Farmers predict bumper scone harvest in 2026
By The Hamester·DUMFRIES, 13th July 2026
Yesterday’s NFU announcement of a bumper scone crop spurred me on to do some more research about the origins of the scone. There’s no shortage of coverage on the health impacts and the growing range of diseases caused by this strang plant-animal hybrid that recently was recognised as it’s own food group by the WFP. But there’s scant information about there on the growing process and the heroic farmers who rear them.
In this Doonhamer special report we’ll be looking at the farm-to-plate life of this fascinating creature.
My first stop was at Macelvey’s, one of the largest free-range scone farms this side of Eskdalemuir. My crew had been sworn to secrecy about the location as scone prices have risen dramatically in the past 2 years and they can now fetch up to 6 pence a head at market. Despite the bumper crop, demand is still outstripping production as levels of addiction rise in the big towns. This terrible scourge is so deeply entrenched in our urban cafes that some don’t bother to read the menu anymore, just rushing up to the counter groaning, “Scone and a latte, scone and an latte.”
Other in the earlier stages of addiction, pretend to have choices and when the waiting staff come over say, “Nothing for me, I’ll just have a scone.”
Back in the fields
But enough the dark side of scones. As we crested the hill by the slaughter house we were greeted with field after field of scones running around, free range, just as your god had intended them. Before harvest the males are purple with a yellow streak down their back and a small beret-like hat. It’s a far cry from the scone you see in your plate. Our presence causes a flutter among the herds as they are notoriously shy. After things have settled the females start to emerge, slowly at first, but then their iridescent green wings start to dominate the scene, shimmering in the dappled Eskdale light.
Now in the field among one of the herds, the scones are warming to us, as they see we are no threat. Mackenzie Macelvey has also communicated to them in sign lanugage that we mean no harm to them. I whisper to the crew to not tell them about the taste test we have lined up in Lochfoot tomorrow.
After a few moments of amorous leg frotage the scones head over to a far corner of the field, chasing a fast moving shadow cast by a cloud. Now all scattered and mixed, I can’t help but notice that they resemble the corporate colours of the D&G Council and wonder if that’s where the inspiration came from.
Lifecycle
When asked how old these scones are Macelvey chuckles, “Oh these are just the wee ones, they’ve still go their berets. You’d only get a pea-sized scone out of these ones. There’s not many that’ll eat the young ones anymore. You’ll have to head over to my cousin’s farm if you want to see them in their mature stage.”
And so we bid Mackenzie farewell and head to Macelvey & Macelvey to see the sharp end of scone production.
What struck me as we approached the farm was the enormous piles of fresh fruit stacked up in the former silage bays. It was my first question to Donald Macelvey.
“People demand much bigger scones. Gone are the days when I could get two in my hand. Now I need both hands just to catch a scone as it bursts out of its exploding host. That requires a lot of inputs and those inputs are the fruits you see here.”
“Is that how the raisin get in the fruit scones?” I asked.
At the point Donald yelled, “DUCK!” and pushed me aside. A beige circle flew past my eyes and Donald grabbed it with both hands. He chucked it to his daughter, Mavis. “There’s another early one for the tomorrow’s deliveries. Make sure this ones goes to a cafe in Dumfries. It’ll keep them quiet.”
Then he turned back to me, “Now you, Hamester, if that even is your name. How do you know about the raisins? I SAID, HOW DO YOU KNOW …”
END TRANSMISSION
Editor’s note. This article was cobbled together from a live transmission made by the Hamester and our outside broadcast unit. We haven’t heard from Hamester for over a week now and the OB unit staff have resigned and gone on a silent retreat on Iona.
If you have any idea of the Hamester’s whereabouts, please leave your message on a postcard at Burns’s Statue.
