Snippets from Labartere

Lost in translation

2012-02-01T11:03:00.000+01:00

We thought we had asked for six bales of straw from the farmer at the straw-buying place. We had watched him walk away and get into his big fork lift tractor. We had observed him as he trundled off in it down to the hangar which housed huge bales of straw stacked high on top of one another. We had thought that he was turning his tractor round. Indeed he did just that. We saw him do it. We also saw that he had somehow gathered onto the fork lift bit at the front of his tractor a good quantity of smaller hay bales, fourteen in total, all tied together in a big lump. We thought that he was going to drop them down on the ground near our car and trailor, break open the batch of straw bales, and sell us six.

He did not. What he did was kept on going to the back of our trailor then dropped the whole lot onto it.

What a surprise that was.

(Thought I would just break in here for a moment to say that the doors are wide open because the builder is in to carry on with making a ceiling for the kitchen, I can hear a lamb yelling its head off and its mum yelling back which means they have lost touch with each other so I will have to go and give a hand - they are in the mud bath of a sheep paddock at the moment so that means slopping about in mud, it is freezing cold in the house and more freezing still outside, and the cold is starting to seep into me as well. I'm not moaning though, just doing a tiny bit of a whinge!)

(Back to the hay bale story)

At first the bundle did not fit, but stood tilted slightly up, resting on the front part of the trailor. He said that it would be OK. He pocketed the money and waved us cheerily off. We managed to make it round the corner before there was a sharp crack, which upon investigation was shown to be the sound of the wooden front wall of the trailor caving in under the weight of the straw.

We drove on, Hubs and me both tense, wondering if we would make it home. We did. Trailer intactus, car intactus, me and Hubs frazzled. He was in the middle of a twelve hour day on his PC. It was not very helpful to his state of mind that mid way he had had to go and get some bales of straw for this lot.......

Jacob, the ram is not in this photo. He was off to the right having gone through a few mad moments of skipping about as if he was a young lamb. Showing off, I think. After all this lot are mostly with lamb, and here's the proof we woke up to this morning:

...another black lamb, a female because she goes to the loo squatting down. And another surprise because this ewe did not look pregnant, had no udders, and was just about a year old. We honestly did not think we would have lambs this year because we had seen no signs of sexual interest on the part of Jakey last autumn, none at all. He must have been going about his business in the dark of the night, by stealth, and he has caught us out. We were supposed to be reducing the flock numbers, but Jakey's activities looks like almost doubling them. We are going to be hard pressed in regards to the grazing now. Not to worry, but actually, yes I am! Even one of the elderly sheep, who we were going to cull, has developed udders so could be expectant. Jacob sure has been a busy boy! He is smaller than the ewes. He must have borrowed a ladder so he could get the job done, or else they squatted down for him. Oh what obliging girls if they did!

Message to self: Do not sit in the car and leave Hubs to sort out things like buying bales of straw. Although his French is getting on better than mine is, sometimes it is better to have two pairs of ears listening to a someone speaking French so that any errors of translation can be avoided.

So with a head full of concerns about those lambs on the way, and with clothes full of bits of straw so that I look like I have had a wonderful afternoon romping in the hay but have not done so but have been shifting the straw about the place which not so thrilling a task as is romping, I leave this day behind and trundle my way to bed. I might be brave tonight and undress in front of the fire in the front room before getting into bed. Last night, may I say, I got into bed almost fully clothed because it was just too much effort to get undressed and brave the cold betwixt even for a second .

Taking notice of my last blog, repeating endlessly to myself that the joys outweigh the difficulties........

(So off to bed I went into the bliss of a toasty warm electric blanketed bed. I did not quite finish the blog so went over it again the next day)

The next day: Hubs: "There's two more...." Oh. And there they were, with their mum. One black little girl (she was squatting) and one gorgeous black and white boy (he has little fluffy dangly bits) That makes three lambs so far this year. Can't post up photos as battery charger seems not to want to work properly, but they are deadly cute. Sat for ages on a hay bale in the barn with them, watching them take up their lives.

Off to choir that evening, rehearsal being in a big church in Mabourguet. Everyone moaned that they were cold. I actually thought it was quite warm. At least the doors were shut and the windows closed so no drafts.....

The day after the 'next day': So another two lambs were born overnight. Two black ones. We are wondering what the response of people around here are going to be. Without effort we seem to always be fetching up with something either happening to us, or around us, which draws attention to us. Having a flock of lambs which are mostly black is certainly going to do that. One of the overnight lambs had two white socks. How on earth are we ever going to cull that one. Strewth. I thought the male black and white lamb born yesterday was going to be difficult enough, but this one today...oh wow, but it is a delight.

So off in the field they went this morning. I thought the mums with lambs would be staying in the Sheep Paddock for another day, but apparently when the gate got opened to take them to the Front Field for the day, the mum's charged out with the rest of the flock leaving the lambs to follow on as best they could.

And here's a funny thing......the sheep without lambs are totally spooked by those little black lambs. When a lamb bounces over to the rest of the flock to say 'hi' they run away, as spooked as anything. I wonder what the mum's thought when they started licking off their black youngsters which had just arrived from out their tums. Perhaps they were too busy to notice, and by the time they did, the bonding process had taken place .......sorry got to go, that lamb is still yelling so I had better go sort it out.

Been a bit of a long blog, and if you have to the end of it then well done you.

Do the joys outweigh the sorrows?

2012-01-30T00:17:00.001+01:00

These first weeks of 2012 have been full of ups and downs. Everyone has them. Ups and downs. It is the way of life, and to expect not to have them is unwise. It is just that one can get tired when the ups and downs come one after the other, sandwiched into the hours of the day so that one feels like one has been rolled over by a steamroller when that particular day ends. But then, most of my adult life has been thus. At least it makes for an interesting life.

I had a quiet year in 2006. Nothing much happened. I had my first summer off from work, employed or self employed, and the demands of raising a family single handed. I coasted all that summer long. And I felt dreadful. Absolutely bored out of my skull, conditioned as I am to having drama in my life. Ah well. Drama stops me from being bored. Makes me take notice of those pockets of 'ups', makes me count my blessings, makes me more resilient to those 'down' times, stops me from flatlining and getting depressed.

First lamb of the year came but its life was already extinguished as it arrived. Black it was, with a white star on its forehead. We didn't expect any lambs this year. Thought Jacob was still too small to do the job. Apparently not. We are seeing signs of several of the older sheep who have already been mums, but this first lamb arrived from a young ewe, and was totally unexpected.

What drew our attention to something happening with her was a bag the size of my open hand, and full of pinkish fluid, which was hanging out of her bottom by a thread of skin. She was perky though, and not looking in any pain, so 'wait and see' was the mode of thinking we adopted. We kept her in the Sheep Paddock. I, meanwhile, went for a search on the Internet to try and find out what was happening. She did not seem to have put on any weight and was not showing any udders, so the bag of fluid was a mystery. Did not think that she was in lamb. Too young, we thought, although had been donated to us by a friend who we were no longer in contact with, so we did not really know her true age. But could not find any info anywhere, but she was still looking alright, still perky, still moaning about not being with her mates out in the field, so I got on with my day.

The lamb arrived four hours later. We realised that she was going to have a lamb when she laid down on her side and started making heaving movements on her flanks. The lamb was born dead. I think that the sac of fluid was the amniotic fluid, that it should not have fallen out in its sac, that is what I think.

But the sheep is well, makes a couple of moans from time to time, but then she would. Her hormones are all geared up to look after a young one and her udders are full of milk. I have had youngsters myself. I know who she feels. Hopefully she will be able to raise a lamb next time.

'Why keep animals' was a question put to us by one of the guests at a recent Burns Night Supper in a friend's barn, 'They are such a tie,' she said. Yes they are. They also produce sadnesses. But then, the next morning, .... out in the field.... standing in the most heavenly dawn .... mist softening all... giving hay to the sheep who stood around me waiting expectantly.....and some of the nuzzled up so I could scratch behind their ears ...they like that, a little soft tickle at the base of their ears ....... and all was blessed with a quietness and a oneness ..... it was as if they were saying 'You do your best and thankyou'..... giving back, that is what they were doing.....deep was the look in their eyes...... it was magic ..... priceless. Yes, animals are a tie but they give you so much in return.

I read somewhere, I think someone's blog but I can't remember whose and I am sorry for not being able to make a link to that post, but when one's ship is being tossed about on stormy seas, if the joys of one's life outweigh the sorrows, then those storms are worthwhile. Do your joys outweigh your sorrows? Think on. Do the 'ups' outweigh the 'downs'? Think on.

