Christmas Day hide-away

So that's another Christmas safely negotiated. As well as being a fun, happy time, it can be a difficult time of year, every year, for all sorts of people, for all sorts of reasons. We should spare a thought for them, and maybe actually do something to help, between now and next year?

Meanwhile, at the more trivial end of difficult, some of us will be racking our brains for gifts we will give to people, who neither need them or want what is given; some of us will spend money like crazy, and regret it for the next four credit card payments - while others of us will walk that familiar tightrope, of turkey, tinsel and family politics, in the knowledge that whatever we do, it will not be right.

Christmas Day for us, did not start off at all how I was hoping. Our son Joshua started proceedings at 5.15 am, by wishing us 'merry Christmas' in all its variants through his new 'voice changer' - which is, to all intents and purposes, a loud hailer. He then informed us, in a mutant kind of voice (still very loud), that he and his sisters were already more than halfway through present opening, and Natalie was asking 'should she put her party dress on now?'

For me, at least, it's hard to be enthusiastic about anything at that time in the morning, but it is Christmas,I say to myself, and I do my best. husband Henry manages to ignore both Christmas and loud hailer, and sleeps for an unfair amount of time longer.

So farm jobs and 'feeding round' happened earlier, than any other day so far this year. The animals must have thought it was Christmas or something. A farming friend always says how she enjoys the Christmas morning feed round, and I have to agree with her - probably sentimental, but I do tend to give everyone an extra helping, and sing a few Christmas carols to myself as I'm going along...

By mid afternoon, it became apparent that youngest daughter had not received a good number of presents that she should have. It would appear that 'mummy' had hidden a bag of presents so well, that it did not get sent to Santa when it should have done - and so Santa couldn't deliver the presents back to her.

This is not an unusual thing for me to do, having put many precious things 'in a safe place' never to be found again - and it took me until evening to locate the missing bag of presents. The ironic thing is that Natalie didn't mind at all. She was happy with what she'd got, even though this was significantly less than what her brother and sister had.

Ok, so Natalie is not all "I want, I want" in the way that some children are - but It was still a sharp reminder, that in our modern western society, too many of us really do live in a world of excess, and could manage quite happily with only half of what we've got. I vow to take this thought forward with me into the New Year: I just need to top up my wine glass and have another chocolate first...

http://www.dovefarm.co.uk/

on the first day of Christmas...

....the factory gave to me, a little chicken refugee.

On my way back from walking with Celine, our eldest, to catch the morning school bus, I was called over by one of the workmen from the foundry, which is just over the bridge from the farm.

I was duly presented with a small speckled hen, who had been discovered, crouching amongst the gas bottles in their yard, and had frightened one of their workers, half to death, that morning when she had squawked her way back into the world.

This little hen, (purchased from Leek market earlier this year, as a broody with chicks ) had been chased away from the farm, by a dog, more than two weeks ago. In fact I did not even know it was this hen - we just saw a chicken make its escape under one of the foundry buildings. We assumed it had made its own way back. Heaven only knows how this small bird had managed to survive for all this time.

The dog episode is a whole story in itself: Henry and I saw the alpacas racing around their field one morning, getting quite distressed, with a dog in eager pursuit. I recognised the dog, and knew it to be a friendly youngster, but in true adolescent fashion, it was determined to have its own way, and would not respond to any kind of human attempt to get it back under control.

Fortunately for the alpacas (though not for the hen) the dog was distracted by a bunch of chickens, and chased this one little hen as described above. After much patience and biscuit bribery from at least seven people, the dog was finally brought to a halt.

Even though these frolics were 'puppy-some' and without malice, the harm caused to livestock is serious and significant. Alpacas, like sheep can so easily abort from the kind of stress caused by a dog chasing about. I did ask the owner to imagine the financial cost of his dog's actions, if they were repeated in a field of pregnant alpacas or sheep. I hope he will keep his dog on a lead, the next time they are walking past our fields.

As for Little Miss Speckle? - she's relieved to be back with the rest of the girls, laying nicely. thank you.

www.dovefarm.co.uk

a little wet under foot

The weather just recently has been wet, wet, wet.

This means that the river Dove floods, and our riverside fields disappear from view. The track leading down to the fields also disappears for a day or two, when flooding is really bad.

I remember a few years ago, when the cows were completely stranded, because the stream at the bottom of the cattle drive had become a knee deep, impassable torrent. During these particular floods, we even lost our bull, who got washed away by the river, assumed dead.

Several weeks later came some astounding news via the cattlemarket grapevine: At the time of the floods, a bull had been washed up on the shores of a farm about four miles and two bridges downstream - battered and shaken... but alive. It was a mystery to all concerned as to where he had come from. This was how Henry got to hear about the hapless beast, so went to identify him and fetch him home.

We re-christened our unassuming hero, Robinson bull - who went on to stay with us for another good year or so, fathering many fine calves before gently moving on to a new home.

This time things have not been so drastic, but daily life around the farm is miserable, with wet and smelly coats, gloves, boots and overalls - all draped over kitchen chairs and fighting for best position in front of the aga - main opponents, being dog, cats and me! Priority given to the person who has to go out first, to brave the elements again.

As you might imagine, the cats NEVER want to go back out to brave the elements, but they get kicked out all the same, when we think they can cross their legs no longer!

www.dovefarm.co.uk

food with a face...and a name

'Food with a face' is what many vegetarians seek to avoid, if their choice to not eat meat is ethical, rather than dietary.

