new baby alpaca

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

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

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!

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

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

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

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!