Soggy Fields, Warm Hearts

A Farmer’s Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve on the Farm
Usually, this time of year sees me racing around to deliver orders from our online pork shop, making sure families up and down the country can enjoy ethically raised, high-welfare meat over the holidays. But this Christmas is different. Court battles and planning hearings have slowed our usual whirlwind pace, and the fields outside are drenched with rain, leaving mud that tries its best to steal my boots every time I venture outside.

Despite these challenges, a short escape to Cornwall for a family wedding offered a welcome breather—a chance to take in sea air instead of the constant damp of the farm. Yet, the moment I returned, I felt that familiar pull of responsibility. Our animals still need the same dedicated care—feeding schedules, clean bedding, daily check-ups—even on Christmas Eve. High-welfare farming means there’s no day off, especially when winter’s grey skies decide to overstay their welcome.

This year, I won’t be out on a delivery run at midnight or juggling a rush of last-minute Christmas orders. Instead, I’m grappling with the worry of how government budget changes might squeeze out small-scale farms like mine. It’s disheartening to think that the future of our hard work—and the animals we’ve poured so much care into—could hinge on the stroke of a pen in Parliament. But I refuse to let bureaucracy overshadow the reason I started farming in the first place: to raise healthy animals in a way that respects both them and the land.

So, as I manage the routine tasks—tromping through the mud, hauling fresh straw for bedding, ensuring everyone is snug before night falls—I’m reminded that the spirit of Christmas doesn’t come from picture-perfect conditions or shiny adverts. It comes from caring about something deeply, even when it’s inconvenient or difficult. High-welfare isn’t just a buzzword; it’s a promise that each animal is treated well, no matter how waterlogged the fields are.

When you sit down to your Christmas meal, I hope you’ll remember the countless farmers who are out there in the rain and the muck, determined to keep animals healthy and livelihoods intact. For me, Christmas Eve may be muddy, but it’s also a reminder of what I treasure most: a connection to the land, a love for the animals under my care, and the unwavering belief that small-scale farms matter.

Wishing you a warm and peaceful Christmas Eve from our soggy fields to yours. Stay dry, savour each bite, and—if you can—spare a thought for the farmers whose Christmas never quite stops.