Dove Farm

you can always say it with flowers

2008-02-23T23:58:00.004Z

Impatience and my own desire to achieve 'closure' on the Valentine's chicken saga got the better of me today. (you will have to read previous 2 blog entries to see where I'm coming from.)

I had done a bit of detective work around the village, and now had a good idea who the dog's owners were and where they lived. Around 12.00 midday, I jumped into the car, and went round - a moment later and I'd have been too late. As it was, I met lady's husband just driving off, with dog, and he knew who I was straightaway (the wellies and green John Deere overalls might have given the game away.)

He apologised on his wife's behalf, who was out, saying they had been expecting me to go round. As I did not know the names of these people, or where they lived, I don't know how they thought I was going to manage this, but anyway, I had. I requested payment for replacement and politely pointed out that it was more than 'just a chicken' etc etc.

I said my piece, made my peace..and left.

Closure, lunch and an afternoon out with the children.

Later on, I'm in the kitchen, cooking steak and chips, when there's a knock at the door, and a very apologetic lady is standing awkwardly at the door, with a bouquet of flowers.

It is she, owner of the Valentine's chicken slayer, in person.

It must have been difficult for her to come round, but there she was. I had made her feel bad - bringing flowers made her feel better - and now I've received the flowers, I'm feeling really bad.

It was, after all, just a chicken....?

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

just a chicken...

2008-02-20T23:44:00.002Z

So here's the sorry tale of the Valentine's chicken.

Feb 13 and husband Henry presents me with dead chicken, that has apparently been killed by someone's dog as they were walking past the farm.

Dog owner apparently admits what has happened, and says she will come round with money to replace bird. All this happens unbeknown to me, and husband Henry is in the middle of a conversation on his mobile at the time - so takes little notice and nods. (hmmm....)

I consider the dead bird carefully and decide that under the circumstances of free range campaigning, I should do the ethical thing and prepare it as food. It is, after all, as free range as a chicken can ever be. So I put aside the fact that she is 'Mrs Speckle' and focus on 'Coq au vin.'

I refer you to previous blog for the end results of that particular rustic culinary adventure.

Anyway, the days go by, and my somewhat philosophical approach is now turning to 'irritated and indignant', as there is no sign of the lady concerned. It's not so much a question of money to replace the chicken (between £20 - £40 depending on what type and breed) - it's more the dismissive message that is coming through of 'it's only a chicken...' and therefore it doesn't matter.

Well, Mrs Speckle was a pet, regarded with much affection by me and Natalie, our youngest, who takes a great interest in the poultry. Now the dog owner concerned does not know this, but that's the whole point, how can she know if she is simply not concerned...

not quite what I had in mind

2008-02-14T23:56:00.004Z

Valentine's Day started with a creative flurry at Dove Farm. With it being half-term, me and the kids had got busy doing all sorts of craft-type things, including these valentine's hearts.

I think we were all mightily impressed with these little clay hearts - we poured left-over clay into a heart shaped ice-cube tray, and then went mad with candy colours, sequins, beads and glitter. Fab!

Even Joshua (middle offspring) is persuaded by his sisters, to decorate one for a particular young lady, we knew would be sending him a valentine's gift. Sure enough, her mum drove her down to the farm at 11.00 am. so she could run across the yard and push an envelope into my hand," to pass on to Josh".

If only he appreciated such lavish female attentions....aah, I feel a sense of forboding as I look ahead to the broken hearts and anguish that must surely come, as our little brood grows up to the ruthless and uncomfortably public, popularity contest, that is thinly veiled as 'Valentine's Day.'

husband Henry and I spent a pretty busy day. Henry being occupied with builders, finishing the roof on our new porch/utility room, whilst I went swimming with kids and called in on a few people, including nanna and grandad, who were also lucky enough to receive one of our hand-crafted hearts!

It was when we finally sat down to our valentine's supper, that things went a bit wrong.

One of our chickens was killed by a dog yesterday evening. (That's another story, for another blog) but anyway, I decided to take the practical self-sufficient approach - and prepared the bird for the pot within the hour, and had it in a casserole on a low heat for the rest of the evening.

This was quite a difficult undertaking for me, with it being a pet chicken and all - and also highly inconvenient on a wednesday night, with a million other things all waiting to be done.