But what if the food has a face and a name? - this presents difficulties to even the most enthusiastic meat eaters. Pictured above is JoJo - one of this year's ram lambs and not yet fattened - this one will never be much good for anything, too small and weedy, but he does have a name, so how can we eat him? How could anyone eat him?

Our six ram lambs of this year, were named by the children - big mistake - practically as soon as each lamb was born - all beginning with the letter 'J' which is the registration letter for pedigree Ryeland sheep born in 2007. I thought the novelty would wear off and they would forget who's who, when it came to sorting and sending the 'fat lambs' away to be killed. hmmm....

...and at lambing time, I didn't think about the guilt I would feel later, in selecting by name, who lives and who dies.

It all sounds very melodramatic, but when you keep sheep on a small scale, you get to know them and they get to know you. The answer has to be a bigger flock!

I have agreed to hold on to 'Joshua' our first born ram at Dove Farm, (named ceremoniously after our son.) The girls thought this particular lamb was cuddly, friendly and very fond of his food, and immediately hit upon their brother's name. To keep this animal is pure sentiment on my part, because he's not the best of the bunch, but I absolutely cannot see Joshua cut up into lamb chops.

The 'real farmers' out there will despair I know, but there it is.

I'm the same with farmers markets and similar outlets - I'm all for provenance and traceability of livestock, but I really would not want to buy from someone who was proudly selling body parts of 'Daisy' the cow, neatly segmented and vacuum-packed, ready for the freezer. A name somehow conveys a connection between the person and the animal - and to brandish it about as a selling point for a cut of meat, is just too hideous. For me, it crosses an uncomfortable line, where an eartag number and a place of origin would suffice.

Next spring, we are on track for around 25 lambs at Dove Farm, and I am not making the same mistake again. Registration letter 'K' will certainly help in curbing any prolific naming tendencies. www.dovefarm.co.uk

the edge of chaos

...is a term coined by computer scientist Christopher Langton in 1990, referring to the outer reaches of mathematical variables, and yet how poetic the phrase. For a start, it defines my interpretaion of daily life at Dove Farm, so aptly portrayed by the items sitting on the kitchen side-table today:

1 x pumpkin left over from Halloween, waiting for pumpkin pie recipe

assorted pile of fruit in bowl

basket of eggs

2 x no smoking signs

various items of veterinary medicine

1 x peg basket

1 x can of pink spray-on hair glitter

pair of woolly gloves

dog's lead

1 x sheep skull (with detached lower jaw) found by Joshua.

this is a very old sheep that did not ever belong to us - no need to report us to authorities

1 x torch

numerous and various items of paperwork

1 x empty bottle of red (much enjoyed)

3 x conkers

1 x stale bread roll, destined for ducks

There's definitely part of me that leans towards 'earth mother' with flowing skirts and tumbling hair, resplendent in organic chaos.

With hair tucked under a John Deere cap, wading about in the organic brown stuff, I would say I am barely half-way there.

On the other side of my brain, lives the more ordered me, just about holding on to my heeled and suited office days, where there was a place for everything, and everything had its place, though if I'm honest, my desk was always on the dishevelled side of organised.

husband Henry is by far the tidier out of us two, in our household. As we share office and living space, we both tolerate a degree of messiness from the other person - but it always culminates in a flurry of swearing and foot stomping, because no-one can locate that vital piece of paper...

This is followed by manic tidying up, feelgood trips to 'Partners' the stationers, attempts at new storage solutions, and the cycle pretty much begins again.

Now, where did I put the recipe for pumpkin pie...?

http://www.dovefarm.co.uk/

no such thing as a free lunch

We all know the harsh truth of this saying, but it doesn't stop you hoping...

I was sat in a lunchtime business seminar this week, where all I had to do was 'lend my ears' for an hour, and I would be wowed and wooed to part with large sums of money for business solutions that could not fail.

OK, it didn't exactly say that on the invitation, but it became pretty clear where it was all going, with peer pressure piling on and subliminal messages coming through thick and fast. A polished act from a talented presenter, but I was not ready for any leap of faith that particular lunchtime.

Back at the farm, our newest hens have been pushing the concept of a 'free breakfast, lunch and tea' to its limits. We bought in these new girls as point of lay pullets back in August (that means ready to lay within a couple of weeks.)

September, October and half of November came and went, and still no eggs. I sought the advice of everyone I knew who knew anything about chickens - but no answers and no solutions, except the person who sold me the birds, very decently promised to replace them.

But how to trade in Henrietta, Milkshake, Daisy, Speckle, Blue and Belle? - that is the problem when you are on first name terms with your chickens. I do however, think they are having a laugh, as they go and clear up the garden bird table and its offerings, after having pecked their way through a bowl or two of layers pellets.

I mentally give them until Christmas...

...then today, on my birthday, one of them wins a reprieve for the 'eggless six'.

Implausible to the extreme, but absolutely true - Blue lays an egg while my Dad is cleaning out the chicken shed, (obviously making sure there is someone to witness the event.)

I use the precious egg to make a cake later that day, and as I crack it into the bowl, it's a double yolker...perhaps my own subliminal messages had been getting through after all. Now all Blue needs to do, is lay on a bit of peer pressure, and roast chicken is off the menu.

http://www.dovefarm.co.uk/

Fireworks for Frodo?