We have the builders this week: loo, shower, ceilings. Not to worry that also the temperatures are running at minus 5 with a wind chill of minus 9 so the house is going to be tad on the cold side as the builders to and fro. It also looks like at least one of the sheep is going to lamb. She did this last year during a severely cold spell. The Tamworth pigs are rolling around in mud up to the knees after the recent long spell of rain, and Max, the boar, makes me as mad as hell because he insists on transferring the newly laid straw bedding onto an outside terrace he is making so he can lie in the sun, when the sun does appear. Unfortunately it has been raining a lot so that new straw is now soggy. I have gone on strike with putting any more straw in his hut, but instead concentrate on the brick hut. The chickens are still roosting up in the tree, although Orpy the cockerel does sometimes bed down in the chicken run beneath the tree. The little chick born six weeks ago is also up the tree now, although has got too big for his very tiny mum to shelter him. The other night he cadged a 'room for the night' underneath half a wing of one of the other hens. He seems to be surviving. The geese continue to rollock around in the rain and mud, enjoying the wetness and softness of the earth. Hubs continues to work on his PC for endless hours with people in the UK. I bounce between them all. The seeds are being ordered for the coming spring. Work on the veg plots has halted because of the weather, so I catch up with indoor jobs. Do my joys outweigh my sorrows, which in this case would be my work load. Absolutely! Do my 'ups' outweigh my 'downs', mostly!

Hope your week is a good one.

Grand Plans Day

2012-01-23T08:17:00.000+01:00

Full of energy, well more or less depending on what time of the day it is, Sunday hits me with a thump. Despite my intentions to use the day as a catch-up from the previous week or to get ahead for the new week ahead, by the time mid morning arrives my energies have dwindled away to nothingness. For me Sunday is really a day of rest despite my intentions of it being as busy as all the other days of the week.

So, feeling myself sinking into slothfulness I was not best pleased when Hubs decided to do a walk about round the 'estate', (the kitchen field in this case) and it was raining although not much just a drizzle which was enough to do a light soaking, and he was in Grand Plan mode, bless him. And I must admit to being a bit of a grouch which was naughty of me. When in Grand Plan mode, Hubs is unstoppable and he tires me out. But then when I am in unstoppable mode and doing my buzzing about like a busy bee round a bunch of flowers no doubt I tire him out as well. But today, he was in his unstoppable mode so I just tagged on behind.

Subject: ongoing......where to site the Chicken Hut. The flock needs to be evacuated from the Courtyard. They are not particularly messy because Bools and Gus hoover up any poos left behind, but not on the garden chairs. We have to mop the poo off them ourselves. The flock also needs to come down from the fig tree and have somewhere proper to lay their eggs instead of spending their time trying to find hiding places for their egg stashes.

.....it was decided to put the Hut beside the Half Barn. We tried moving the donated horse box into position so it could be used as a temporary residence. After much effort, Hubs did finally manage to back the horse box into position, but it looked dreadful parked up so close to the house and so it was moved back again to its position under the oak tree.
......it was then decided to put the Hut somewhere else, perhaps out in the field, by the Middle Barn.
......more discussions....the Hut to go by the Half Barn, as was originally intended, but that we would build one. Ummmm. I am sure we can build things. After all, I do dressmaking so surely if I can make curtains and duvets, do patchwork, make most of my own clothes..... I can follow a pattern.... I can look on the internet for help....we can do, I am sure.....

Subject: new....goats: Of all the animals we have gathered so far, it looks like we shall be properly prepared before we acquire our little herd of goats. Their home is to be the Middle Barn, which is also going to have a temporary bedroom for guests. Cosy, don't you think! However, most of the Grand Plans talk was to do with how we were going to get the goats out to their grazing for the day. It was decided to fence some of the Kitchen Field and make a narrow corridor to trot them through, like their own little M25.

Subject..ongoing....pigs: Hubs has decided that the Small Veg Plot can double up as rooting around space for Max, our Tamworth boar. His girls will be moved around, but he won't go far from his spot, the reason being that he can be a miserable old git. It will have to be organised properly. It is likely that Hubs will take it into his head to let Max into that veg plot when I have veg growing there.

Subject....new...where to site the Polly Tunnel: not got one yet as can't afford one, but in time......Typically for us, it will not be a titchy thing, but will be quite a size. We can be subjected to howling winds sometimes, not often, but sometimes. The winds funnel alongside the nearby escarpment. 'Cement the hoops of the Polly in' was decided. With luck that should stop it blowing away when the winds come. Position of Polly was also decided as was another row of fencing to make an enclosure for any animals needs to be kept separate, like our Jacob ram who has surprised us by making a couple of our ewes pregnant (we think - their udders are looking plump) and might need to be housed away from the girls so we can do proper flock management. That enclosure will also house a small orchard of up to thirty trees. Hubs will also need some sedatives. Young trees, goats, and / or sheep all together in one space is a recipe for disaster.

Subject....newish....Geese Pond: geese also need to be evacuated from the Courtyard. And they need a pond. Hubs is hoping that this will keep them away from the nearby river. But the pond will be small, and it will have a weeping willow beside it so that they, and the chickens, can camp out beneath its draping fronds. Well, that's the plan.

At this point it rained harder, thank goodness, so it was all indoors for a cup of tea, some Yoghurt Cake (very yummy), and some dog biscuits. I then switched on the electric blanket in our bed and went for a roasty sleep to dry out and warm up.

It was a grand Sunday. Hope yours was too. And hope that you have some Grand Plans cooking up as well!

On ploughing a furrow

2012-01-18T23:01:00.000+01:00

Been a bit short on words since Christmas. Not sure why. Just seemed to have a block in my head, that's all. Anyway Jean sent me an award, which I would not normally post up on the blog, but I did this time because she seemed to click a switch on in regards to getting back in the blogging saddle again. So thanks Jean.

Today I did two hundred thwacks with my trusty thwacking instrument. It is a three pronged thingy which, when raised up behind me, similar in action to swinging a pickaxe, and then plunged down into the ground in the same way as you would a pickaxe, will hopefully break up clods of earth, or clumps of grass, or dislodge unwanted greenery from the soil. It is a magnificent bit of kit. I could use a fork but you have to do a lot of stooping and lifting which makes my back moan no end. With the three pronged implement, no bad back ever arrives. Other things might ache in my bod but my back remains quietly happy.

Mid December and Hubs took it upon himself to get the tractor revved up. Together we managed to get the plough attached. Off he went into the Kitchen Field. Down to the end of the field he drove. Into the soil went the plough. A furrow was made. Our first.

Then some more were made......

....well quite a few actually. And what Hubs made were three long section of furrows with a wide grassy path in between.

And then the plough broke. Expletives punctured the air. Not to worry, though I thought, because enough furrows had been made. If the plough had remained unbroken heaven only knows how many more furrows Hubs would have made. He was, to put it mildly, really really keen to keep going up and down on his tractor.

So he finished off his afternoon of tractoring by lifting the last remaining hay bale from the front drive and donating it to the pigs, who received this provender with great pleasure.......

Max first because he is king in his little kingdom, so he expects to get first choice over everything. So what he is doing is rummaging about in the hay bale to break it down. Then he did a bit of a wee over it all, I suppose the equivalent of spraying some air freshener into one's house to make it smell warm and homely, then he grabbed a mouthful of hay and ran around the paddocks as if on important business.

Then the two girls joined in and a good time was had by all, including arguments, chattings, rompings and general family type behaviour. The hay was a great success, the pile lasting a week or two before the rains came.

So now we have the Kitchen Field with three long swathes of ploughed earth. Ploughed earth is not easy earth. It is cloddy earth. Big clods actually. Big enough to make it difficult to walk over without tripping over. Good thing, then, that we can walk in between the rows of clods.

Now this clodded earth is supposed to be the growing medium for this year's veg. You can't put anything into these clods, so they are unusable at the moment and need to be broken down into fine tilth if they are to be used.

Two hundred thwacks a day I devote to those clods. But I cannot break down the clods because a clod is made up of big chunks of grass and weeds and their accompanying roots, resting sideways on. What I have to do is thwack the clod hoping to break it down into a smaller piece. The three pronged thwacker then fixes itself into the clod so that I can turn it upside down so that its bottom is in the air. Any frostiness will then sit on this clod bottom and break down the lumpy bits of earth, while the green bit which was up top but which is now underneath will become rotted down and act as manure.

Two hundred thwacks does not take me very far along those furrows, but I have a lot to do during the day so two hundred is the quota I give to that particular task. One hundred mini-thwacks are given to the small veg plot. I try to do five hundred clips with the shears on the brambles and two hundred thwacks at demolishing a pile of plants and rocks out front. I do one hundred spins on my spinning wheel before I put the wool on to the next hook. I count to ten when I feel my patience evaporating. Sometimes, though, I have to count to fifty, or even a hundred, when my patience is at zilch. Counting is a good way to get one through a repetitive task and helps one apportion one's energies.

