Farm on the M62: The future will look so different - Jill Thorp
And just like that, we have a teenager in the house! The little guy is no more, replaced by a strapping lad, fiercely independent and opinionated and, of course, taller than me. The gorgeous blond- haired tot who has been my shadow, gripping my hand at every turn has vanished.
It has been a gradual transition, one I’ve quietly ignored, secretly hoping that it wasn’t happening whilst proudly watching him grow into his own shoes.
The time sat next to me on the sofa has slowly ebbed away, replaced by lengthy phone calls with his friends and solitary walks across the fields.
Family birthday parties have been pushed aside, in favour of clay pigeon shoots and rowdy sleepovers.
We had four of his closest friends for the weekend, leaving me hugely outnumbered and cringing as the ceiling above my head groaned under the weight of teenage boys crashing around, wrestling, play fighting and dancing!
I envisaged the old floorboards giving way and a pile of lads landing at my feet, shrieking with laughter and testosterone.
Eventually, however, somewhere in the early hours, the little guy’s bedroom fell quiet and I was able to get some sleep.
Our pickup has finally given up on us, it’s dashboard lit up like a Christmas tree with endless warnings and no amount of time in a garage can put them out. It’s a huge blow and a costly one leaving us back on familiar ground.
More borrowing, more debt and the accompanying worry. Many conversations have followed, late into the night as the log burner’s last dying embers have flickered quietly away.
A chance conversation with a friend recently has opened up a door for Paul and as we sat one night throwing ideas around the room, the decision was made.
His HGV licence would be put to use and work away from the farm was looking like our only option.
I wonder just how many of these difficult conversations have been overheard; has there been a little person listening in, knelt silently in the shadows absorbing our words.
Perhaps we haven’t shielded him from the reality of farming and it’s accompanying stress and uncertainty quite as well as we’d hoped.
Whilst I’ve ached at the loss of my little boy as he has grown and ever so gently begun to edge away from me, he has also distanced himself from the farm.
The passion has ebbed, so very slowly, almost indiscernibly as new adventures pull him away from home.
Perhaps he’s taken note of the endless breakdowns, the constant mounting pile of things to repair and service as he seems keen to follow down his cousin’s route of agricultural engineering.
This of course is no bad thing and he will never struggle for work.
But as a school trip to Paris has taken favour over our annual holiday to the Great Yorkshire Show, I have to accept the little guy who once so desperately, so proudly marched his pet lamb around the white fenced rings in Harrogate, has grown up and moved on.
His wings are stretching out, craving new experiences and I can only sit and watch with a deeply painful sense of loss, but more importantly overwhelming pride as he embarks on new adventures.