I grew up on a dairy farm..
farms are the best place ever for kids, in the summer my friends, sister and i had a den in a giant cider vat, played tennis in the cow yard, made giant paddling pools with a square of hay bales covered in plastic sheeting filled with water, clambered over mountains of haybales, pretended we were cowgirls by chasing the cows on our ponies, made rafts to float down the river on (and then get rescued by dad a mile downstream) and make gallons of milkshakes.
one time in the winter, the fields flooded and then froze so we had about 30 acres of ice rink to skate on and dick around doing skids in the landrover :-D
(bryo, Thu 24 May 2012, 17:36, 1 reply)

Some of my best friends are farmers...
Actually all of my friends are farmers or gardeners, rural workers, etc. I got an invite to one mates Stag-do the other week, the instructions were to "Bring as much meat as possible for the bbq, as much home-brew as you can carry and all the guns you can get hold of" the venue was undisclosed other than the village it was in and that it would be in a woods 'somewhere'. Squirrel was shot and eaten, huges fires burned and jumped and an inevitable amount of outdoor shitting. There was a fair bit of 'Flare Cricket' as well (flare fired at drunk man, drunk man - wielding cricket bat). I'm the only office worker out of pretty much all of the men in my friend group, which often makes me the odd-one out, having never owned or fired a gun I presumed that I'd get there and be hunted throughout the woods with gun toting morons chasing me with assorted weaponary. Thankfully I wasn't. I love my friends.
( SauronWibble I'll hold it, you lick it..., Thu 24 May 2012, 17:35, Reply)

Apaches
Slightly off topic:

I lived out in rural Lincolnshire* - did all the usual dangerous stuff in farms, forests, fields; forts made of still sloshing weedkiller drums, old fridges, stacks of rocks "borrowed" from dry stone walls. Then I watched "Apaches" at school - the public safety program:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=P0GyRz_lOQA

scared me shitless. The image of the kid drowning in a slurry pit has stayed with me my entire life. It didn't stop me being stupid with matches in fields of wheat, but I never EVER played cowboys & indians again.

*As opposed to urban Lincolnshire...umm...

.
( gp_guineapig, Thu 24 May 2012, 17:30, 11 replies)

i got sent to live on a farm once.
after my dad died.

they were slaughtering lambs - didnt make much sound tho.

er
(magictorch, Thu 24 May 2012, 17:09, 1 reply)

A friend of a friend....
No really, although I did meet him and heard this story from him. I seem to remember his name was Sean.

Anyway, this guy was dating a girl who lived on a farm in the country somewhere.

He'd been seeing her quite for a while and all was going well but he wasn't getting any, until one day they went horse-riding together. The young lady seemed to be getting more and more excited as they rode until, eventually she dragged him from his saddle and practically raped him.

It turned out that she was turned on by horses, so much so that even the smell would get her in the mood.

Fast forward a few weeks and they are in her bed together, but she just cannot seem to get in the mood. This is when Sean has a genius idea.

He runs downstairs, clad only in his boxers to the field by the farmhouse where her horse is tethered and starts rubbing himself against the horse. His plan being to acquire the smell of horse and thus turn on his lady friend.

Apparently the police who happened to drive by at that moment and catch him, near-naked, rubbing himself up against a horse, were quite understanding, if not a little amused, once his shame-faced girlfriend vouched for him.
( CQ Knows the truth, all of it., Thu 24 May 2012, 16:59, 6 replies)

my great grandfather
Lived in the south of the USA and had a very successful cotton farm. unfortunately he lost all his farming equipment when the employment laws changed.
(Bushcricket, Thu 24 May 2012, 16:23, 1 reply)

Our school had a farm
They also invented lessons called 'Rural Sciences', which basically consisted of shoveling bovine shite, catching verruccas from the wellies they made you wear and in my case, being headbutted in the arse by a goat called Tilly.
(GirlOfTheWorld, Thu 24 May 2012, 15:44, 2 replies)

I saw a tragic tractor once.
It turned into a flid.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Thu 24 May 2012, 15:43, 3 replies)