However, I might have to increase the two hundred thwacks tomorrow because the earth is drying out fast. At first the ground was heavy with water and turning the clods was a long and heavy task. Then the conditions were right, and I zinged along with clodding. Now the ground is drying, and the clods seem to have glued themselves into hard lumps. Perhaps we shall have rain soon. That will soften the clods. It will also give me a day off!

I dedicate these words to Jean, who may, or may not be, flattered!

Please note: I can receive your most welcome comments, but I can't get into the comments box to make my response back to you. I have noticed other problems of late with other blogs. Methinks Google needs to sort its links out.

Meanwhile, Horst: thanks for your advice about the tractor. Hubs has decided that we need a smaller tractor more suited to the size of our paddocks so will eventually purchase a mini tractor and the necessary implements to go with it.

Diane: That implement is a marvelous tool and sure does keep me fit, especially the bat wings on the underneath side of my upper arms!

2012-01-06T23:36:00.002+01:00

Strewth.....all I did was press a button to see what would happen and the graphics of the blog went all askew, so please be patient with me as I sort out the mess. Message to self: Do not meddle about with things that are alright in the first place.

Just a catchee-up

2011-12-30T20:10:00.002+01:00

This is as far as I got in regards to the Christmas Tree this year. No decs, and not even having its artificial branches fluffed out. I put it back into its box yesterday apologising to it for my lack of effort. It's not that I didn't want to make it pretty with baubles and lights, it is just that Christmas seemed to arrive quicker than I expected, overtaking me with a speed which was quite surprising.

But at least I did put a little bit of dressing on our front door, the Christmas wreath having been kindly donated by a Dutch friend.

The tall plants either side of the door are small olive trees. They set up quite a good show of olives earlier on in the year, most of which remained right the way through the summer, and even now some still remain. They taste awful though. Perhaps they will improve as the olive trees gets older. I think, though, that they have a long way to go.

The little chick is still doing alright, managing to finally get up the high step into the Tall barn unaided. Fuzzy Sideburns, the little chick's mum, has a tendency to march into the barn and not wait for the chick, who is left to run up and down along the bottom of the step chirruping frantically to remind her that she didn't ought to be doing that. In previous days we have rescued the chick, but today it managed to fly up onto the floor of the Tall Barn unaided, and then it fled over to where Fuzzy was, all furiously racing feet and wildly flapping wings. They really can move when they need to, the little ones.

Our builder paid a visit yesterday, and is now booked to put the ceilings up in the kitchen and the dining room. Hubs had thought about doing it himself with me as his 'go-for' but it was a relief when Danny stopped by and gave us the quote. If we do the work it will take us many months to get started let alone finish the job, so better to pay Danny to do it. He is also going to get moving with the shower and loo. It will be nice to stand in a waterfall of water to get washed, rather than rubbing a flannel over myself. And Hubs will be able to go to the loo in peace, because he has insisted on having a separate loo rather than having a shared loo and shower room. He says that it will be a relief to sit behind a locked door and take his time. I don't quite understand his thinking on this. I think it quite chummy to have a chat when he is on the 'throne', and the dogs like to visit him as well to see how he is getting on.

We have had some glorious days of sunshine, and now it is wet and rainy. Rain is good. Cold is good. Wet and cold is not good. Never mind, the new year beckons, and soon 2011 will be done. Wishing you all a very happy new year, and thank you for popping in to have a look at my blogs.

Hot chicken, frozen chicken, head butts.

2011-12-26T23:55:00.000+01:00

"Vera" Hubs called, "Come and look at this". Dropping my knitting mid-row, I hurried to see what was the prob. 'Twas in the Sheep Paddock. It was Jacob, the Jacob ram. Alarm ran through me. Had he succumbed to magic mushrooms the same as the young sheep had done a few weeks ago, when Hubs had found her, flat out on her back and totally spaced out. Only Jacob was sort of stiff. Upright but stiff. Then he took a few stiff paces backwards and sort of jerked his back feet to and fro, then he charged forward......straight into the nearby fencepost. Headbutted it he did. Thwack! Then he reversed a few paces, still stiff, then thwack! He repeated his attack on the fence post.

So what was that all about! First strong frost of the winter here this morning, so no mushrooms are about. Why did he do such strange behaviour. The ewes will not be in season, well I don't think they will be, so why did he try and fight the fence pole. What had the fence pole done to deserve such treatment.......

Christmas dinner was a bit of a hurried affair yesterday. Didn't cook it until late afternoon after having spent most of the day outside in gloriously warm sunshine cutting the brambles down in the front garden. Pride of place for the meal, though, was the hen whose leg had got in the way of Gus's mouth back in late summer. Well she had been making a raid on the remaining dog food in Gus's dog bowl, he having left a few morsels of food to have as a snack later on, and I had shouted "Get out" at her, which acts as a signal to Gus to go on guard dog duty, but I don't think he meant to actually bite her, rather, I think, her leg found its way into his mouth when he was open mouthed and in the first stage of making a bark, and unfortunately was not removed fast enough so that when he shut his mouth to complete the bark her leg became broken by the closing action of his jaw. I do not think he meant to bite her.

We put her in the 'emergency room', which is Boolie's old puppy kennel, for a day or so. Was not sure about whether we should put a splint on the leg or not, but decided that she needed to head towards the freezer when she started to become depressed and look sad. So she completed her life as a hen of our flock, and into the freezer she went after Hubs did the necessaries. And I saved her for a special occasion because she was one of our special laying hens and had given us good service. And thus is was that she was removed from the freezer, defrosted, and cooked. With reverence this was done. In fact I washed her outside under the cold water tap before she went into the oven, giving her once last outing across the Courtyard to do so.

Do you think me strange that I should do such a thing? Or perhaps weird? Ah, but when we eat the meat of the animals here we are totally aware of their history, and that gives us much respect for them.

So that hen fetched up hot and cooked, unlike her other flock members who have insisted in sleeping up in the fig tree despite being continually soaked by recent overnight rains. They have got shelter but they have stubbornly refused to use it. How they managed to keep on those slender branches of fig tree during the very strongly gusting winds a couple of nights ago heaven only knows. Quite expected them to have been blown away like carrier bags when I fed them the next day.

As I have already mentioned, we had frost last night, a very heavy frost, a frost so heavy that it gave everything a dense coat of ice crystals, including the hens and cockerels of our flock. Crikey but they looked like they had had a turn in our freezer as well. So I gave them a good helping of warm pasta and fed them more grain than usual, by which time the sun had risen to carry on the process of warming them up, by which time Hubs had lit the fire to keep us warm, by which time I felt quite frozzled by the cold, by which time it was time for a cup of tea and some toast.

Fuzzy Sideburns, the hen who has just hatched a chick, is looking after that chick very well despite occasionally standing on it. I think that the chick is a cockerel. Although only five days old it's tail feathers have just begun sprouting in an upwardly pointing manner. Fuzzy Sideburns is called Fuzzy Sideburns because she has head feathers which stick out just like a man's sideburn would do if they were left to grow scraggly.

Another cold night here. Electric blanket is warming up the bed. Fuzzy is in her nestbox lined with straw to keep her and Juniour warm. Max and his girls are snuggled up in their piggy cabins. The sheep are cosied up in their barn. The chickens are up the tree.

The little hen and her little Christmas chick

Saying bye for now, and hope your Christmas is proceeding along quite, quite, joyfully.

Just to say......

2011-12-25T09:05:00.001+01:00

......just to say that I wish you all a peaceful end to 2011, that the Christmas season is a good one for you, and that you are able to recharge your batteries before you launch into 2012.

Blessings to you ....................

The geese they are a-laying

2011-12-20T10:17:00.000+01:00

....or rather the one female goose is! And what a surprise it was when she produced this egg:

And on Hubs' birthday too which pleased him greatly having been informed by the French farmer who sold the three geese to us that they would not lay until Spring, and that they would need a pond to procreate. Well ours didn't need a pond. They seem to be managing in the plastic trough which is just below my washing line in the photo below:

And what the two boys are doing here is prancing about in the Courtyard telling the World that an egg is being laid. Now wouldn't you think that if an egg is on the way, that it should be done discreetly so no one knows about it? And the hens are the same. They make such a fuss when eggs are going to be laid, or about to be laid, or have been laid. We hear the news. So do others, like Bools, Gus, the crows, and the magpies. Often it was a race as to who would get to the egg first during Spring and Summer. I think, in the end, that it was fair shares all round.