So now, I was hoping to serve up some kind of gastronomic, hearty yet ethical delight, in true 'River cottage' style http://www.rivercottage.net/ but husband Henry, (who only eats white chicken breast at the best of times) pushes a few veg round the plate and that's it. Needless to say, I was annoyed. (please read this as under-statement in its purest form.) I leave the table and nearly leave home, and that's it really - and we would all have been emotionally better nourished if I had wasted raw chicken, instead of wasting it cooked, with the addition of many other ingredients. There has to be a moral in there somewhere. I'll try to think what it is... http://www.dovefarm.co.uk/

Things aren't always what they seem

2008-02-07T00:23:00.004Z

Now, at first sight, this may be interpreted as a farmer in touch with his feminine and domestic side (not that I am linking feminine and domestic as a social statement on gender roles - it's just that a pink handbag and a hoover, happen to be in shot.)

However, do not be mislead. This is simply a case of husband Henry, grabbing a five o'clock cup of tea, after a long day, and not really caring what chaos reigns around him. I couldn't resist taking the pic.

Somewhat predictably, it's back to chickens again: (the ready-wrapped variety.)
More empty shelves at our 2 main supermarkets, where free-range, or 'freedom food' chicken should be.

This can be interpreted, of course, in a number of ways: Either there has been a sustained mad rush, and all the free-range chicken has flown off the shelves, or there is insufficient supply to meet even the tiniest increase in predicted demand, or no-one wants to buy the stuff, so none is ordered.

It's a case of 'statistics, damned statistics' and I am in no doubt that supermarkets will use poor free-range sales figures to support their status quo, on stocking, let alone promoting more ethically produced chicken, "but how can supermarkets properly assess demand, unless customers complain and ask for the products they want to buy?" I say to the woman on the customer service desk, as I fill in another of those 'we want to hear your comments' cards.
I have yet to receive any kind of response from either Tesco or Sainsbury's, despite their beguiling smallprint at the bottom of the card.

For anyone wanting an objective overview of the facts covering economic and ethical considerations, you could do worse than take a look at how the soil association has presented the case: http://www.soilassociation.org/.

If you find that you feel strongly, then I would urge you to lend your support to the 'chicken out' campaign. Register your interest on http://www.chickenout.tv/

In the meantime, my offspring are proudly horrified at what their mother will do as part of a family shopping trip. (where each of them places me on the 'horror - pride' scale is directly attributable to the age of each child) Guess where my 'pre-teen' puts me on this scale....

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

chicken out!

2008-01-26T23:16:00.001Z

Thought I'd better get blogging again - people have been asking me "what's happening?" But what to write for the first entry of the year? - a significant start, without cliche, or subliminal messages about New year resolutions or personal goal setting.

Perhaps I needed to get angry about something, and today's the day. On the surface of it, a trivial thing: popped into Sainsbury's, to buy something to cook for tea... thinking roast chicken-

(this is the drawback of husband Henry doing the 'family shop' at Tesco - I know I'm on dangerous ground here, but at the risk of sounding ungrateful, I was struggling by this afternoon to find items that could be combined to cook a meal. Henry went shopping last night. We do however, seem to have plentiful supplies of DVDs, bakery products and branflakes.)

- only to find there are no free range chickens, or chicken pieces on the shelves. Nothing but those pinkish factory chickens in the meat section, and not only that - a prominent, end of aisle display of intensively produced, special offer packs of chicken breast.

Following the campaigning during this month from Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall and Jamie Oliver, about the less than acceptable methods of chicken production and our consumer buying behaviour - how can the supermarkets then say that customers don't want free range or freedom food options, when they are not on the shelves to buy? If these packs were displayed alongside the standard chicken, rather than segmented as a prestige branded product - with clear information about the welfare benefits, then surely more people would opt in to free range or high welfare chicken, in the same way that consumers are making choices about eggs.

Ordinarily, I would have been in a hurry, and simply put something else in the trolley - but today, I thought I would lodge my complaint and make my point in the name of consumer choice. A bit of a procedure followed at the check-out, involving calling over a supervisor and filling in a form, (with lots of people looking on, to my children's discomfort.)

I will report back on any feedback I am lucky enough to receive.