I grew up
in Herefordshire, the land of farms and the best dam cider and breweries (Wye valley).. Anyway as a wee nipper we were always up to hijinks building forts made up of hay bails, playing with air rifles, bow and arrows etc and falling through barn floors - abandoned barns are great fun for forts unless the floor is rotten..
We had a farmer in our village who would shoot at trespassers, until one day he got reported to the police - meat waggons and helicopters all descended in my village. It became village gossip for years.
I then ended up working on a friends farm over the summer for extra cash - I now know how to kill cows, sheep, pigs and chickens.
Sledging down the side of the HUGE hill when we got snowed in and being chased by a bull..
Now the village is full of upper middle class idiots who drive their kids 200m down the the school and back in 4x4s.. in my days we were just let loose to run wild - fun times.. the basic structure of an old fort I built when I was 8 (I'm now 32) is still there.. good times.
( The invisible ham Fig rolls are the best, Thu 24 May 2012, 15:43, 3 replies)

I once saw a magic tractor.
It turned into a field.
A field of rape. Happy birthday PsychoChomp.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Thu 24 May 2012, 15:42, Reply)

Once upon a time
in the olden days when kids could do things without being wrapped in cotton wool, I went to Germany with the guides. One of the activities was going off in groups and hiking for a couple of days, no adults, vague directions and half the party not speaking the other half's language.

For sleeping arrangements we could sleep under the stars or (as we did) ask a farmer nicely if you could sleep in their barn, which is what we did. After witnessing a car crash and something involving helicopters (I genuinely only have hazy memories of this) 6 of us clambered up an enormous pile of hay and had a snooze.

As it was such an enormous haystack and I wasn't very good at climbing, I stopped part way up on a kind of hay ledge and slept very nicely there (after one of the german guys spent a while freaking out that the farmer was going to kill us in our sleep and there was some kind of conspiracy going on)

In the night, though, I had moved and hay had slipped away to reveal that my lovely sleeping spot had in fact been a very large, rusty (and I'm sure full of sharp bits) piece of farm yard machinery. I climbed down much more carefully.
( Citizen Cavy Admires your passion for conformity, Thu 24 May 2012, 15:32, 1 reply)

So I'm going to the b3ta bash on Saturday, where I'm sure I will be photographed wearing - and doing - all kinds of things
Could the shitcunt autistic users of this forum please let me know what they deign acceptable modes of dress and conduct? I'd hate to spoil your wanking fantasies by wearing the wrong T-shirt or something.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Thu 24 May 2012, 15:20, 74 replies)

A friend teaches primary school in Cumbria.
At the moment the kids are learning about evacuation during WW2. They have to write postcards, as if they were London kids writing home from the country. They find it hard to understand the idea of living in the city. At some point, they were told that a lot of the evacuees had no idea that, for example, bacon came from pigs.

Several of the kids have misunderstood this, and there are a few postcards where the poor evacuees arrived in Cumbria and were promptly presented with a whole pig for dinner. "I stuck my fork in it and it squealed and ran off" was my favourite.
(Sivvus trolley collision in the fruit aisle led to a jam, Thu 24 May 2012, 15:16, Reply)

Sliding down haystacks
When playing in hay, whether as a child or for slightly more intimate reasons, please remember that:

1. Chickens lay eggs in hay.
2. Eggs go bad.

My mum didn't, and had to be hosed off in the sheep dip.
(Sivvus trolley collision in the fruit aisle led to a jam, Thu 24 May 2012, 15:13, 5 replies)

I saw someone with an extra chromosome in a field once.

( R.Soul hmmm, Thu 24 May 2012, 14:57, 1 reply)

Sex on a farm
If you ever decide to try out this endevour take a blanket or 2 with you.
Why?

1) Hay is NOT comfy when naked.