Hubs was so happy about that goose egg arriving, and chatted on about how nice it would be to have lots of geese about the place. However: uno problemo.

For one: The nest is right by the front gates:

Aw, but she does look sweet tucked up beside the straw bales.

And so does this little black hen tucked up nearby.......

.......as does this hen up top of the bales. Can't see her? Not surprising as she decided to nest build inside the paper sack which was half full of hay waiting to be given to the rabbits. She has now been moved into the Tall Barn, my thought being that there was no way that little chicks were going to get on to the ground safely, should there indeed be any little chicks happening. And there has been one arrival at least because we heard chirpings yesterday.......

But back to the problemo. I foresaw a difficulty happening. I have been told that geese can hiss. Hubs say they do because he has been hissed at already. I have not been. A friend who has geese has also gathered unto himself some bruises from his male goose and another friend said she had to get rid of her male goose because it was attacking everyone. Presumably the males protect the females. Our female is sitting right by our front entrance gates.

So what would happen if we wanted to go to and fro the gates, which we do frequently during the day. And what would happen if someone came to the gates to visit with us, or came through the gates to get to our front door, which most do. Would we all be under attack from those two male geese as they stand guard over their girl on her nest.

With these thoughts bubbling around in my head, I therefore vetoed Hubs' plan for increasing our goose population, and the egg was removed from the nest and taken indoors. It was huge.

However....Hubs hatched another plan, which was to collect the eggs and put them in the incubator. So an autre problemo. I tend to be the one to whom the responsibility of the incubator falls. I turn the eggs several times during the day, not quite trusting the turning capability of the incubator. I am the one who keeps checking on the temperature and moisture levels. I am the one who then tends the hatchlings...getting them to have their first drink, making sure they are comfy, etc. And when outside, I am the one to whom they come for food. I am the one whose lap they fly on to. I am the one who is their mum for a while.

Do I want to do this with goslings? No. I do not see myself as a gosling mum, with those goslings following in line behind me wherever I go about the petite ferme. Already I have the dogs and chickens and geese keeping me company. Enough!

We eat the eggs. Problem solved. Was reluctant to break open the shell at first though. Had to ask Hubs to do it. Why? Because I half expected something, like a tarodactyle baby, to leap out at me. Ridiculous I know! But still that thought was in my head. I am not used to big eggs. But then it took a few crackings of our hen eggs before I felt comfortable about doing so. I kept thinking something was going to jump out of them as well. After all, for most of my adult life I have been purchasing shop bought eggs which I never had any thoughts about at all although I did buy free range whenever possible. But once the eggs were in the kitchen, I regarded them as ingredients for whatever food I was making. I never connected them with a hen's bum.

So for the moment we are in goose egg production, with five having arrived, three having been eaten by us, one eaten by Gus (our spaniel) although he might have raided more from the nest, and one waiting to be eaten which is safely indoors.

And with a whisper of a thought drifting about in my head that perhaps, just perhaps, I might have a go at incubating goose eggs at some point in the future I am off into my day...another wet day judging by the rain thundering down on the roof,..... and all the animals waiting to be fed and veggies waiting to be picked for lunch..... Oh the joys of smallholding in the wet!

PS. Have just found two more eggs in the nest which the goose had buried deep within the straw, and one hen's egg sitting on top. And the little black hen (the one on top of the straw bales) has hatched one little chick, and it looks like it is from the egg I put underneath her when she first started sitting on her nest. She already had a couple of eggs but she is tiny and I don't think Orpy, our huge cockerel, can manage to fertilise her. Most times she sort of gets squashed underneath him or else walks backwards through his legs when he is of a mind to do the bizness. So I put one of the other eggs underneath her and this is what has hatched.

PPS. Everyone must have an inkling that cold weather is on its way because the hens have been laying siege to the front door wanting more food, the sheep have been making it known that they would prefer to be in another field as the one they are in is not to their liking, and the pigs have been rooting around in their paddock all day instead of sleeping the day away as is their normal habit. I guess that all are needing to put on some fat ready for the zero temperatures predicted. Perhaps that is why I felt the need to indulge in a choccie bar with Hubs!

Another sloshy day

2011-12-18T10:05:00.002+01:00

For this day of paddling in the mud my feet were more sensibly shod in boots that had been so kindly donated by a friend who had no further use for them since they were too small for her feet. She had been inspired to donate them because she had caught sight of me in my other boots which were falling apart, and by 'falling apart' I mean just that. There were more holes than boot but they had been good friends and had walked many a mile with me and I was loath to dispatch them to Boot Heaven, but to Boot Heaven they went once the new ones arrived, sent there by fire having been put on the heap of our last bonfire. It was a good end for those hard working boots. Better than dumping them in a bin bag.

It had rained a lot overnight. To do some more sloshing about in the Sheep Paddock was required. Not wanting to expose my toes to a mud bath again, the wellies were ignored in favour of the new boots. And they were new when they came to me but now they have been baptized in the Labartere manure-mud. They will never be the same again.

So this has been the ongoing Mud Project:

All that water would have ended up in the Sheep Arbre so at least it stayed outside. At the bottom of the wall to the right you can see my engineering attempts to stop the flow of water going through into the barn. All I did was dug a small trench, not very deep because I have lady-arms which comprise a goodly balance of fat and muscle, well rounded I suppose you would call them, but lacking the greater force of man-muscle. So the trench was more a scraping away of the top layer of soil, which was quite rock hard there being loads of stone in the ground.

But I managed about six inches deep of scrape along the wall, and made it about eight inches wide. I borrowed some plastic bin bags from the kitchen and lined the trench, then put some upturned roof tiles over them. Then I espied some useful wall bricks at the local Brico and made a line along the edge of the mini trench to act as a barrier to the water, sort of like a dam wall which I think was quite effective seeing as how I did manage to achieve quite a sizeable puddle the other side of the wall, and the floor of the arbre, although quite damp, was kept puddle free the straw managing to absorb whatever water did manage to seep through.

But I solved one problem only to have another one appear, which was that I involved the old used straw in my engineering project. OK when it was showery summer weather. Not OK once the winter rains came: straw + sheep poo and wee + copious amounts of rain = sopping wet slush.

Yesterday I had already made little streams in the manure-mud to get the water away, but it was not enough. More effort needed to be made, so boots on, everyone to the Sheep Arbre except Hubs who was reluctantly glued to his PC earning us a living, 'everyone' being dogs, chickens and geese most of whom remained on the grass outside the Sheep Paddock, them being the sensible ones, although several chickens did tiptoe over the mud very delicately to do a raid on the Sheep Arbre floor.

This hen has had her fill of sheep poo and is now evacuating the muckiness

With fork and spade and other implements I reformed the rivers I made yesterday, the sheep having collapsed the banks with their feet. It started raining. I carried on, shovelling the muck into the wheelbarrow, then wheeling it round to the new veg plots.

Gosh, but it was mucky work. It started raining harder. Hubs called out 'Come in now Vera, I've made tea for you'.

But I didn't want to go indoors.

Because I flippin well was enjoying myself!!!

Yes I was!

At nearly 65 years of age I seem to have developed a passion for messing about in the mud. Is this some frustrated urge that was not resolved when I was a child do you think? Was I denied the 'mud pie making' stage? And does this mean that I am reverting back to a child-like state of being again?

I very much hope so!!!!

And here is the 'harvest' of my efforts:

What did you do in the rain, Vera?

2011-12-15T23:21:00.004+01:00

.....well I put my welly boots on, that's what I did.
So why did you put those old wellies of yours on?
....because I was going for a paddle.
Ah, so you wanted to go play in the puddles?
.....well, not exactly, no.
So, did you not go for a paddle at all?
....oh yes! I did!
And where was that, pray tell?
......well it was in the sloshy muddy mess in front of the sheep barn.
Now why would you, a person who has accumulated a goodly quantity of years stashed away behind her, why would you feel that this would be a necessary?
...because the sheep have to wade ankle deep in muck to get to their barn.
But why was the muck there in the first place.
.....because I had thought it a good idea back in the summer to put their old straw in the doorway to make a nice ramp they could walk over, and keep the water away from their bedding, me and Hubs not having had neither the time or the financial resources to make a concrete floor for them so they can keep dry in wet times.

And the plan worked. But in my novice state of being a trainee homesteader I had not realised that when the winter came, that the pile of old bedding would turn into a soggy swamp once the sun was no longer shining with its hot summer force to keep it dried into a firm state of being.

However, I paid the price. Yes I did. Because in my endeavour to make some drainage channels to get the mini lakes of water away, my welly got stuck in the mud, with my naked foot being a couple of metres away with the rest of me.