For those blog readers who have not followed the chicken out! campaign, or watched the recent TV programmes, I am not going to re-tell the story here, but I do make an impassioned plea, to take a look at the campaign website http://www.chickenout.tv/ This isn't about posh celebrities, or whether we like their TV shows or not - it's about us and how we regard the animals that are our food. http://www.dovefarm.co.uk/

Christmas Day hide-away

2007-12-27T23:37:00.000Z

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...

2007-12-15T23:18:00.000Z

....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

2007-12-10T23:41:00.000Z

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

2007-12-04T00:57:00.000Z

'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

2007-11-27T00:14:00.000Z

...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

2007-11-14T21:52:00.000Z

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?

2007-11-05T00:17:00.000Z

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

2007-11-01T00:36:00.000Z

......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

2007-10-13T00:11:00.000+01:00

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...

2007-10-09T23:23:00.000+01:00

... 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

2007-09-30T21:24:00.000+01:00

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

2007-09-24T00:54:00.000+01:00

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

2007-09-20T11:21:00.000+01:00

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

2007-09-12T22:25:00.000+01:00

....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

2007-09-09T22:32:00.000+01:00

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!

2007-08-31T23:00:00.000+01:00

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?

2007-08-22T19:47:00.000+01:00

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

2007-08-16T23:35:00.000+01:00

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

2007-08-04T00:50:00.000+01:00

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

2007-08-01T23:06:00.000+01:00

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

2007-07-27T01:30:00.000+01:00

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

2007-07-17T00:04:00.000+01:00

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

2007-07-10T23:59:00.000+01:00

...they came back home!

bathing the silkies

2007-07-07T23:57:00.000+01:00

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

2007-07-04T23:25:00.000+01:00

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

2007-07-04T00:39:00.000+01:00

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

2007-06-28T23:41:00.000+01:00

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.

damsel in distress

2007-06-17T00:32:00.000+01:00

Everyone should have an 'oasis' to escape to now and then, however briefly. For some people, this may be a real place, like the bottom of the garden, a favourite walk, a view from the train window - or it may be a refuge deep within your mind's eye, like a meadow on a summer's day somwhere, or a remembered beach walk, stretching endlessly to nowhere in particular.

The place I like to go when I am upbeat and energised, and equally when I am downbeat and desolate, is the river. Our stretch of the river Dove, is perfectly beautiful , whatever the weather, or time of year. When I first visited the farm, (a long time ago!) after meeting Henry, I could not believe that he did not walk along the river every day - how could he not? I immediately made this my favourite bit of the farm, having always found it both a calming and a nurturing place. Now of course, I don't get the chance to walk along the river every day either, but when I don't, I feel the worse for it. I miss the rush of calm ( if that makes sense) that immediately reaches up to you from the ground, if you let it.

This summer, I have noticed great quantities of damselflies - 'banded demoiselles', I believe. The female is brownish, (typical of the natural world!) while the male is an exquisite blue/black creature, which looks strikingly delicate with wings outstretched. They are so in keeping with the 'riverside oasis' theme, as they have this simple, defined and primeval beauty about them.

It's worth the walk, just to see them - so try to make time if you are staying with us. And if you have not yet found your personal 'oasis' - I urge you to search out a place and make it especially yours. After you have 'been there' and are once again restored and re-focused, the people around you, could be glad you did!

tell someone they are awesome

2007-06-16T00:53:00.000+01:00

Today started badly, and then worsened as the day went on, much the same as the weather really. I certainly felt a deepening 'ridge of depression' descending on me, which was totally independent of the storm clouds looming above.

It didn't help that I still had two cottages to get ready, for guests arriving 'any time after four' - and as anyone in the accommodation business knows - if you are not ready, it is pretty much guaranteed that your guests will arrive early (one of those unspoken sod's law things).

Added to this, our freezer decided to give up the ghost completely - with everything in melt-down, and needing to be thrown away. I didn't know, but Henry had valiantly saved the ice creams the night before, by putting them in one of the cottages freezers. I, unfortunately could not share his enthusiasm for this fact, thinking ahead to children's menus made up of only magnums and soleros in various flavours.

One hour to go before guests arrival, I discover the bathroom in the studio has a water leak and is flooded in a fairly major way. I decide to close the door, put a note on it, explain to holiday guests, and deal with it at my leisure (there's another interesting phrase.)

