It all started for me when I was caught making straw houses out of the bales that were being regurgitated from the machine in the field behind our house. As a child who challenged the status quo everywhere I went—from shops (“leave him outside”) to school (“it’s best he stays in the corner”)—I had an unquenchable amount of energy and a strange inability to concentrate on anything for any length of time. I struggled indoors; my true environment, and the one I always felt safest in, was outdoors, day and night, and I still do.
I recently spoke to Mum, who recalled a story whereby the school rang up (nothing new about that, she thought) and said they were sorry to say that your son is completely deaf.
My mother said, “What do you mean?
The lady replied “He was tested today by an external examiner and completely failed the test” (no change there then).
My mum asked, “Is that digger still working outside the school?”
“Yes,” the lady said.
My mum replied, “Could he see the digger when the test was being carried out?”
“Yes, probably, why?” she asked.
“He would have been completely deaf; put him in a room with no distractions.” Fortunately, this skill is still with me!
Becoming a farmer:
The farmer invaded the field with such temper that my friend – I did have one – ran off, leaving me to start my agricultural career all on my own. After some negotiation, I explained that I was willing to help him load the bales onto the trailer and all the other bales in the field to avoid further calls to my mother.
I helped him that day and for the rest of my childhood, every single day, every single evening, from that day on, I had a purpose: somewhere to put this amount of energy into a task that, surprisingly, I was never going to complete and would only sometimes get right.
When I was 14, entrepreneurship was already starting to track around my mind. I failed my maths O-level but always seemed capable of adding up and taking away with money. I went to a farm sale and bought a turkey veranda, which was an old-fashioned way of keeping turkeys. I remember it like it was yesterday—so proud! It had iron wheels, and I pulled it all the way back to a small piece of land that I had managed to get for myself. I reared the day-old turkeys, put them in the veranda, and then made what I see now to be a basic mistake: when I set it up, I did not put the electric fence around. I’m not sure there were electric fences then. The veranda stood 3 feet off the ground, with a slated floor; the fox pulled all the turkeys through the floor and killed the lot.
Lesson 1
If it can happen, it will happen.
This year’s turkeys are my 29th crop from Bickham. They have a strong, well-patrolled electric fence around them!
I have just a few to sell, so let me know if you would like one
—
Roddy
Keepin’ it rural,
PS: Can you guess which one in the photo is me?