And I yelled and yelled for Hubs but he did not hear. Forlornly I observed my welly sat in the middle of the swamp. In my haste to be out of that area I had bounded across the patch. One can bound on dry ground quite well, but not on soggy, this I have learnt. One has to sort of glide lightly over bog. and not be heavy footed. But what to do.

In my dilemma I observed my welly sitting on its own, but with my sock inside it to keep it company. I looked down at my now brightly pink toes who were starting to complain about my lack of care of them in such a wet and dingy environment.

So what did you do, Vera?

....well I stood for a few minutes hoping that the welly would magic itself to me, or that someone might arrive on the drive in their car, or that Hubs would come and call me in for tea and toast.

"Oi" my toes called out to me, "We need socks, boots, dry, heat".
Nothing for it. I had to slide my toes plus the rest of the foot of course, into the wet soggy wetness of that mucky mess. Oooooh. It did feel strange. And gloopy. And sort of wrapped itself round my foot like a snuggly duvet, or rather a cold snuggly duvet. Two steps is what I had to take to get to my welly. And then my oh my, but another event almost happened as I struggled to pull my welly out of the mud which by now was regarding my welly as a long lost pal and didn't want to be parted with at all. I had to pull and pull, and suddenly it came out, so suddenly in fact that I nearly tipped over which would have made all of me, yes all of me, have a bath in that mud.

But not to worry. I stayed upright. I managed to get some channels made in the goop, and I did have the joy of having those channels turn themselves into mini rivers. If it had not been raining so hard I maybe would have made a paper boat to float along the stream of water.

A bit silly that, if I may say so, Vera.
......I suppose so, but hey! One has to see the funny side of moments of direness, does one not?
Indeed yes, I would agree. Anyway, so where was your Hubs?
...indoors making a roaring fire with the wood he had recently cut. And sitting at his PC in conference with his office in the UK.
...he had made me toast, though, and a cup of tea, and my toes unthawed infront of the fire so all was well.

So, Vera, will you continue with your project of making a barrier from the rainwater out of manure?
...no! I am going to get the manure out of the doorway and put it on the newly made veg furrows which I shall tell you about next time. Not sure how we shall stop the rainwater from trickling into the sheep barn, but hope that an idea will pop into my head over night. We are now in the middle of the rainy season, which is much needed for future veg planting, but the sheep need to have the option of being able to sleep in a dry space. Funnily enough, though, they sleep outside most nights! I don't think they like having to paddle through the mud, although I did put an old table top on top of the mud so they had a nice ramp along which to walk.

Off to bed now. Bye for now.

Vera, you forgot to mention the geese.
...oh you mean the geese which now romp from puddle to puddle having a wonderfully happy time now there is lots of water about! Oh how joyous are those birds. But not so the other birds, our chickens. They do huddles in the Tall Barn, waiting for the showers to stop. Bless.

And you yourselves are dry now, Vera?
.....yes indeedy! No more trekking to and fro the caravans with wet feet, wet dogs, and frayed tempers. All indoors now, except when one has to do jobs like feed the animals or make rivers of water flow!

Off to my warm and toasty bed now, made into this delicious state of being by the priceless electric blanket.......xx

Man jobbies (1)

2011-12-14T23:13:00.002+01:00

This lovely rounded man-rump belongs to Hubs / Head Woodcutter.

And the time has come for the chopping of the wood. First a local farmer came with his mighty powerful chainsaw to cut the beams of wood into more manageable pieces. Then this lovely helpful farmer-man showed Hubs / Trainee Woodcutter how to chop those pieces into smaller pieces. With a hefty axe he did this. His own hefty axe, as we did not own such a powerful implement at that time. Oh we had found some old axe heads about the place but with no long wooden handle attached to them.....well, they were best used as artfully placed decorative pieces dotted here and there about the place. Thought it gave authenticity to our petite ferme!

Anyways, our helpful farmer brought his axe with him to show Hubs the art of 'Chopping of the Wood'. Hubs face was a joy to watch as he did his first swing at the log and with a wallop the log shattered into several pieces which were just the right size for our small log burner. Then off indoors he went to get on with his computer work.

Later on, however, when the day was nearing its close, Hubs made a quick dash outside. I thought it was to water the flowers as men tend to do when certain needs are upon them, but no! A few minutes later, with much mortification, he flung himself through the door to announce that the farmer's axe was now dead, it having become deceased on the second thwack of the log.

'Twas not good, this killing of the axe.

But not to worry. Off to the shops he went, to purchase three more axes. A fairly light weight one for himself, which he ever so graciously said that I could borrow should I feel the need to do a bit of chopping myself which I won't seeing as how I am a lady fair so do not have the arm muscles required to heave that monster of an axe over my head to make a chop, but I thanked him nicely for thinking that I might like to have a go. The second axe was slightly heavier than the first, and was to be given to the farmer-man to replace his now dead axe. He also purchased a long wooden handle to go with the now handle-less axe head. Then the third axe....crikey but that is a monster and ever so heavy that I can hardly lift it. Hubs has been banned from using this until he is efficient with wood cutting. He does have a tendency towards being accident prone, so I think the lighter weight axe should do less damage should it connect with his leg.

Da Daaaaaa!

Success!

Well that went well....

2011-12-10T07:17:00.001+01:00

Well I think it did. The church was full. The people rose to their feet at the end to clap and cheer. Oh there had been a bit of a moment, right at the start, just after the children had sweetly sung Douce Nuit (Silent Night), when they had left the bit of the little church which was up the steps, the bit where the alter would normally be only it had been repositioned to one side so that the choir could have room to sing, well down the steps the children came so that they could sit through the carols they would not be singing, so they wouldn't fidget in full view of the audience of which there were many.

I had been loaned a music stand. I have never had a music stand. I felt quite grand when I put my music on it. Felt quite the business. Quite choir leader-ish.

And as choir leader I stood in front of the choir, children and adults and others. And as choir leader I stood betwixt them and the audience, with my borrowed music stand, upon which was my music, as my companion.

The church looked lovely. I find the churches here in the Gers and Haute Pyrenees so simple and uncluttered. No dead people anywhere indoors, unlike the churches back in the UK which remind one constantly of one's own mortality by the presence of memorials and such like.

Arranged here and there along the alter space were candles, flowers, lights, and a patio heater to keep the pianist warm so his fingers would not get stiff with cold. The churches are lofty. No central heating of course, just big spaces, cool in summer, cooler in winter. But I did not need the heat from the heater because by comparison the church was colder than my house, but about the same as it would have been had we been still living in the caravans, so I am used to the cold, so no bother to me. Anyway, under my black ensemble I had thermal vest and layers and boots and socks and I was moving about, waving my arms and jigging about as choir leaders do, well as I do when I am in choir leader mode. I can't stand still and just lift my arm in miniscule movements to signal the beat of the bar. No, something else seems to take hold of me and I find myself in quite a flamboyant mode, urging the choir to sing louder or softer or not at all depending on what the carol needs. Not that they always obey. In fact most times they don't watch me trying to manoever them into singing grandly. Most time their noses are glued to their music. But I try anyway. I am not a 'quiet' choir leader. I make my presence felt. Not sure how or why I manage to do that. I guess it is a hidden part of me that springs to the surface when the occasion requires.

So, the children needed to come down off the front of the church. I had to get out of the way so moved me and my music stand to one side, mindful of the line of candles put along the front of the raised bit of church, at ankle height.

Children down. Expectant silence abounded. The audience was still stiff. All sitting. I felt like I was towering above them. The choir were standing expectantly, waiting to sing the next carol, which was 'Hark, the herald angels....' The pianist had his hands hovering over the keyboard waiting for my signal. I am not experienced with music stands. I grabbed the music stand upon which was my music, quickly I grabbed it. It did a tilt sideways, unbalanced as it was by the weight of the music, gracefully it tilted, and tilted sufficient to let slip, and fall, my music. I saved the music stand from falling onto the floor. Not so the music. That fell onto the candles. Oooopsy!

But not to worry. No bonfire did ensue. No fireman rescue was done unto me. The music was saved from an untimely death by flames, and so was I. With an 'excusey moi' said to all in ear shot I managed to retrieve the file of music, replace it on the stand, gather unto myself the attention of the choir, although by then I had it anyway especially the 'owner' of the choir who was standing central to the other choir members and sent unto me a deadly glare of 'behave yourself' which quite reminded me of the look my mum used to send me as a child.

We carried on and I did manage to get the audience to participate. I did get them soft and jellied up. I did get them to sing in appropriate places, and we did get a standing ovation at the end.

And at the end, when all were jolly from the effort of either singing or listening, when all were partaking of wine and mince pies in the Sal de Fete (local village / church hall), I tiptoed quietly away, my job done. I had got the people and place alive. That was enough. I had jigged and bounced and encouraged. Onwards I went to my home. To a cup of hot chocolate, the dogs, the geese, the chickens, the pigs, the sheep, and Hubs who came to the gate with a torch to guide me through the various obstacles between the car and the house.