2) Animals shit everywhere. Everywhere!
( Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Thu 24 May 2012, 14:42, 3 replies)

A friend of mine was voted Farmer of the year once
He was out standing in his field.
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Thu 24 May 2012, 14:24, 2 replies)

Field Trips
Back in my younger days (about ten years ago) I was a trainee teacher and was sent to a school to shadow a fully qualified educator of our countries little darlings. The kids I was dealing with were five to six years old and still full of the wonders of life.
One day we took them to a farm so they could see their future dinners up close and as much as I hate to say this there were no unfortunate incidents that are worth reporting, there wasn't even a sick on the bus story to tell.

The next day we're all back in class and the kids are still clearly excited from the previous day so the teacher uses this as an excuse to see if they learned anything from their trip.
The questions weren't to taxing, stuff like 'what's a baby sheep called?' 'where does a cow live?' and right at the end just before playtime the teacher asked 'What sounds did we hear yesterday children"
and there was a cacophony of moos, baas, quacks and barks until one little voice piped up
from the back shouting "GET OFF THAT FUCKING TRACTOR!"
(Official Sarc, Thu 24 May 2012, 14:23, 4 replies)

When we were nippers my best mate and I had our own field to sledge in.
It was in a very long and steep field and because of this was a popular area for sledging. Each winter snow was pretty much guaranteed as it was 1/2 way up the road inbetween Macclesfield and Buxton. Inevitably each year people from the towns would start turning up and without permission from the farmer start clambering over his walls and encroaching on OUR field.

"This field is private, It's just for us." we'd tell everyone.

"Says who?" I recall one particularly arrogant father asking us as he lifted each of his brood over the wall into our field.

"Him!" I said pointing at Jim the farmer, as he emerged from his farmhouse with a double-barrelled shotgun cracked over his arm.

I've never seen someone throw their children back over a wall so quickly in my life before.

I think Jim did let people sledge in OUR field though but it cost them something like 50p per person. Usually by the time the masses rocked up our feet were so numb we didn't actually want to sledge any more anyway.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Thu 24 May 2012, 14:04, 2 replies)

No funnies, really, just a memory
When I was 11 or 12, and just getting to the stage of becoming rabidly obsessed with interested in girls, some family friends upped sticks from their house half a mile from us in London, and moved to a tiny village in Gloucestershire.

Being a townie, I hadn't spent much time in the countryside, and our visits during the summer were a bit of a revalation.

Me and my brother were matching ages with the 2 girls of the family. So their friends were all similar ages too. A fair mixture of boys and girls, all slightly randy but clueless as to what it was really all about.

Near where they lived was an old and abandoned farm, with several haylofts, a piggery and diverse other large straw filled buildings.

I can still feel that summer now (1978 or so, I guess) lots of experimenting, snogging games and such in semi dark places that smelt like chamomile tea, and spears of sunshine threw themselves through gaps in the wooden walls.

Too young to really go very far, but I got to play with my first tit that year.
(username failed moderation, Thu 24 May 2012, 14:03, 8 replies)

Audi vs Chicken
With no apologies for length... My brother wrote this for my blog, and I'm sad to say that in ten years it's still the funniest thing to appear on the website. Bastard.

Back-story: His partner has a horse. It is kept on a farm. It has chickens.

This might come as a shock to some people, but chickens are the most stinky, repulsive and nasty creatures to walk the earth. Not only would they eat anything and everything put in from of them, they'd eat each other at the drop of a hat given half a chance. They're like rats with feathers and with more attitude. And what's with all that horrible red dangly skin stuff around their faces? It looks like they're all wearing Harry Redknapp's eyelids. And I hate the way they strut around giving it the large one.

Anyway, when we arrived, the farmyard was covered in the little pecky tossers. I backed the car up at 0 mph across the yard until I reached the barn. I then crippled myself heaving bags of stuff into the barn whilst she cooed and kissed the horse like a 'My Little Pony' advert.

When I was done, I noticed that the chickens where gathering around my car - and one of the fuckers even pecked the door! I ran at them shouting that piece of language that is internationally recognised in a way that the inventors of Esperanto can only dream: "Fuck off!"

