Well it was the beginning of an adventure! Moving to a farm in Devon aged 12 felt like stepping straight into a life I’d been dreaming of since forever. After years of being an army brat -packing up, settling in, packing up again – the idea of staying in one place long enough to know every bit of it, felt almost unreal. Stability wasn’t something I was used to, but the moment we turned down that winding Devon lane, something in me settled. This was different. This was home. This was Ridge Farm!
It was incredibly beautiful. Rolling green fields, hedgerows teeming with life, and a sky so wide it made every army base we’d ever lived on feel tiny. I remember pressing my forehead against the car window as we drove up our lane for the first time. It was everything I’d imagined. Not just the farm, but the space, the quiet and the chance to breathe.
And, of course, then there was the pony.
The promise of having my own pony had been the golden thread running through every conversation about the move. When I finally met her, Candy was her name, a shaggy, very stubborn little mare with more attitude than height, it felt like the beginning of something huge. She wasn’t just a pony; she was my first real constant.
And so the adventure began! Life on the farm was perfect. But there was a lot to learn! What to do when 350 sheep joined our family for a start!
Learning to work with sheep as a kid is basically a masterclass in humility, chaos management, and developing lightning‑fast reflexes. You start out thinking you’re the boss. You’re not and sheep know this immediately.
My first discovery – sheep don’t walk in straight lines. They zig. They zag. They teleport. You’ll be told to “just guide them into that pen,” which sounds simple until you realise you’re essentially trying to convince a group of stubborn fluffy toddlers to work together.
Then comes the moment you learn that sheep have opinions. Strong ones. About everything. Especially about you. One will stare at you like you’ve personally offended its ancestors. Another will attempt to eat your coat, your shoelaces, and whatever else it can reach. And of course, there’s always one sheep – every farm has her – who decides she’s the Beyoncé of the flock and refuses to participate in anything unless it was her idea first.
Working with sheep doesn’t make you graceful. It doesn’t make you cool. But it does give you stories, bruises, and a lifelong ability to stay calm when surrounded by chaos. Maybe it’s these skills that have stood me in good stead to organise the weddings we now host on our farm! Some guests have very similar qualities to the sheep!