Part way through cooking tea (a simple affair involving eggs and bread, bread being the only thing, other than the ice-creams, that was salvaged from the great thaw) there is a hefty storm and the power goes off. This means that after I have pacified children that their survival chances without play station, computer or TV, are surprsingly high, I have to dash across the yard to the cottages, with reassurances to holiday guests that this kind of thing happens all the time, and power will no doubt be resumed (reasonably) shortly. Fortunately it is. Holiday people then dash across the yard to me, to tell me that I have forgotten to put towels in one of the cottages. Soon rectified, but it's just one more thing to apologise for !

The alpaca shearers, a team of guys over from Australia, phone to say they are coming tomorrow - even though the weather forecast is bad, and we have virtually no forward notice of their arrival. I inform them wearily that we have had the alpacas in for a couple of days, hoping shearers would turn up, so all fleeces are dry - no worries there. The voice at the end of the phone says to me that is 'awesome' - and my whole day changes immediately. Not 'that's fortunate' or 'that's good' but 'awesome'. I can't explain how amazingly positive it feels when something you have done, however simple, is described as 'awesome.' Try it out some time... speak out ... but be warned, this is a high impact word!!

baby cocoa update

2007-06-03T22:18:00.000+01:00

One week on for baby Cocoa, our baby alpaca, otherwise known as a cria. He has had 7 days of trying to persuade his mum to love him, but with no success. We have given up on her too, after trying every combination of shutting her alone in a pen with baby, with companion and baby, milking her, trying to hold her still while the little one tries to suckle - you name it, we've tried it.

So it's bottle feeds, five times a day - just when I had reached the stage of leaving all the lambs to their own devices, and had put the powdered milk and bottles away! One consolation is that he drinks well from a bottle, and will take a 6 or 7oz bottle at each feed. Powdered lamb milk is tricky stuff (you can't buy powdered alpaca milk) - you have to feed enough to sustain the young animal, but not too much to upset its digestive system.

The 'aunty alpaca' pictured in last entry, and still in the background here, continues to let the little fella hang around with her - at least for now - it will be interesting to see what happens when she has her own baby later this month. As for people, well everyone thinks little Cocoa is adorable, and wants to help with feeding - so he has no shortage of surrogate aunties or nannies, but we know we have to be careful. Rearing male alpacas has to be a disciplined business, as they can become aggressive and unmanageable when older. This means contact only when feeding, and ensuring that he socialises with the rest of the herd at all other times.

Cocoa has to learn that he is an alpaca, first and foremost.

new baby alpaca

2007-05-28T00:59:00.000+01:00

A new arrival was waiting for us in the alpaca field, when we came back this afternoon. We have called this little fella, Cocoa - and he is pictured here, taking his first wobbly steps, hardly dry yet. The female pictured with him, is not his mum, more like a concerned aunty. In fact, we are expecting trouble ahead, because the only way we could work out which animal was his mum - was to get all the females in, and check each one for evidence!

This alpaca is a first-time mum. So far, she does not want anything to do with her brave little chap, and runs away if he comes anywhere near. It is quite common for new mums, in all farm livestock, to be hesitant and unsure what to do (let's face it girls, many of us human mums experience something similar) - but what we are seeing today, is a bit extreme.

I have fed him some powdered colostrum, which is the first, rich milk, all mothers produce - full of antibodies to kick start the newborn immune system, and essential nutrients babies need to thrive. He would be better off with the 'real stuff' but we have had to compromise for now. Henry and I 'milked' the mother alpaca later in the evening, with great difficulty from us, and a lot of screeching, spitting and kicking from her. I can tell this is going to be a long haul. We have shut mother and baby inside for tonight, and hope that a few hours of quiet dark together, will coax out the mothering instinct.

shearing

2007-05-26T01:30:00.000+01:00

This spring saw a combination of warm and humid conditions, bringing an anxious lead-in time for sheep shearing. Apart from the visibly ragged pieces of fleece hanging down, and the scratching and rubbing that sheep do, when they get too waram and uncomfortable, it's what goes on underneath all that fleece that causes the worry.

Flies. Flies lay eggs in dirty fleece, which hatch into maggots, that literally eat their way into the animal. This cause and effect is known as fly strike and is deeply unpleasant to deal with - can be treated if caught early, but can also be fatal in some cases.

Like every other skilled seasonal trade - shearers are in huge demand by everyone, all at the same time, and many are unwilling to take on small flocks (economy of scale and all that). This can mean a long wait.