Chickens shot off in all directions like a feathery firework. I check under the car to make sure that they'd all gone. Oh God, there's one still under there, next to my front wheel. Not moving, and its head's under my wheel. Bollocks.

"I've fucked a chicken... No, really...With my car. Help."

I move the car forward, to reveal a truly haunting sight. The chicken was squashed into the mud and its head and neck were at a really fucked-up angle. It's lifeless eye was staring up at me and we were just debating if we needed to let the farm owner know when its beady black eye blinked at me! I nearly shat myself.

"I knew it would be alright", she said matter-of-factly. "It'll be fine in a minute"

"What do you fucking mean it'll be fine?", I whisper, fearing discovery by Mrs Farmer. "It's been run over!"

"No, it'll have had worse."

"Come again?"

"They always get trodden on - it'll be OK."

"It's not been trodden on though, has it?", I retorted, looking wildly around for signs of the chicken's owner. "It's been fucking parked on."

She then proceeded to pluck Lucky from the puddle of mud (she made a loud squelch and left a perfect Kellogg's-like imprint) and carry her into the barn. I got my car keys out and flicked the mud out of its beak. It made some very odd noises while I had to run around aiming kicks at her concerned comrades who, unlike the solidarity and niceness shown in Chicken Run, were trying to eat their former friend.

On closer examination, I discovered a tiny droplet of blood on Lucky's beak. In other words, the sole visible injury that the chicken sustained after having an Audi parked on its head for ten minutes was a nose-bleed. A fucking nose bleed. Why don't they make cars out of the stuff that chickens heads are made of?
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 24 May 2012, 13:59, 7 replies)

There's a saying that God looks after babes and drunkards.
My sisters and I built a den out of hay bales. This was back in the day when they were rectangular.

This den was ace - it took a good 20 or so bales, and had a roof and everything.

In it we sat on that beautiful summer's afternoon, sheltering from the heat in the shade that it provided, and it was there that my older sister taught us how to smoke.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 24 May 2012, 13:58, 1 reply)

janet aylia and I were on this farm a year or so ago.
And we both got our giblets trapped in an OMRON RS3410 cash drawer. Hilarity ensued, etc...
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Thu 24 May 2012, 13:50, 1 reply)

Seeing this page is usally full of puns
Anyone hear much about that tractor movie?

I've only seen the trailer...
(Samantha Bricks Better half done a poo on, Thu 24 May 2012, 13:46, 3 replies)

Not Really A Farm...
But we used to have sheep.

I was young and innocent treating all the lambs as pets thinking the only use for sheep for wool (I was only 4 or 5).

I helped feed the lambs and was able to pet and stroke them. I was so happy I even had my 2 favourites Larney and Barney.

All was well till a few started "running away" but hey as long as my 2 stayed nearby.

Sunday dinner, my Granda and my uncle were up with myself and my Ma. Tucking into lovely meat when my Ma said "This is lovely meat, where did you get it" Note that she in her finite wisdom was trying to protect me from the knowledge that i was earing lamb. My Granda wasn't so subtle.

"Up in the field, we just don't know if it was Larney or Barney though"

Bastards
(Samantha Bricks Better half done a poo on, Thu 24 May 2012, 13:45, 1 reply)

Agnostic Antichrist's mum is dead
Quick everyone feel sorry for him


awwwwwww
( Light In Chains maker of the ikea sofa, Thu 24 May 2012, 13:39, 21 replies)

Have you ever heard about the Magic Tractor?
It went down the road, and turned into a field.
( Agnostic Antichrist Baltimora, Thu 24 May 2012, 13:37, Reply)

once i went to a farm and a goose chased me and i didn't like it.
have i won?
( janet aylia y'all motherfuckers need jesus, Thu 24 May 2012, 13:30, 8 replies)

I saw a tractor once.

( Fucking hell Jeff I am not a robot, Thu 24 May 2012, 13:22, 2 replies)

First!
Farm stories... JAB springs to mind...
(Rumbling Bear rumbled on, Thu 24 May 2012, 13:21, 1 reply)