I had just done my first concert as a leader of a small English / French / Dutch choir. I think it went well.

The stonking dynamics of artichokes

2011-11-20T07:19:00.001+01:00

Phew, but the wind did bloweth a goodly amount here at Labartere last night. Aromatic in the extreme, we were almost lifted from our bed much to our surprise because we had had a busy day out in the veg plot.

In an effort to get ahead of myself, and taking advantage of the lovely weather we are having, the project of the moment is to get the veg plot reasonably tidied up so that it is not such a manic panic next spring. Usually this has not been done. The vegetation grows itself into mini jungle, with roots a mile deep in the earth which take a lot of effort to excavate. So I hatched a plan to get it tidied up before the winter arrives. Oh I know that it is almost here, and indeed the mornings have a whiff of frost about them, but the earth is still moist from the recent drop of rain, and the vegetation is still in its settling in stage so is therefore easy to remove.

And bless them, but Max and the girls wait in anticipation of the arrival of that vegetation. Nothing is wasted here. It is not sensible to make a compost heap here because our chickens flatten it to nothing. Before they arrived last year we had a huge compost heap, but now it has evaporated away into nothing. In an effort to thwart their efforts at maintaining Labartere as a 'compost-heap-free zone', we have been putting the manure from the sheep and rabbits in a heap but covered over with a tarpaulin. And yet that heap should be twice the size that it is. I don't know what those chickens are doing to that heap, but they are definitely on a mission to dispense with that heap as well.

Anyway, so no compost heap for the vegetation pulled up from the compost heap. But what I do is give it to the pigs. What they leave will be trampled into the ground so that at some point in the future we can use the pig pens for growing produce, the ground having been fertilised by the pigs from their rear ends, and from the leavings of the food we give them. It is a good plan. Hope we can manage to achieve it. Will need to build other paddocks for them though so more expense. Setting up a smallholding does take quite a goodly amount of dosh in the early days. If we worked out how much we had already spent on the barns, fencing, and general smallholding equipment and compared it to our food bill, then the cost would far outweigh the cost of feeding ourselves from a supermarket. But that is not the point. It is the lifestyle, the fitness levels, the tranquillity of mind, the sense of having achieved something when one views a newly weeded row of veggies, the harvest, the enjoyment of the seasons, the longing for the rain, the frosts, the resting up during the winter, the manic activity of the summer. It makes one feel that one is living one's life.

It came upon Hubs / Boss Man / Head Gardener, that the Jerusalem artichokes should be lifted. They were a late in being planted but had set up a good height and had given us a good show of bright yellow flowers. I thought it a good idea that this should be done because that would tidy up another section of the veg plot.

And wow! What a good crop! A whole tub of artichokes from quite a small row of plants. "Will definitely grow these next year," said Hubs, "We'll eat these ourselves. Better than potatoes, not such hard work".

So enthused was Hubs, that as soon as we had finished the harvesting indoors he went, intent to get some of them cooked up so he could see what they tasted like.

They tasted nice, although after eating the fifth Hubs said that he didn't like them so much, but I finished off quite a few and decided that they were a go-er.

Only in the middle of the night I reversed that opinion. They were indeed a go-er, but a rear-end go-er.

For those artichokes set up an everlasting production line of wind. A wind of the sort that has to be let go off. That cannot be sat on so that it leaves the body by discrete slippings out as one lifts the buttock just ever so slightly to allow the evacuation of that wind.

No, the dynamics of this artichoke-related wind was something else. There was to be no holding it back. It was a blast of a wind. Vicious on its way through towards its exit, making cramping pains in our abdomens during its transit.

And the aroma was something else. It was dire.

Fortunately for Hubs he didn't have to go to work in an office so could f**t away quite merrily and lurch to the loo when required. However, I had choir practice in the afternoon. In desperation to contain the outflow of wind, I took some bicarb. Dreadful stuff it might be but its effect was immediate. The wind stopped. But it didn't go away. No, it just laid in my stomach like a great wadge of air. But at least I managed the entire two hours of choir practice with no outpouring. Which was a relief both for myself and all others present.

Most definitely Jerusalem artichokes will never grace our food table again. But the good news is that Max and the girls love them.

And here he is opening his mouth to be given one. Actually, in this case, this was not quite why he had opened his mouth because Hubs was with me, and he was giving Hubs his 'These are my girls, not yours, so don't you dare come onto my patch and fiddle about with them' warning.

Oh I forgot to tell you. That wound on his flank which I was so worried about because it wouldn't heal up still wasn't healing. And then a wound on his other flank opened up. He stopped eating. Was depressed. The girls, meanwhile, who were in the adjacent paddock, were doing alright. Now nearly a year old, they are almost full grown.

Out intent was to keep Max and the girls separated until early next year, when hopefully we would be ready to mate them. Obviously this plan has been demolished because you can see that they are already together.

It was when Hubs rushed into the kitchen with the news that that other wound on Max had opened up, that my immediate instinct was to say 'Open the gate between the paddocks'. Funnily enough, those wounds healed overnight. So not sure what was causing them, but mightily relieved that they are healed.

Need to go now, as have a choir concert this morning in Maubourguet chuch. We are singing a Haydn mass during the Sunday morning service. Hopefully it will be better than the rehearsal a couple of days, but if it isn't then at least we had a go and letting the voice bellow out is an almight joyful experience to have. Sort of blows the cobwebs away. The mass is in Latin. Some of it is very fast. Too fast for me to fit the latin words to. So I sing the tune but sort of diddle away with my voice, not singing any words in particular but nevertheless making sound. This choir, by the way, is the French choir.

Anyway, hope you have a good day. And may I say that it is not a good idea to eat Jerusalem artichokes unless one has a cast iron stomach or one does not mind being nearly lifted off one's chair by the resultant through flow of wind.

Oh no! Not another one!

2011-11-11T09:45:00.001+01:00

The warm weather, interspersed with heavy showers of rain, has made the grass greener, and the remaining flowers lift their heads and decide not to allow themselves to die quite yet. Everything looks all shiny and washed: the new roofs on the house and barns shine, the car (which is never washed down) does not look quite so mucky, and the fields are bright with the colour of new growth. Of the spear heads of grass upwardly pointing. Of the plethora of mushrooms making pretty white blobs amongst the green.

And gosh! How the mushrooms have flourished this year. Loads of different types: little button ones, bigger flat headed ones, and others.

Inspired by this possible bounty, Forager Hubs picked a dishful and presented them to me, saying that perhaps we could have them with our bacon and eggs.

But no. There was no way I was going to put those on a plate of food. I had read that mushrooms account for more deaths in France than anything else, so definitely no! I suppose I could have taken them to the local chemist for analysis, to see if they were poison or not, but that would have been another job to add to the already long list, so perhaps next year......but not this year.

Those picked mushrooms now languish on the compost heap.

A phone call arrived yesterday. In brief it went: "Carole here. Don't suppose you would like to help us out only our choir leader is going back to the UK forever and I don't want to lead the choir because I want to sing and since you play the piano so sensitively I wondered if you could take over the choir because we have two concerts between now and Christmas and we have invited two other choirs to sing with us and do you think you could do this for us it is for our Cancer charity so it is for a good cause."

Ummmmmmm.
".....but don't think you have to do this. I wouldn't want to feel that you obligated or anything.....
Oh alright! So I said yes!

And so why do I do these things. I have never in my life led a choir, even a small choir of about seventeen. Oh I can read music, and I can sing, and I can play the piano, but I am still not experienced in leading a choir. Ho hum. Will have a go.

And indeed I did. Because I have now been to a choir rehearsal. Sat on the sidelines. Didn't interfere. But did manage to make a few tactful suggestions. Everyone said that they hoped I would come again. So I will. Only thing is that it is a mixed choir, of English, French and Dutch, the communal language being French. Not to worry. I shall have a go.
In the supermarket, though, a man approached me this morning.
"Hello, Vera isn't it? How are those pigs of yours, and are you selling any lambs yet?"
Strooth, but so many people seem to know of us while we don't seem to know who they are.
"And I hear that you are leading Carole's choir. Will be at the concert so we shall see you there then."
Ummmmmm. That put pressure on me. Didn't like the thought of word getting around that I was going to lead the choir. Would have preferred to remain anonymous!