It's that time of year again - all gunpowder, treason and plot. Add to this, a lot of standing around in a muddy field, in cheap wellies, that suck the cold right into the soles of your feet, while you 'ooh and aah' as the menfolk set off the rockets. Sounds ungrateful, but firework displays in general always last that bit too long for me, and I'm usually one step ahead, thinking about a warming cup of mulled something or other, and a baked potato.

It's also 'tupping time' on the sheep farmer's calendar - when the ram is put to the ewes. We all enjoy the arrival of woolly lambs in spring, and in a way, this is the start of the whole lambing process. There is a lot of preparation of animals- from sorting and selecting, foot trimming, worming and 'dagging' - (which is trimming up the mucky fleece around sheeps' bums.) Amazingly, I could write at great length on this subject, but for now, I shall merely mention that we did all that we should at Dove Farm.

The saying goes, that if the tup (ram) goes in on bonfire night, then you get lambs on April Fool's Day.

We re-introduced our chap, Frodo, to his 'ladies-in-waiting' on 3rd November, which is the night we held our own mini firework display. Can't say it was exactly 'fireworks' for Frodo. He was certainly keen to get started, though the ewes were distinctly under-whelmed. There was a lot of excited 'giggling' from the ewe-lambs over the fence, which was greatly appreciated by Frodo, an easily flattered, pedigree Ryeland ram. He paced up and down the fenceline, allowing the excited youngsters to 'baa' round him, whilst casting a backward glance to the ladies in his own field, who looked on with mild interest, but nothing resembling desire.

I guess all reticence is worked through in good time, as Frodo has not disappointed us up to now. If all goes to plan, we look forward to a crop of strong healthy lambs at Dove Farm from April fools Day onwards. www.dovefarm.co.uk

back in the saddle

......so to speak.

It's not the fact that nothing has been happening on the farm lately - far from it - life has been exceptionally busy for all of us, but I have just not found the words to capture any of it.

Writing a blog is, for me, a pleasurable jotting down of thoughts and events, and the moment that starts to feel like a chore, is also the moment when all other tasks previously considered undesirable, seem to take on immense significance. Examples being, preparation of two-year budgets, getting the carpet cleaning machine out, and writing business profiles for on-line marketing. I have done all these things since last blog entry, and am now treating myself once again, to a small slice of farmlife prose.

Thought I would kick off with the donkeys, as they seem to have kicked off with me. The big idea (well, this big idea in particular), is that one day soon, these two unruly chaps, will walk quietly on a halter, alongside guests wishing to enjoy the company of donkeys, in a relaxing and gentle manner. No-one could accuse me of not being visionary. The journey to reach that point, is admittedly, taking a lot longer than anticipated ....

On those days when I am feeling less than hopeful, like when Rusty refuses to walk through a field because there are cow pats, or when Dandy quite literally, digs his heels in, head down because he wants to eat grass and not walk either - I try to think positively and persuade myself that progress has been made.

I remember when the donkeys arrived at Dove Farm earlier this spring. Training was basic - starting with wearing headcollars, which neither donkey especially enjoyed. I came to put on Dandy's headcollar one day, to discover that he had reached through the bars of his pen, to where the 'tack' was kept, and had taken the purple headcollar which was his. He had then hidden it in a clump of nettles, in the far corner of the field. It took me a good while to find it, because I wasn't thinking 'sabotage' in a donkey kind of way.

Needless to say, husband Henry didn't buy into this equine psychology stuff and told me not to be so daft (using other words) - but I never underestimate the donkeys' perceptions or actions since this incident.

I have resorted to bribery with carrots on frequent occasions, and yes, it does work, but like all of us, donkeys appreciate a bit of variety in incentives used, and will not willingly co-operate unless they feel safe and secure, no matter how many carrots are dangled. Now then, how to tackle the presence of cow pats?

http://www.dovefarm.co.uk/

bragging not blagging

Yes, it's official. Dove Farm has just scooped the Gold Award for best 'tourism website' in the East Midlands Tourism Awards 2007. Check us out on www.dovefarm.co.uk

I would be the first to admit that our website is not edgy, flash or big budget, but it does show business integrity, it's light and bright and easy to find your way around. The judges commented on accessibility, ease of use, our clear and unambiguous pricing structure, the fabulous local information section...and of course they loved the dove farm blog!

The most amazing thing about the evening itself, was for Henry and I to be out together, after dark, and all dressed up. Excitement enough! Like all the other category finalists, we came along to the event, not knowing what we would walk away with. With this added element of risk and uncertainty, it was little short of a miracle then, that I had managed to hijack husband between tractor cab and armchair, and coax him into the glitz and glamour of an evening at 'the Oscars'.

I really had practised my 'congratulations to the other person who is the winner' look - as so beautifully demonstrated by Helen Mirren on the 'Jonathan Ross show' recently - so I was genuinely taken aback, when it was announced that we had the 'gold'!

Not that I feel we are undeserving - far from it, but it is just the best feeling to be rewarded for something that has so much personal belief and value invested into it. I invite you to take a sprint through our website and hope you will agree that we're not blagging, and will allow us our brief moment to brag!

we plough the fields and scatter...

... we sang, as the children all came into Church, carrying their assortment of harvest baskets. Quite relieved they were too, to hand over their fruitful burdens (it's a long walk from school, when you're aged six carrying a pumpkin, or even aged 7, with several cans of tinned fruit, because your mum forgot all about harvest festival, and didn't call in at Tesco on the way home from work.)

Traditionally, harvest is celebrated as the end of the food and farming cycle, rewarding us for our hard work and diligence throughout the year.

How wrong can this be?