I consider ourselves fortunate, that our shearer was able to come to us when he did, despite the fact that we had less than an hour's notice before dark, to get all sheep in, as it had forecast rain overnight, and you can't shear wet fleeces next day. All sheep were fine, except one, where maggots were just appearing in a lump of poo stuck to her fleece. A couple more days, and they would have been burrowing into the sheep's skin. A lucky escape for her and for us.

Our ram, Frodo, was led in, looking majestic and imposing in his woolly robes, and then led out, as you might imagine a naked king Henry VIII to look - with nothing to hide his rotund and portly appearance, and no way of concealing the evidence of over-indulgence in the eating department.

There may well be a few people out there, who like me, can empathise with Frodo, as summer approaches. You know how it is, when you have to peel off those layers, and come to terms with all those flabby bits you pretended weren't there during the winter. Time to wake up and pinch an inch or two!

garlic bread

2007-05-16T01:33:00.000+01:00

Any other Peter Kay fans out there, will probably recognise a catchphrase in the words 'garlic bread' . As food items go, it's one of those 'love it' or 'hate it' things, like marmite, or olives, or coffee cake.

For me, there is almost nothing to beat the appetising smell of hot and crusty garlic bread, brought straight from oven to table, and there is almost nothing worse than coming downstairs in the morning to be greeted by the rising aroma (now travelling up the stairs and all around the house) of the garlic peelings that got left in the bottom of the kitchen bin the night before.

Wild garlic grows in great abundance here along the river bank and edges of streams. It has been particularly stunning this year, with bold, green leaves and a mass of white flowers, literally carpeting whole stretches of riverside. The best time of day to enjoy the whole freshness of it, is early evening, following a rain shower, as the warm air lifts and carries the scent.

Henry tells a story from the old dairy farming days, when the milking cows got out, and gorged themselves on garlic leaves along the river. The milk was tainted so badly, they could not send any milk for four days, and had to tip it all away. I can imagine a different outcome these days. There must be a cafe bar somewhere, that would leap at the chance to serve garlic milkshake?

Personally, I think I'll stick to garlic bread.

be informed, inspired, involved!

2007-05-13T00:10:00.000+01:00

This is the logo strapline, and the raison d'etre for WIRE, which stands for Women in Rural Enterprise. The website alone, www.wireuk.org should be enough to fire up even the most reluctant sole trader into some productive networking, planning and PR.

WIRE brings together an eclectic mix of women in business - from start-ups, to those moving on, from wannabe entrepreneurs, to self-made gurus. Any ladies out there, with a rural connection (however tenuous) should take a look - there is still plenty of grassroots activity, to give everyone a genuine say and the chance to shape what's on offer.

Dare I say, running your own business has become positively fashionable these days, with plenty of real-life case studies to be found in glossy coffee-table mags, and lifestyle media programmes. You know the ones - those women who seem to harness their natural creative flair, and design a unique artisan product, in between doing the school run and an evening out at the theatre. They engage in some apparently effortless business activity, in the same way as they might join a health spa, and hey-ho, their once comfortable lifestyle, is now sickeningly even more comfortable. And aren't they always immaculately turned out with manicured nails?

Not for them, a galloping business overdraft or hours of unproductive cold-calling, or working into the small hours after children are in bed, packed lunches done, and the ironing is down from crisis level (no clothes left to wear) to manageable (one change of clothes to wear.)

What these 'business accessorised' women are missing out on, are the many and varied network groups, that are quietly mushrooming, up and down the country. Whether they are WIRE networks, or other business support groups, they are worth a look, because getting involved, can keep you inspired.

all's well that ends well

2007-03-29T03:32:00.000+01:00

About three weeks ago, I discovered my favourite sheep, Candy, lying in a field, in obvious pain. Closer examination through the thick fleece, revealed a nasty wound, that had become infected. I thought perhaps she had ripped herself on some barbed wire.

A visit from the vet confirmed that there were puncture marks around her neck, indicating dog bites. I suppose we were lucky that only one sheep had been attacked. People do walk their dogs past this field, so it is possible, that a dog could have chased the sheep, and was then called off by its owner. we shall never know.

I do know that it took two courses of antibiotics to get her well again. Candy rewarded our patience and 'nursing care' by being the first ewe to lamb this spring, and produced three healthy lambs in the early hours of this morning, 2 boys and a ewe-lamb.