An event last night: Hubs /Flock Master to the sheep was doing his usual night time 'gathering in' of the sheep. One missing. Got the rest up the side path and into the Sheep Paddock. Went in search of the missing one. She was in the small woodland in which the sheep take shelter from the sun and / or the rain. She was flat on her back with legs all akimbo and tummy and undercarriage fully exposed, and a large pile of poo at her rear end. His heart did a flip. Not another loss. Not another sheep to be incinerated. Having already lost two to natural causes over the last couple of months, to lose another one would really put a dent in our confidence about raising a flock of sheep.

He scrambled up the steep bank, which is to the rear of the little woodland, to have a closer look at her. It was not good. Her head was flopped over to one side. Her tongue was lolloping out of her mouth. She was definitely not in this world, he thought. So he did a shake on her tummy, just to make sure.

Crikey but up she sprang with a leap, and off she galloped, as spooked as hell. Further into the woodland she went. It was getting dark. She was amongst the brambles. Leave her for the night, that is what he had to do.

For the rest evening and all of the night it rested in our minds that we would be making another bonfire in the morning.

But no. We didn't have to. Because she woke us up in the morning with her shouts of annoyance at not being with the rest of her flock. At full voice she did yell. Maximum volume. Loud. She didn't stop until the rest of the sheep were back in the field. And only after Hubs / P******d off Shepherder had had to scamble his way through the bramble patch to shoo her out onto the main field.

So no bonfire, which was a relief. As I say, we are still not very confident about animal management but are gaining much experience along the way. But..........so why was she so 'out of it' last night? Why was she so 'stoned'?

The answer lies in those pretty white blobs sprinkled over the bright green grass. We think she partook of some mushrooms. That they made her drugged up. Put her into another world. Blissfully, said Hubs judging by the relaxed flat on her back with legs and head all akimbo state of her.

Now must close. Choir music to look at. Mangel roots to lift for the pigs. Remembrance Service in Castelnau to attend to. Sheep Arbre to be poo-cleaned. Dinner to cook. Eggs to go-find. Mushrooms to be foraged for............

Shenanigans in the duck pond

2011-11-07T08:49:00.000+01:00

OK. A bit of an exageration. We don't have ducks but we do have geese. Neither do we have a proper duck pond. We shall convert the big pond down in the woods eventually. For the moment this is what we have on offer for the geese:

And yes, I do know that it is a bit on the small side but it is the best we can do for the moment. Anyway, they let us know when the water level drops below half, and anyway, of late it has rained. Therefore there are puddles. Especially out on the front of the drive. Super duper puddles actually. Splendid for the three to go have a splash in. Am having to go fetch them back in, because the little lane runs beside the puddle. Wouldn't want them to wander off. They respond with good humour though. With a quack and a honk they waddle off good humouredly back down the drive.

It is the chickens which have led them astray. The geese regard themselves as part of the chicken flock and are often to be seen wandering about with them. When the chickens roam, so do the geese. It is lovely to see. They truly are free range, all of them.

Two males and a female, that is what we have by way of geese, not the two females and one male we thought we had. But there seems to be a problem in regard to the mating ritual as can be seen by the attempted couplings of either the male to the male, or the male to the female, or all three together having a go. And all in the 'duckpond' because that is where water fowl mate - in water. It is a bit of a squash. They make a lot of noise. It is a joyful sound.

Geese flew overhead last night. Quite low they were. Thought it was our three taking off into the night. Not sure why they don't take to the skies. They race up and down often enough, flapping their wings furiously as if getting ready to take off, and then they come to a halt, all effort expired. Thought it was a bit late in the year for the wild geese to be going south over the Pyrenees and then down on to Africa. Glad we heard them though. We missed the leaving of the swallows and wagtails. They did do a gathering around here for several days and the air was full of their coming and goings. And then they went. For the last three years they have parked up on the electricity and phone lines before setting off so I have had a chat with them and wished them bon voyage. We find it a wonderful thing that these small creatures fly such long distances. We have a love in our hearts for the effort they make.

Meanwhile, finally, we put the fire on, not because it was too cold, but because we had got all sogged up when to-ing and fro-ing with the animals, the rain being heavy and the mud being squelchy thus making us feel damp. And then there was Gussy looking misty eyed at Hubs, begging him for the comfort of heat. Bools just sat all forlorn. He is good at doing that.

So the fire was lit for the first time this year. As per usual, though, we have been too busy to sort the wood out, so most of it remains on the wood heap, the contents of the wood heap being the wood from the house when it was stripped out prior to the roofs going on. It has rained, so the wood is wet. Not to worry. Did the same last year, but managed to get through the winter with sufficient wood. We are not hot house people. I think it was that first winter training we had. When we had just one caravan with a gazebo beside it. When Hubs worked on his PC during the day with his office in the UK, with only the thin plastic wall of the gazebo between him and the outside world. When my 'kitchen' was the other end of the gazebo. When I wouldn't shut the caravan door and stay warm in the caravan while Hubs froze out in the gazebo. When I wouldn't even put heating on in the caravan because it was not fair to be warm while Hubs froze.

This was the gazebo in its pristine state. Within a month it was covered over with tarpaulins because it leaked like a sieve. Not to worry, though, because it gave us a yardstick on which to measure how cold we can become before we need to put heating on. Living in that caravan and gazebo hardened us up after the softness of the centrally heated environment of the UK. It was tough, but it was necessary. One can't run a smallholding if one is going to be a wuzz about the cold.

Ooops. The chickens and geese are telling me that it is time to pay them some attention, so off I go into my day. Hope you have a good week, ........

The choir, the maize, the barrels

2011-10-26T12:14:00.004+02:00

Did a bold thing last night. Put the big lights on in the car, the ones which show a big beam of light. Don't normally used them. Don't want to be a bother to oncoming traffic. But it is surprising how much more one can see, especially when the road seems to be veering away in a different direction to the one I am going in. Crikey, but it was magic seeing where I was going!

So why was I out and about at night? Went to a choir practice in Maubourget. It is a French choir, although there are some English. Joined in January. First six months quite hellish. Being surrounded by fast speaking French people made be feel swamped and isolated. Persevered though, but welcomed the summer shut down. But with enthusiasm did I pick up with the choir again in September. I have become addicted to that choir, to the friendliness of the French, of the comraderie with the English, of singing my lungs out, of wearing non-farm clothes, of wearing tidy shoes instead of boots, of bothering to make an effort to live a life in France rather than coasting along in a cosy English enclave like most of the English do here. And I get to sing in various venues, mostly village churches, which is sort of sightseeing but with a purpose.

And today our French farmer friend, Jean-Marc, is delivering one ton of maize. "Oh whooppee", the geese and chickens are going to think, "All for us?...." as they see it dumped on a tarpaulin on the ground. Methinks that it is going to be quite a battle to keep those little feathered beings away from it.

But Hubs is off to get some container bins to keep it in. Saw some large water barrels at the local Brico (equivalent to a DIY shop except loads more expensive) which should do the job. Will have to get the maize into those barrels. Hubs has a full day of work ahead of him, working on his PC as per usual. So guess who will get the task of shoveller? Correct! Moi!!! No doubt assisted by the feathered members of the Labartere team. At least I won't have to sweep up any escaped maize seed. Have seen loads scattered over the roads. They are harvesting the maize at the moment, and during daylight hours, and often into late at night, the throb of machinery is to be heard as the farmers harvest it, then take it away to the grain silos.

One of the tasks which hasn't been done has been the cutting of the wood for the fire. Jean-Marc has offered his services for this task. It is a relief. Takes one more job off our shoulders. Also means hours of a cosy burning fire for the winter ahead. We have a humungous wood pile comprising the old wood from the house. It will be nice to see it gone. Like the caravans, it has associated memories. It is also rat-city and mouse-village. Needs to go.

Hubs now off to Plaisance to buy the water barrels. Just going to help him hitch the trailer. Will try to not worry about those bins blowing off the trailer. Gave him some string to tie them on with. Said he could manage without it. I think it was the fact that the 'string' was made up of loads of bits of string which I had tied together. He said it was a 'Vera-job'. Not sure what he meant by that......

'Twas a lovely Sunday

2011-10-24T08:55:00.000+02:00

Out doing the final run of fencing. Sun blazing down. Got a thermal vest on now though, as is cold mornings and evenings. Mountain air cold, or river valley cold, depending on what the weather is doing. Sun, though, is still Mediteranean hot during the middle of the day.

Fencing is not necessarily hard work for me. Just requires standing holding the fencing wire, or helping unravel the long strands of holding wire. But my legs don't like it. So often I take a chair out to sit on for the odd moment here and there. Laid myself down on the grass yesterday though. The ground is still very dry despite it being the end of October. I stretched out. Looked up at the blue sky. Not a cloud in sight. I roasted happily for a while until fencing duties required me to do otherwise.

