In the past few weeks, some exasperated groans have been floating in the airwaves from the depths of the agricultural shed at Persabus.

Amusing himself with the delights of mechanical and technically challenging issues, the Happy Farmer’s headquarters have been awash with spanners and oil. Amidst the freezing cold temperatures of a draughty workshop, where indoors it seemed to plummet well below the slightly milder climes outside, the week’s entertainment involved a starter motor, tractor pipes, an exhaust and a seemingly ‘inexhaustible’ list.

Naturally, in the farming world, what starts out as a relatively easy task is never quite as straight forward as it initially appeared. In the shed, soon this simple job was growing arms and legs.

Minutes ticked into hours, eating away at time, as the tentacles of an octopus seemed to take over. Frustrations rose, tempers became frayed and suddenly the task became monumental.

Who knew tractor pipes on certain models, with a few ‘wee tweaks’ at the design stage, could provide those little added extras? The bonus of those annoying little brain teasers?

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Of course, once these conundrums are unravelled, parts then need to be identified, located, ordered, and delivered. Who knew serial numbers could appear in such tiny print, or is that an ‘age’ thing?

Visiting vans could be seen calling by the shed with support. The tractor ambulance was summoned and finally the tractor 'doctor' duly delivered the necessary parts.

In the good old days, wee Hughie would have come to the rescue. His cheery lilt was always just a phone call away and still is, if you can track him down on his gallivanting escapades.

His regular visits would lead to a good blether, a quick cuppa, or something a little stronger, depending on the hour. Soon the air would be filled with hearty craic.

Stories from farms up and down the West of Scotland would be regaled, unifying the strong connection and ties which run the whole length of the isles and beyond. Uniting and bonding the farming community, Hughie’s cheery persona kept the farmers informed and in tune with the necessary information, the banter, and the news.

All illustrated by those legendary photo galleries he has. A camera to hand and Hughie would snap you, and later you would appear in those albums capturing the characters, the gatherings, the memories, and the parties – all those agricultural events from the heart of a farming community.

The world and the tractor would certainly have been put to rights, and frustrations would thaw and melt away, as wee Hughie’s zest and vigour for life is infectious. That energy and positivity, as he embraced Hebridean farming life.

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The passion and knowledge he had, and his great nose for a fine malt, in his time as a salesman, has brought him not just tractor sales and machinery deals, but a far-reaching appreciation and respect across the farming community. If wee Hughie couldn’t find the necessary part to fix the machinery, one thing’s for sure, he always knew a man who would!

As an impatient flock looked on, finally, tractor services were resumed on the farm. The promise of those hearty breakfasts, as the riches of an Islay summer were served up in a bale of silage.

The sound of the tractor trundling into the fields once again, loaded with a heavy bale, and the sheep aren’t the only ones waiting.

Tiggy, the pup, is positively embracing farming life. A daily ‘sniff-lick’ at the feed block, and she can soon be seen immersing herself in the wonders of that full on ‘silage experience’.

It's an experience that involves bathing her body in the bed of silage, submerging herself from top to toe. Rolling in delight, as she gleefully covers herself, before enjoying that ‘full-on’ body scrub.

Lathering and rubbing the refreshing scent over herself, she smothers her fur with a good rub against the sides of the new bale. It leaves her positively glowing, with a spring in her step. Teeth then sink deep into the upright bale, and off she goes, racing round the field. Silage dripping from her jaws.

The Hebridean sheep look on with horror and complete disapproval. Gathered as a flock beside their bale, you can see them wondering at the ‘nutty tornado’ of energy, as Tiggy speeds like lightening round the field.

Leaping and bouncing high into the air, to do a lap or two, before returning for ‘seconds’, and another indulgent ‘silage bath’.

Who knew silage tasted so good? As it flies from her jaws, and off her glossy coat, she spreads it around the field. Despite my best efforts, Tiggy has that dogged determination to supplement her diet of premium, quality dog food with as many delightful additions as she can.

A daily ‘rummage’ through the fields and she seems to be thriving on ‘full throttle’, or is the scent of the baled goodies igniting her excitement at the thought of the summer to come?

Apparently, the wonders of the ‘silage experience’ is enjoyed by more than just one daft pup, judging by the aroma that follows the farming fraternity around the island at this time of year.

The distinctive scent wafts around the island’s farmhouses and coffee shops in winter months. If you do happen, on your travels, to see any of those farmers taking a tip out of Tiggy's nostalgic tales, as they roll around in the silage, spreading it across the fields, know they too are maybe just dreaming of the summer to come.

A time when once again they can get those tractors, and combines, harvesters, and balers, jiving away, dancing through the fields, long into those summer nights – and hopefully without any technical challenges.