(picture taken a few days later). The photo is not the prettiest one, but it shows the considerable scarring caused to the sheep's face, and this is several weeks after the dog incident.

The countryside is for us all to enjoy, whatever our interests, but Candy's story highlights a need for responsibility, and the importance of respect for the creatures, wild and domestic, who share the countryside with us.

donkeys are different

2007-03-23T22:31:00.000Z

Donkeys are different to what? - well, ponies for a start (not that I know much at all about horses or ponies - I have never been an equestrian queen) and as I am finding out, they are pretty well different to any other creature I have come across!

Our two miniature donkeys are newcomers to the farm. I could call them an 'impulse buy' - certainly an impulse opportunity, but after some donkey networking, we decided to give them a go. Whether they remain the 'two and only' or become the founding members of 'Dove Farm donkeys' is yet to be decided. At the moment we are just getting to know each other, and it's a steep learning curve all round.

Dandy and Rusty are half-brothers, aged about 18 months and 14 months respectively. As donkeys can live into their 4os, you will understand that these two boys are just babies really. Although one is much bolder and bossier that the other one, they depend very much on each other, and get along together pretty well most of the time.

I love their spontaneity and openness, and am touched by their trust. it's no wonder you hear such bad stories of cruelty towards donkeys . They are inquisitive, curious and interested in everything new. Dandy and Rusty's favourite thing is the wheelbarrow - never fails to create excitement and grab their attention. I haven't worked out its attraction yet - scratching post, interesting contents, something to test their strength on, who knows?

What I do know, is that donkeys smell (surprisngly strongly) and so do I when I have been around them. Henry reminds me of this joyfully and frequently, taking his revenge for all the years I have complained about him smelling of cows and silage and muck - oh well, only 40 years to get used to it.

mother's day

2007-03-18T23:30:00.000Z

how was yours?

my day started well before 7.00 am with 3 gifts and cards, promptly presented, all having been carefully made and equally carefully saved until the special day. Joshua assures me that the iced gems on top of his peppermint fondants, won't fall off, because he had to lick them to stick them on. I am persuaded to try one of these delicacies before my head is even off the pillow.

I then decide to get up and let out the chickens, to spare the cottages guests any further wake-up calls from the cockerel(s)- should only be one, and will be one again soon, but the three silkie chicks we reared, have turned out to be cockerels as well, and have now begun crowing. The plan is to go back to bed with a cup of tea. By the time I get back upstairs with cup in hand, the silkies have settled in our garage (even closer to the cottages) and are calling in unison to the large cockerel who is outside one of the bedroom windows. I go downstairs and outside again, this time with a watering can, and chase off offending birds. It works for about as long as it takes to drink my tea.

I'm in the shower now, having given up on the lie-in, and hastily get out, get dried and dressed, as I can hear the dog going beserk downstairs, which means someone is at the door. Turns out, one of the toilet pipes in the cottages has come away - water all over the bathroom floor, and there is no hot water in fact, in any of the cottages. We go over, to diagnose boiler problem - the gas tanks need changing over, (which I gratefully hand over to Henry to do, while I mop up water, and reassure guests that all will be well again) and all this is before second cup of tea and breakfast!

As the weather has been quite savage today,we have spent the day close to home, doing outside jobs with frequent 'recovery' periods inside, with more cups of tea and snacks. I make a mother's day promise to spend time with each child, doing an activity of their choice (I regret to say this does not happen very often) - so I play football in the yard with Joshua, fortunately everyone else joins in, to save me from sporting disaster, I write a story on the computer with Natalie, and Celine shows me how to create basic animation. I enjoy it all, and vow that I should make time to do this more often.

