chicken out!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

on the first day of Christmas...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

www.dovefarm.co.uk

a little wet under foot

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

www.dovefarm.co.uk

food with a face...and a name

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the edge of chaos

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

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

assorted pile of fruit in bowl

basket of eggs

2 x no smoking signs

various items of veterinary medicine

1 x peg basket

1 x can of pink spray-on hair glitter

pair of woolly gloves

dog's lead

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

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

1 x torch

numerous and various items of paperwork

1 x empty bottle of red (much enjoyed)

3 x conkers

1 x stale bread roll, destined for ducks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

no such thing as a free lunch

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

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

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

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

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

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

I mentally give them until Christmas...

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

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

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

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