Back at the farm, Henry has just drawn a close to a very 'messy' harvest, and lurched straight into ploughing and drilling (planting) seedcorn for next year. The last wheat was harvested on 07 September, but the first new crop in another field, was already being drilled on 30 August. We are now at 09 October, and there are 90 out of 350 acres still to plough and drill.

Farmers are always striving for those economies of scale to justify the hugely expensive kit required for the job, which means they are always pushing the boundaries of what is humanly possible. There is little distinction or time frame between harvesting the old and cultivating the new.

Does this signify a 'seamless' and efficient transition - I don't think so - more like a gruelling, rural reality show: 'I'm a farmer, get me out of here...'

Gone are the days when the whole village turned out, to gather in the harvest! For many farms, the whole cultivation operation is reliant on one person and a big machine, and it's very much 'feast or famine' in terms of tasks to be done: combining, clearing straw, baling and carting - closely followed by ploughing, cultivating and drilling new crops. It can be pretty overwhelming, with much to play for and literally, everything to lose. The added complication for us, is that Henry has to fit our work around the contract combining and cultivation work that he does on neighbouring farms.

Needless to say, I tend to keep my head down at this time of year, and just get on with what I have to do, hoping that Henry manages to do the same. It is a very stressful time of year for arable farmers, and a testing time for business cashflow, until the first lot of grain is sold, and the cheque arriveson the kitchen table. Not even a comfortable harvest, with buoyant market prices for once, can take away the pressure of getting next year's crop in, before the weather breaks.

Henry reminds me of the old saying, "the difference between a good (arable) farmer and a bad one, is two weeks" - and I choose not to remind him that he is still about ten days behind.

www.dovefarm.co.uk

roses vs realism

I was involved in discussions last week about the kinds of things that people look for when they visit the countryside. Once you start to think about it, you realise that the countryside means so many different things to so many different people.

One of the points raised, was about the gap that often exists between visitor perceptions, or preconceptions of the countryside - and what it actually is. (and the tendency of certain tourist businesses, to perpetuate and commercially exploit this myth)

But on reflection, does it really matter?

Let's take the example of 'fun farms' with their fluffy, all year round baby animals, or 'country fayres' with their pots of frilly topped jam, and funny shaped vegetables. They offer an undeniably cosy picture, far removed from the reality of rural daily life - but people often come to the countryside to escape 'daily life'.

If these stereotype images and experiences encourage further interest in all things 'country' and a willingness to return, maybe to experience something different next time - then they have served an equally useful purpose for the purists as well as the surface scratchers.

Rural tourism is a broad spectrum. Take a step back to consider the concept - it is not unlike its rainbow cousin, where each colour is enhanced and enriched in the eye of the beholder, by the neighbouring colours on either side.

For those of us living and working around rural tourism, whether it be food, accommodation, or attractions, the message is clear:

We all need visitors, to thrive and prosper, and there is room for us all. If we as businesses and providers, worked together a bit better than we do, then we could maybe offer a more 'complete' countryside experience for our visitors. If we spent more time on listening than advertising, we would make a better job of giving our visitors what they want, rather than what we think they should have - and if the end result achieved greater customer satisfaction, that can only be a good thing for all concerned.

Because ultimately a thriving rural economy will benefit the countryside that we all want to keep - whether we live and work there or choose to spend our valuable leisure time there.

See how you can enjoy a stay in the country on www.dovefarm.co.uk

Natalie's famous blackberry scones

Well, here they are, as promised 2 x blogs ago!

We are mightily impressed. Well done Natalie for coming up with the idea of putting blackberries into scones. I wish I had thought of it myself years ago, and I have added many interesting things to scones in my baking history (some of them not even intended...!)

here is the basic scone recipe we usually use, and you can add practically anything you like, at the dry ingredients stage.

good basic recipe for scones

(sorry for the imperial measurements - it 's a traditional family mix - simply handed down)

• 10 oz self raising flour (sifted)
• 2 oz margarine or butter
• 1 tbsp (generous) sugar
• 1 1/2 tsp cream of tartar
• 1 x large egg
• 1/4 pint milk

- add cream of tartar to sieved flour and rub in fat until mixture resembles fine breadcrumbs

- add sugar

- add ingredients of choice, for flavour eg. sultanas, dates and walnuts... or blackberries!

- mix in beaten egg/milk mixture to form stiff dough.

- Press lightly out onto floured surface.

(do not over-work dough, or scones will be leathery in texture)

Cut out and cook on a baking tray for approx 12 mins in hot oven.

If you're looking for a 'recipe for success', for a birthday, family event or just a weekend away with friends, then take a look at our website http://www.dovefarm.co.uk/

The Rainforest

If there are any tensions to be felt in the Dove Farm household, it's likely that things are sparking off between me and Celine, our eldest daughter - just one of the hazards of being the eldest, I guess, and similar in temperament to her mother.

But is it not written into the job description of 'eldest children' to push the boundaries and 'feel the pain', easing the way for their younger siblings?!

Celine is now at middle school, (what used to be the old 'Juniors') - it's a good system, as it allows children to stretch their wings beyond primary but it bridges an important development gap, before they have to cope with the cut and thrust of secondary school.

She has just won a 'highly commended' and £20 in book tokens for a poem she wrote at school for a national poetry competition. The topic was 'the Environment' and all the shortlisted poems are worth a read - it's heartening to see young people caring about their world, let's hope they stay anxious enough to take action once they are grown up. You can read these poems at

www.scemes.net/poetry/poems/Ten.php

I am showing Celine's poem here, because I am proud of her and her achievement, (naturally) and it offers a small window for me, as her mum, to simply celebrate her being my daughter. Love you Celine....