The day has a kind of poignant end for me, as I find that Celine my eldest, has cleared out some of her 'kiddie stuff' and passed down 'pink bunny' to her younger sister. Pink bunny has been everywhere with us over the years. I have washed and stitched her, and on one occasion, travelled many night-time country miles, to retrieve her for a desperate little girl who couldn't go to sleep without her. I wasn't expecting pink bunny to appear on the school bus or at disco parties, but I wasn't expecting to feel this kind of sadness and nostalgia either, at the 'passing down' ceremony of a cuddly toy - but that's all part of being a mother isn't it? I know these moments will come thick and fast from now on, so I'd better get a grip of the technology my daughters are trying to teach me, and improve my football skills, so I can keep up as they move forwards!

thank cake it's Friday

2007-03-09T22:14:00.000Z

At my children's school, a new custom has been introduced through the PTA, called 'Thank cake its' Friday'. Volunteer mums put their names on a rota, and when it's their turn, they 'produce' a cake on Friday, which the children try to win, by buying a 20p raffle ticket. Apart from committing the first mortal sin (which is forgetting your turn - and suffering the unspoken humiliation at the school gate) there is the dilemma of how to 'produce' the cake. Does a quick trip down to Tesco, suggest busy, pre-scheduled, efficient parent, or is it a snapshot of lazy, can't be-bothered, kitchen-inept motherhood? Likewise, is a home baked creation, a symbol of earnest support for your child's education, in a domestic goddess kind of way, or does it suggest 'too much time at home with nothing to do after Richard and Judy.'

I survive the first part, by remembering - thanks to prominent fridge magnets since Monday. I then decide to opt for the home baked approach - whatever people want to think, and am reassured by the seal of approval from my children, when they see lemon jelly decorations. An accompanying card, stating the names of the hens who have obligingly laid the 3 eggs required for the recipe, and the offering is complete. I am slightly nervous handing over the cake, and quite relieved, to see a smiling child coming out of school at the end of the day, seemingly happy with their prize. I'm a bit happier again, later that evening, following my own custom of a glass or two of red (or white for that matter!). thank cabernet sauvignon it's Friday.

frogspawn

2007-03-03T23:29:00.001Z

The ponds and puddles are stacking up with the familiar jelly clouds of frogspawn. Surprising really, that these squishy little promises of Spring, can evoke such a range of responses - from a resounding 'yuk!' - to an older generation's memory of school tapioca pudding - to the deliciously tactile reaction of 'cool... can I touch it?'

Times move on - and our children become more 'sanitised' and remote from their outdoor environment, (unless it involves an organised activity on a municipal area.) It becomes harder to recognise the faded storybook image of years ago, of a boy with tousled hair, short trousers and grazed knees, triumphantly holding a jam-jar, wrapped round with string for a handle, with a few tadpoles wriggling about in it.

My question and objection to this particular image, is why was it always a boy? - where were all the girl tadpolers? I prefer to describe myself as a tadpole rescuer - and indeed, spent many an hour as a child, painstakingly retrieving tadpoles one by one, from highly unsuitable, watery graves, to more plentiful ponds - no doubt leaving the little wrigglers, to take their place in the pondlife foodchain. I didn't think about that part - preferring instead to enjoy the feeling of wellbeing from saving so many tiny lives.

Nothing much has changed for me on the amphibian front. Of course, I see the bigger picture now, but I will be out there tomorrow with three little helpers, scooping, collecting and re-homing jelly bundles. I can even feel a mini-pond project coming on!

For more information on frogspawn, tadpoles and ponds, try these links to get started: www.beautifulbritain.co.uk and www.bbc.co.uk/nature/animals/springwatch

fair trade for farmers

2007-02-23T18:59:00.000Z

Fair trade begins at home - that's the message of the high profile campaign being run by Farmers Guardian, Country Living magazine and Waitrose. There will be a number of different messages and images introduced during the campaign, to highlight specific areas of farming in crisis - there are also practical steps everyone can take to show their support.

The campaign begins with milk. Dairy farmers are being paid, on average 17p per litre for milk, which costs 21p per litre to produce - and as we all know, it sells in the supermarket for around 50p. Another fact is that around three dairy farmers a day are getting out of the business. We know of at least three farmers local to us, who have announced this month they are going out of milk - it's just not viable any more.

For those who want to keep the British dairy industry, rather than simply accept cheap imports (think of the wasted food miles, if nothing else) take a look at www.countryliving.co.uk for ways to help.

the half-life of a cat

2007-02-21T23:50:00.000Z

Had to take one of our cats to the vets today - she belongs to our youngest daughter and is called Tango. We have several other names for this cat, ranging from fluffball to 'poo-pants' - due to her recent cold weather habit, of going upstairs to find a bed to poo on - quite disgusting, and quite inexplicable behaviour as far as I'm concerned. As far as Henry is concerned, the cat has used up 8 and a half of its lives already, and taking it to the vet is therefore pretty academic.

