and the fact that I’ll be able to hear myself think again, mostly I just feel bereft.
It is sad that I haven’t been able to make as many memories with them as I’d have liked, as yet another year whizzes frantically by.
Freedom to roam
I suppose it’s the same for all parents, however you make your living – that constant worry in the back of your mind that you’re not getting the balance right between working hard to provide a stable future and opportunities for your children, and just simply spending quality time with them and being there when they need you.
It feels like a big thing to potentially get wrong, especially as we only get one fleeting chance at it, and it weighs heavily on my mind.
I know that as farmers we’re lucky in so many ways, and despite what feels like ever-increasing challenges and uncertainty, I wouldn’t choose to change the way we live.
Our girls have the freedom to tear about the place together, expressing themselves and making as much noise as they like, and it’s a joy to witness (when they’re not fighting like angry cats, that is).
We do get the inevitable questions from them sometimes, when they see their non-farming friends heading off on multiple days out and expensive holidays over the summer.
I only hope that when they get older, they’ll realise for themselves that there are more important things in life, and how fortunate they were to grow up in such an environment as this.
Dadding it
Time will tell. But despite my somewhat introspective start to this column, we did manage to steal away for a few days at the end of August.
It wasn’t to some exotic foreign location – the weather was distinctly hit-and-miss – and it was only one county away from home.
Nevertheless, we had a lovely time together and it did me the world of good to have a break.
Most exciting of all, we managed what I can only describe as “the holy trinity of dadness”: camping, hiking and barbecuing.
Never mind that we were camping in a field on a farm, were merely walking up a few local hills, and bought a disposable barbecue from the local garage to cook a few burgers and sausages.
That’s not the point. No, because in my mind at least, we were heading to an Everest base camp with a group of fellow heroes, and we must act and dress accordingly. This is the way of dads.
Through my intrepid command we got the tent up between the downpours; because of my map-reading skills we didn’t get too lost in the hills; with my grilling technique the food was only slightly burnt; and we laughed a lot throughout.
No doubt I’ll keep worrying, but being a dad is still the best job I’ve ever had.