The Rainforest

In the density of the leaves,

A coiling python weaves,

In and out of the trees and flowers.

Can anyone doubt the rainforest's powers?



In the humidity, a community thrives,

Frogs with green luminous eyes.

An army of ants, almighty and strong,

A chorus of birds chirruping a song.

The leaves are as green as green can be,

A rainbow of colours is what I see.

But I turn around and what do I find?

A whole different scene cripples my mind.



The trees are being chopped down,

And emptiness is all around.

A parrot caws its lonesome cry,

A frog springs from a leaf nearby.



The decades of trees are chopped down in seconds,

As for the animals and plants, death beckons.

The end of this mighty forest is near,

The moral of the story is surely now clear.

So let us find,

In our selfish minds,

What everyone can do

And you can help too,

To save the rainforest from destruction.


by Celine Stretton

blackberry and apple

....now that's better.

At risk of sounding like my father, who always used to say, at the mere mention of 'curry'- that the only way to eat rice was in a pudding, with sugar and milk on - I now hear myself saying that the way to enjoy blackberries, is to pick them and put them in a pie with some apple!

that holds more promise of enjoyment for me, than 24 hr web connection, with intravenous texts and email alerts. (I'm afraid you'll have to read previous blog to see where I'm coming from here.)

Natalie our youngest, absolutely loves blackberry picking, and goes off on her own little foraging adventures around the house and garden - usually coming back with three or four squashy berries, which are handed over with the kind of expectation that you just can't ignore, "but I can't turn three berries into a pie Natalie," I try to explain. We usually end up washing them, dipping them into a generous dab of sugar, and eating them there and then.

Numerous animals have benefited from Natalie's enthusiasm for blackberries. The dog quite likes them, the hens seem to relish them, though they struggle to wipe the juice off their beaks, the sheep eat them without showing any appreciation at all, but the donkeys taste and savour them as the hedgerow delicacies that they really are.

When we pick together, we can usually half-fill a margarine tub - plenty for a blackberry and apple crumble, our personal family favourite. Natalie wants to try putting them in scones next. I'll let you know how we get on. www.dovefarm.co.uk

BlackBerry

Surfing the net, as you do, up popped this BlackBerry definition ... an 'always connected' wireless solution providing emails on the go, text messaging service, internet connection etc. etc. - so says the blurb on these nifty little devices. For me, it's another ploy to keep me on task at my desk, (even if I am on the move) when I'd rather not be!

I have chosen my way of working, to break free from the magnetic field of the office desk, and the PC as much as I can. I would not want to deliberately strengthen any emotional bond to it!

If I wasn't already convinced, here's another quote to tempt me: "On average, BlackBerry users report they convert 60 minutes of downtime into productive time per day." - Ipos Reid 2007.

Now, I'm no philistine when it comes to using technology, but what exactly would 'downtime' be for me? I can see the uses of the BlackBerry when you are between executive flights, and delayed at check-in. But between school runs and stuck at the check-out at Tesco? - not really.

...and, let's face it, any downtime that I have (I prefer to call it "me" time) is relished, deserved and deliberate - and I would do anything not to have it interrupted with texts or technology.

Examples of things I put in this category would be walking the dog, or grooming the donkeys, or having the occasional coffee with a friend. Does hanging out the washing, or cooking kids teatime, or any other non-admin task, count as downtime too? (I wouldn't mind enhancing or deleting these particular activities!)

Does this strike a chord with any other self-employed people, especially those of you working from home? No doubt your normal working day extends way beyond the boundaries of nine to five, and like me, you'll be looking for ways to shorten, not extend active working hours. It will take more than a BlackBerry to do that. see what we do on www.dovefarm.co.uk

summer springs back!

Just when you thought summer was dead in the water ... hanging baskets are hanging lethargically, the house martins have raised their second broods, and are all swooping and wheeling in the evening sky, blackberries are ripe for picking and the heavy quilts are going back on the beds in the cottages.( 4.5 tog summer weight, suddenly feels very inadequate.)

When I go to let the ducks and chickens out this morning, I am greeted with sounds of 'peeping' and proud 'clucking'. The sight of three small ducklings, confirms that our broody hen has heroically hatched her eggs.

This particular hen, a speckled cuckoo marans, imaginatively named 'Maran', goes broody at the drop of a hat. She has already hatched out a couple of chicks earlier this spring, but insisted on 'sitting' again a few weeks ago, and nothing would budge her, even though she had no eggs to actually sit on.

So determined was she, I decided to pop a few duck eggs under her - Duck eggs take a good month to hatch, compared to just about three weeks for hen eggs, so I had my doubts.

But these three little darlings are her reward, for outstanding endurance, and a final gift of summer to us.

There is nothing quite so endearing as ducklings, and it is comically entertaining to see them with a mother hen. They are mostly obliging and obedient, staying close to mum's petticoat feathers, but every now and then, they simply can't resist it any longer, and make a dash for the water!

The children are dying to pick them up and cuddle them, but the downside of a good broody hen, is that she is impossibly fierce when she is protecting chicks, (or similar!) We will have to view from a safe distance!