I thought Tango had broken her leg, and dutifully prepared a tearful little girl for the worst news. How much emotional investment do we place in our pets, and how much of a catalyst (pun unintended) are they in our family relationships? As I'm driving to the vets with the cat miaowing next to me, I remember the day we all went to see her as a kitten, the day we brought her home, curled up and tiny in my daughter's arms, and how many special times have been shared between the two of them since. Everything vivid and sharp in my mind. I feel like I've been on an emotional journey myself by the time we get there.

The outcome of the vet visit, is a diagnosis of a very nasty bite to the leg, injections, antibiotics - and a bill for £40.00. So 'poo-pants' returns, triumphant in her remaining half-life, relishing the extra attentions that any convalescing feline deserves. I wonder how long until she becomes 'that bloody cat' again?

farmers markets

2007-02-17T22:43:00.000Z

On one of our rare family outings (yes, all of us together!) we came across a brilliant market. Lots of things to taste and try - wonderful sights, sounds and variety - chat and banter from local producers. I thought we had stepped back in time. It all seemed just a bit too good to be true. When I asked one of the traders how this rich and vibrant market had managed to survive when so many have not, he told me this was a 'special' farmers food market that only happened once every month - yet another example of Farmers market syndrome, where the population is treated to its 4 weekly taste of real food. Not that I am against Farmers or markets (unsurprisingly) - but why can't every market day be a special or farmers market? If these kind of quality products were available every week, being sold by people who are passionate about what they are selling - there would be no shortage of customers and a bit more money going into the local rural economy. We came home with a couple of fresh crusty loaves, a bag of sausages and some smoked mackerel for tea, (which was excellent, and I shall be back for more - shame I have to wait until next month.)

snowy weather

2007-02-11T23:17:00.000Z

Like many places in central and southern UK, the snowfall on Thursday was not as much as forecast, while the snowfall on Friday was much more!
That meant difficult and tiring journeys for our guests arriving on Friday evening, but a beautiful 'Christmas card' scene to wake up to on Saturday morning.
Snow doesn't interfere with farming activities as much as freezing cold weather. We have been lucky so far this winter, and were reminded sharply of that at the end of last week, when everything was frozen up, for 2 or 3 days. Outside jobs take all day, as engines refuse to start, and endless buckets of water have to be carried here and there. It's on days like these, that you realise just how much water a cow can drink!
Fortunately, the thaw is already in full swing, with rivers full to bursting and holiday guests scraping off 'extreme mud' from their walking boots!

new kid on the block

2007-02-01T01:21:00.000Z

a new male joined the alpacas at dove farm this week. He is called Flame - totally unused to being handled in any way, so things will be pretty interesting in the alpaca pen for the next couple of weeks! We have just let him settle in to his new home for a day or two - then tomorrow, I will start on getting him used to human contact.

We hope that Flame will be one of our 'walking' alpacas by summer time. I am frequently asked why we will not be using our females for alpaca walking. In principle, there is no reason why the girls shouldn't or wouldn't enjoy going out for a walk, but practicalities cancel out the training efforts required.
For a large part of the year, the females are either in early pregnancy, and should not be stressed, or in later pregnancy, where the same applies, or we don't know if they are pregnant or not! - or they have a baby (cria) at foot. We might reconsider, but for now we are aiming for an all-male walking team!

welcome to our world

2007-01-26T20:19:00.000Z

this is a first hello to all of you visiting our brand new website.

Whether or not you are ready to book a stay with us, we hope you will still put us in your favourites 'folder'. On a practical note, we have plenty of ideas for activities, places to visit, shopping and eating out - in fact, our pages make a pretty useful guide for anyone coming into the Ashbourne/Uttoxeter area.

In terms of informative content, we hope our website gives you an understanding of the farming activities behind our family business, and sets out what is on offer at Dove Farm for holiday guests and business clients. We try to explain what is important to us in the way we run our business, and hope to convey a shared sense of values.

The blog gives a more immediate glimpse into farm and family living - admittedly from one person's perspective (mine!) and not without occasional expressions of personal opinion! (but that is, after all, one of the self indulgences of an online journal)

This is our starting point. We look forward to developing the business and telling you more about the farm. We also look forward to receiving your comments.