When we arrived here at Upper Park last summer, the fields were alive with the sounds of sheep baaing and cows mooing. (I'm talking rural Scotland here, just for context.)

It was a time of abundant poo.

A time of these weird poo-loving flies, and nosy neighbors.

It was a time of opening and closing gates. To keep the sheep in here, out of here. In there, not here. Driving up to the house meant stopping at gate one, getting out of the car, opening gate, getting back in the car, driving forward, getting out of the car, closing gate, getting back into car, driving.

And then, a little further on, doing the exact same thing again.

It was a time of... patience.

I won't even talk about the frustrations of driving through herds of sheep and cattle, except to point out that they don't always like to move.

Anyway, then came winter. The four legged beasts moved down to lower pastures. The fields were clear of everything but pheasants and quail - and the occasional deer. Granted, pheasants have their own strange relationship with automobiles. They tend to run down the track as we drive, getting more and more frantic, but continuing to follow the track. Everywhere it turns they turn. As does our car...

Last month, there was the great pheasant slaughter. Lordly-folks with guns, minions to herd the birds toward them. You know how it goes. Feathers flew. Birds splattered. After that...

Ah, the solitude.

Gradually, the poo dissolved. The flies vanished. Saba (our carnivore) grew calmer without the constant moving display of prey.

Until today.
The girls are back. They arrived in all their glorious abundance. Oh joy.

The cows can't be far behind.

Oh, the flies too.

Labels: Scotland, Upper Park