I have put an old roasting tin in the pen, half filled with water, and it makes the perfect paddling pool for three little ducklings - I can't help thinking about crispy duck pancakes with hoi-sin sauce, as they voluntarily leap into the tin and dabble about, but I confess that I could not, ever, eat one of my own ducks. These little guys are safe with me, but I can feel a chinese take-away coming on!

check our local eating out options, listed on www.dovefarm.co.uk

it's all about money isn't it?

You know what it's like when you have one of those 'what is the point, all my efforts are unappreciated' type days.

and when it's one of your own offspring who are dealing out the blows, it can really bring a mother down!

Eldest daughter is now mixing with 'the girls that have' (seemingly everything, if you ask me) and it is causing major unrest back at the farm, on the parent front. Not just the 'why can't I have...?' scenario, which is easily dealt with - but more like an interrogation into mortgages, land rents, and business revenues, along with, "why do we do what we do? " "why don't I (meaning me) get a job?" "why don't we sell this or that..?" etc... etc...

All these questions, are answered appropriately to daughter's age, but in an honest and open way. Maybe they are a bit too close to home for comfort, and that's why it's all feeling like salt in a wound.

I can't deny - these are all questions I have asked myself, many times, and there will be plenty of other farming mums out there, who have spent sleepless nights trying to find their own answers. And sometimes the answers change, depending on the personal crisis you are facing at the time! What you don't expect, is your own pre-teen child, to be the one kicking you in the teeth.

Or maybe that's me being unrealistic. Together with Henry, I have made a lifestyle choice, and by implication, that choice is made on behalf of our children too. Generally speaking, children do not experience anything other than the world parents create for them in the home and through family life, whatever that entails. Until, that is, they being to spread their wings and see what else is around them. They see another way.

Indeed, throughout their lives they will see a myriad of 'other ways', hopefully managing to pick a way through for themselves.

...and let's face it, when did children ever want the same things from life as their parents? ...it would just make for an easier life right now, if all three of our children at Dove Farm could enjoy, or at least quietly endure, their 'childhood lot' for a little while longer?

All we can do, as parents, is stand firmly by our choices. For me and Henry at least, our choices are made in an attempt to achieve goals of our own, as well as share values with our children. We hope these values will be 'keystones' for them to lean upon at some future time.

I can't help smiling whenever I watch one of those 'change your life completely' type programmes on the TV: where the professional city parents, sell up and buy a derelict barn in the middle of nowhere - sometimes in the middle of nowhere, in a different country, with not much to live off, except a bit of home-made pottery, a veg patch and a goat. Camera pans out to sun-kissed children, running bare-foot through a meadow, and we the viewers, are invited to sigh longingly.

I sigh too, but I'm actually wondering what those same children will be saying as they grow older and reach longingly, with arms outstretched, for the disposable income and consumerist dream that their parents have so valiantly taken them away from.

Our daughter has to learn patience until the time when she can get out there and live her own life. We as parents, will have to take comfort in being her 'safe haven' for whenever she needs it, because no matter how corny the cliche, it remains true to say that you can never buy the things that really matter.

For more on Dove Farm, visit our website www.dovefarm.co.uk

beside the seaside

Everyone needs to get away now and then, if only for a day or so, and it doesn't really matter where to. I can usually judge how much I need to 'take time out' by how difficult it is, to physically and mentally, extricate myself from my tiny patch of the world.

This time - it felt like I would never achieve that magical moment of 'car all packed, kids in, ignition on' - there was just so much on the 'TO DO before I go away list' - but somehow it happened, and there we were, children and I, on our way to sunny Llandudno, leaving Henry at home, baling, wrapping and managing the menagerie.

All our family enjoy the seaside - must be something to do with living in the land-locked midlands, but we had never before, experienced Llandudno. Certainly not for the faint-hearted.

What a wondrous place of contrasts - resplendent victorian glory, urban sprawl, coastal charm, big and brash, curious and quaint, where stilettos and fag ends rub along with a la carte seafood and sports convertibles. Underground caverns and mountain top walks. Retail chic and tacky souvenir shops. You can stroll along a crowded Blackpool prom on one side, or a sandy beach with hardly a soul, stretching out on the other.

After four nights B&B and total immersion in Llandudno living, we were converted. It's an acquired taste Llandudno,(fabulous fish and chips by the way!) rather like ordering anchovies, capers and banana slices for your pizza topping - but once tasted, it becomes one of those 'must have again ' experiences, though probably not something you would want to face every day.

what a difference a day makes

Ok - so it's a day and a half - nevertheless, it has been one of those days that you wish never started.

The grass that is down for hay, got wet the same night it was cut. Not too seriously, but wet all the same. We really need a good few hours of solid sunshine, but no such luck. Thursday and Friday have remained overcast, with showers threatened at any moment (not like how it was forecast at all.)

Getting the photo above, carried the personal cost to me of: one anti-histamine tablet, one application of aloe vera/antihistamine cream, and a whole day of itching. I may not have mentioned that I am allergic to grass pollen/hay/dusty straw and all associated 'things' - unfortunate, isn't it?

More harvest time woes: the combine harvester broke down last night, with no prospect of a mechanic for at least two days. The baler has broken down, and my car has been delivered back, after having significant and expensive work done on it, with the good news that it needs 2 x rear tyres. Great.

I discovered upon getting up today, that we had run out of milk, and almost everything else! - so toast all round, with black tea, or orange squash (depending on age group). I then venture into the office to pick up phone messages and emails - and discover that the radiator is leaking, big time - all cables and wires connected to everything, are swimming, and the wooden floor is looking like a large expanse of soaked driftwood.

