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.