First, we have the job of emptying an old, double banked radiator, (the label on the back said 'installed in 1977'), removing it, and cleaning up the mess. It takes us two hours.

The day continues in much the same vein, and by the time Henry has tedded the hay yet again, (spinning and spreading it out to dry) and children are in bed, and all animal jobs are done, and the washing is out to dry, and everyone fed and machinery mended for the day - it is about 11.30 pm.

Henry and I sit down, with something alcoholic in a glass, and flick through a few TV channels - mainly to get the weather for tomorrow.

It is Friday evening 03 august. We come across the 'breaking news' bulletin, that an outbreak of Foot and Mouth has been confirmed in Surrey. It's the kind of news that stops you in your tracks, and reduces all problems mentioned above, into trivia. We look at the TV screen and for a moment we don't say anything at all.

chickens and cricket

Well, summer made an appearance today, and what a difference that makes. (It is to be hoped it will linger a while...)

The kids and I were in the garden, scraping moss and weeds off the patio, in anticipation of the garden furniture coming out (yes, August, and everything to do with summer is still in the shed!). Joshua decided to try his new cricket set, which was great for about five minutes, but even playing to Stretton rules, he and his sister were unable to reconcile some crucial decisions. Joshua became victim of a well-aimed body ball from Celine, so that was the end of that. Mercifully perhaps, as one of our new hens had nervously made her way over, and was directly in the line of play!

I haven't written about our new 'girls'. Now that all poultry is safely re-located and their compound is fox proof, beyond reasonable doubt - I decided to re-stock. After a 'family and friends' excursion to select and collect our birds, I introduced six new pullets (mix of allsorts) to the chicken pen on Saturday. They have settled, remarkably quickly, and once their 'confinement' had passed, which imprints their new home on their navigation systems - the girls were on the loose.

Henrietta (pictured above) is proving to be trouble already. I blame it on the influence of her namesake, Henry. I chose this hen for my husband's birthday present. I did give him the choice between a chicken or a wheelbarrow that he had already bought! Sad really - maybe it's the product of a joint account and twelve years of marriage. I just about remember being a young, single, career woman, searching every high street jewellers, for exactly the right gentleman's watch for my darling Henry's birthday. Now it's a chicken, but carefully selected all the same.

Back to our idyllic English evening: chickens, cricket and children playing, with the drone of tractor and mower in the fields, as Henry bravely cuts the grass for hay. We have waited and waited, and wondered whether there would be any chance at all this season for hay-making - but now the decision has been made, we have to hope for at least three or four dry days in a row.

Time will tell...

the sleepover party

Sleepovers - they seem to be on the 'party circuit' earlier and younger than ever. We set our minimum age older than some parents for such things - but (speaking with hindsight now, after the event!) I would not like to have steered a group of four boys, who were any younger, through any length of time together, away from their own homes.

It's also very different to a girl's sleepover party...

The first problem I thought we may have, (having only one family bathroom upstairs) was having to account for three extra bodies in the bathroom queue. I needn't have worried. All boys were in, done, and out, before I even had time to ask if anyone needed toothpaste?

Last check of the night was at 12.20 am - and thankfully, all were asleep. All four were then loudly awake by 6.40 am and ushered downstairs for a pre-breakfast dose of cartoon network, in order to give other family members chance to sleep a little longer.

The other thing that happens with numbers of three boys and more, is that they tend to cover all indoor and outdoor spaces, like a herd of wildebeest moving across the savannah - devouring all and any activities ( so have plenty on tap!) in their path - whilst earnestly grazing on everything put before them that is edible. to be honest, this part is really satisfying , and feels very 'motherhood and apple pie' feeding hungry and appreciative appetites - but it does take some keeping up with.

The bit I don't recommend, is to arrange an organised, competitive activity, requiring skill and concentration (archery!!?) in the afternoon of day 2 - but this was the only time slot available. What could I do ?

The outcome should really be no surprise - namely that we were all a bit tired and crabby, and the group, now six in number, suddenly became a little too competitive, turning in on themselves and each other, in a colourful display, ranging from tears of despair to words of venom.

It was nothing that lemonade and birthday cake couldn't rectify, once back at home, with mums arriving to scoop up their offspring. With each child smiling, and returned safely, with belongings to their respective families, there is time to reflect.

This is my take on hosting a sleepover party: It is a real privilege to welcome your child's friends into your home, and the 'host parents' should feel honoured that kids are happy to do this - I only hope they are as happy to 'hang out' at home once they are teenagers and we worry where they are and what they are doing. It is also a commitment of trust - as sleepover hosts, we take on board precious cargo, and the sense of responsibility that goes with that, should not be under-estimated.

I can honestly and gratefully say that the most difficult thing about the whole experience, was putting those damn sleeping bags back inside the container bags they came out of. This exercise has a similar difficulty rating to how I would imagine a midwife on a maternity ward, or indeed a mother just given birth, responding to the challenge 'well done, now let's put it back in, and start again...'

two's company

You hear some strange stories in the animal world about mothers and young ones. I've seen photos of tigers with piglets, and cats curled round chicks.

I have written about our baby alpaca, Cocoa, whose mum rejected him, and so was destined to be a bottle-fed babe. well, events have moved somewhat, on the mothering front. Paprika, the matriarch female of the group (and Cocoa's adoptive 'auntie') - produced her own cria (baby alpaca) towards the end of June. This one is a little girl, and is called 'Black Olive' - no prizes for guessing what colour she is!

Cocoa knows a good thing when he sees it, and he has muscled his way in on this mother/baby bonding process. It has been quite a difficult time - as Paprika, the mother, very demonstrably did not want this 'cuckoo in the nest' but Cocoa does not give up so easily. We kept mum and newborn on their own at night for the first few days, to give the little one chance to get her share of the milk, but we have pretty much let nature take its course. Cocoa has wanted less and less of his bottle milk, until we were confident enough to leave him to his own devices.

Paprika is now successfully rearing 2 youngsters. It is rare, but has been known - though the incidence of natural twins occurring is even rarer, with the prospect of both surviving, practically zero. Olive was quite a large cria when she was born, and so does not look much different in size to the older Cococa. I for one, am extremely grateful to this obliging mother, and have put away the feeding bottles and powdered milk (again!) until next year.

If at first you don't succeed.....

free-range day

...they came back home!

bathing the silkies

As with most tests of hardship, endurance is the key to survival. People tend to reach for their faith or resort to stoicism. Ducks and chickens just get on with it, in a hunched up sort of way.

Except for the silkies. Having five toes, and feathered ones at that, causes a few problems, as far as mud is concerned. Seeing them trudge round, 'claggy' and forlorn, about six inches taller than nature intended, due to swamp conditions, Celine (eldest daughter) and I, decide to give the silkies a bath.

They are surprisingly co-operative, dare I say, appreciative, and are then put straight to bed, to dry off, on clean straw.

Only a couple more days to go, before 'freedom' day (freedom to range all round the farm day) - but will the plan work and will they come back?

weather for ducks

Unprecedented floods this summer have brought misery to many and peronal tragedy to more than a few. This time the disaster footage on TV, and the media weather warnings have been very close to home. We see it, we hear it, and talk worriedly about it next day with people we know.

I always feel a sense of collective guilt, that disasters occurring day after day, across the world, do not touch us in the same way. It appears to be something inherent in human nature - perhaps to keep our emotional immunity intact, so we are not overwhelmed and overcome.

Here at the farm, the new hen and duck pen is enduring its own mini-environmental disaster. 'Utter quagmire' about sums it up. But I can't let the birds out for at least 6 days, to 'imprint' their new home upon their internal navigation systems. Looking at the pathetic and miserable state of the hens, I think it has more than imprinted, to the point where they never will want to come back, even if they do remember the way. The ducks, in true 'gone with the wind' style, quite frankly, don't give a damn.

moving house

We know that moving the ducks and chickens will not solve the 'fox situation', but foxes are opportunists extraordinaires, and anything that reduces their opportunities, increases the chances of survival for our birds.

Now, how to do this. The fencing for the enclosure has to be put up first, but not completely, so the sheds can be lifted in. Then the fencing has to be closed in around them - gates (and combinations thereof) can be left till another day. This is difficult enough to achieve with a reluctant husband swearing silently under his breath, but becoming steadily more audible after a day and night of torrential rain. I do not have the heart to remind Henry, that this was his idea. I myself, did not dare to suggest such a radical, costly and time-consuming plan, to save what is at the moment, a costly and time-consuming hobby.

The icing on the cake, so to speak, is to work out how to move housing and birds, in reasonable daylight hours, when enough hands are available to help, without leaving any birds behind, as they will try and return to where their sheds used to be. It reminds me of the story of the farmer who has to ferry across the river, a fox, a rabbit and a sack of carrots, but he can only fit 2 items in his rowing boat at any one time.

We get my Dad to help us one evening, and settle on moving duck house, then catching ducks and carrying them - then waiting until dusk. We coax chickens into their shed and move the whole lot in one go. Then we fence round them in the dark and in the rain. The ground is churned up from the loadall, and reached saturation point many hours ago! It looks like a film set for a world war I movie. I guess this is our own war against the fox, and we fence up like we mean it - and we have rolls of barbed wire too.

fox and chickens

I noticed that one of the hens was not around - but sometimes they do disappear off somewhere else to make a nest (usually at their peril) - then a duck, and then it was obvious....there was a fox about, but what time of day was it coming?

Our chicken sheds have proved to be fox proof, but our outside enclosures are not - and as I can't keep the birds confined in a shed all day, I decided they would be safer free ranging. On this particular Sunday, we went out around 11.30 am and were back home before 3pm. We were away too long to save our very favourite little black silkie hen. She was called Raven the brave, and I reared her from a chick. When her other 'chick siblings' all died, I used to carry her round with me in my pocket, including car journeys, the lot - hence the brave, but bravery is no defence against a fox.

The guilt, the sadness and the anger felt in these situations, is hard to appreciate unless you have kept chickens. I have certainly made errors and bad decisions in the past, like forgetting to shut one of the shed doors, or arriving back home later than planned - and if I've lost a couple of birds, yes I feel bad, but that's fair game to the fox. This was not fair at all. How can I compete against a daytime fox? - undoubtedly a vixen, who would become bolder and more reckless as her cubs grow and demand ever more from her.

Henry saw the fox, early afternoon on the next two days, once with a chicken in its mouth, which it let go, amazingly, and ran off through the undergrowth.

We staked out the dog, to guard the high risk 'home' area - but this could only be a short term measure. We have had quite a few losses to foxes recently, and that is the trouble too. It is foxes in the plural, so shooting one, doesn't mean it is the culprit, and even if it were, there are plenty of others to take over.

Henry suggests moving the chickens and ducks.