And, thank goodness, the fencing is finished for this year. Every weekend for the last three months we have been working on the fencing line. It has been hot work. Now the sheep can munch on new grass. For that, I am sure, they will be happy.

Had a bit of a fright with Max (our Tamworth boar) last week. He had a wound in his flank, which was not big, just a small hole. Not sure how he came by it. This was at the beginning of the summer. Occasionally we would notice a small bleed coming from it, but nothing to worry about. Then the bleed became a big bleed. A drippy big bleed, with fronds of dried blood waving about as he walked, his flank having become covered in blood.

What to do. Couldn't have a look at it as he is not really a happy chappy when it comes to having visitors in his patch of the world. So Hubs took himself off to the vet. Came back with instructions to give Max a dose of sedative, wait for two hours, if Max calmed down then to call him and we could come and have a look.

Max wouldn't take the sedative, not from Hubs anyway. He doesn't like Hubs, Hubs being a male and therefore regarded by Max as competition. Max doesn't mind me, though. So came up with the idea of making a nice sandwich with the sedative sandwiched in between the bread slices. It worked. Took it from my hands quite gently. Even finished off the bits of crunchy sedative lying on the ground.

Vet called. In with Max he went. Not to worry, he said, can't do anything, will heal itself, looks worse than what it looks.

So why did the wound open up again? We think that the magpies are having a drink from the hole. We often seen them on the backs of the sheep and the pigs, presumably eating insects, or dried skin. These, we think, are the culprits. What to do about this problem remains an unanswered question at this time.

Off to give everyone their breakfast. Orpy (our cockerel) is crowing at the door to let me know that I ought to be attending to his needs. He does not seem to think it necessary to crow anywhere else or at any other time. Dawn seems to pass him by. It's his tummy which is more important. Warm pasta now its getting cold. They are all still sleeping in the fig tree, which is now providing them with less cover as it now continues on to its winter sleep and drops its leaves. Need to give the chickens a warm start to the day, so warm pasta it is. Then grain. Or they try and pinch the grain given to the geese. I stand in between the two flocks armed with a mop. This is a useful piece of equipment when dealing with the chickens. Waving it in the air puts them into a fright, but if they are being stubborn, then a quick heft up their bums with the soft mop head soon shifts them. Stealing the geese's food is not an option for them. The mop says so.

Anyways, I laid out on the grass for a while yesterday. Wahooooo! And no more fencing for a while! Wahooo again!

A drop of the hard stuff!

2011-10-16T07:36:00.001+02:00

So as the days are shortening, and the temperatures are dropping but only at night here because the heat of the day is still quite strong although not so strong as on the hottest of summer days. But, anyway, winter is a-coming.

And so it is necessary to start swigging again. But I don't swig in the evenings, nor do I partake during the day. No, I am an early morning swigger.

However, it is not of the alcohol that I swig, it is this delightful concoction:

No capsules for me. 'tis the hard stuff I imbibe. The juice. The liquid. The runny stuff.

And yes, it does have an awful taste, and can produce hiccoughs which bring bits of it back up into the mouth. However, it does one good. Yes it does. And I have found a method of taking it which reduces the pain of the taste: Fill one spoonful, thrust it into the mouth with some vigour, gulp it down quickly, repeat for the second spoonful, have one slice of cake and a hot drink to follow. Done.

So why do I take Cod Liver Oil? Well years ago I ran a dress shop making clothes for the larger ladies. I had a client who used to buy from me, and she was in much pain with arthritis. I didn't see her for a while. Then she popped into the shop. She was totally changed. Gone was her bent over appearance and grey face. Instead she was bright, upright, and perky. Apparently she had been taken into hospital, only to be told that there was nothing that could be done, and that she would be in that state of being for the rest of her life. My mum was told virtually the same thing at that time, when she visited the doctor about knee problems. They would probably medicate you up to the eyeballs now, but this was thirty years or so ago when they didn't.

Anyway, what both my mum and this lady did, was to self medicate, and on to Cod Liver Oil they went. To be taken first thing in the morning. Neat. (But could be put in a drop of milk to get it down the throat).

And thus I also became a CLO addict. When I stop taking it, I go stiff. When I take it, I go unstiff.

Have just had my swig of the day. It is 6am. I have also had a piece of lemon cake, and working my way through a cup of drinking chocolate. Life is good!

Just to mention: the geese trio have started talking to the rabbits. Not sure what they are saying, but they are having a chat. Did some fencing yesterday. Nearly done now. Sheep, therefore, will have more pasture which is a good thing as they are munching at great speed at the moment and all are looking fat and round after spending the day scalping the two fields upon which they feed at the moment.

Did some shelling of sweet chestnuts. Did an internet search to find out what to do with the nuts. Looks like some serious hard work to get those nuts out of the shells. Might give them to the pigs instead. An idea came into my head in the middle of the night. It was to use the tractor to rip apart the four old hay bales remaining from last year which are looking straggly and untidy out front. Lester enthused with the idea. Any excuse to get on his tracky and do farmer boy stuff. Worked wonderfully well. I was happy because I do not have to spend hours trying to get the hay off the bales any more (we are using it for animal bedding). Lester was happy because he had had a play on his tracky. The dogs were happy because they had had a bark at us all. The pigs were happy because they had head high bedding to snuggle up into. The sheep, well the sheep sort of looked happy but preferred not to be bothered by their new bedding. Instead, they wondered off to see if any more pears from the ancient pear tree had fallen on the ground which could be eaten, and then they lay down on the grass to sleep. All in all, a good farm-type day.

Burping ever so gently after the CLO swigs, I continue on into my day. Hope you have a good day too.

Travel in hope

2011-10-14T06:02:00.001+02:00

I am still here, trying to be a smallholder, trying to be a writer, trying to manage the changeover from UK to France.

It has been a manic three months, but now the seasons are shifting towards winter, everything is slowing down, quietening. We need the rest.

So what I have been doing is concentrating on the writing of my books. I am self publishing, which is a task and a half, I can tell you! Not only does one have to find the words to write the book, one has also got to edit, format, and find some graphics to go on the front covers. It takes an age, but does keep me out of mischief!

Everyone is doing alright here. We have not had any mishaps with the eight young chickens we hatched a few weeks ago. This has been a surprise, only I thought that something from either the sky or land would have wanted to munch on them, but they haven't.

The two Tamworth piggy girls are doing well. They have discovered their new little cabin and tuck up sweetly inside it. They are good humoured, friendly, and very lovable. Max, the Tamworth boar, is still his same self. Miserable. Not good humoured. Wee's on his food when he has only eaten half of it. Tips over his water container just for the fun. And yet his eyes look jolly. Since the two girls moved in beside him he has a sort of smirk in his eyes. He is a happy piggy. But he is a male, so does not show his happiness, only in his eyes does it show.

The sheep are OK. No more mishaps. The lamb died, by the way. Quickly. Otherwise, the rest of the flock are calm, content, and growing into woolly balls as their fleeces start to thicken up for the winter.

The chickens are themselves. The hens have evolved a new way of trying to get food, which is by doing a slow and drawling, moan whenever they get the chance to get near to us. Orpy, the cockerel, seems to have gone on strike with his crowing but seems to feel the need to stick close by us when we venture forth from the house. The other day I sat under the oak tree out back, with Bools and Gus as per normal, sat beside me. Also in attendance was most of the flock of chickens, plus the three geese. Rarely do I sit outside without any of the animals being nearby. It is nice.

People have often said to us that they couldn't be bothered with taking on the responsibility of looking after animals. The life and death cycle of life. Of every day feeds. Of every day watchfulness. Sometimes we feel the same as we continue to learn how to manage a petite ferme. Sometimes we feel the effort is too much. Combined with the veggie growing, it is shear hard work.

But the effort we put in is rewarded in equal measure by the pleasure we receive back. Of having two piggy girls romp with glee towards you. Of a piggy male smiling with his eyes at you even though he is pretending to be horrid. Of sheep who stand and watch you as you stand and watch them. Of the lovely sweet smell of them. Of the pleasure of giving ear rubs to those who want them. Of cleaning up the paddock of their poo, thinking about the exercise it is giving to the underarm flab. Of little chicks who romp and frolic around the place, all in a gang. Of the hens who park up outside the door. Who sometimes love sometimes hate each other. Of the geese, whose gracefulness is beautiful, even though they can look as awkward as anything sometimes.

Meanwhile, as I have said, I have been concentrating on my self publishing work. Three books now. None selling. But they might. Travel in hope, that is my motto!

A runny posterior, and Jacob's doings

2011-10-01T05:53:00.002+02:00

So last night, just at dusk, Hubs gave a strident call from out by the Sheep Paddock. And there, in the barn, was one of this years lambs, looking filthy at her back end and obviously suffering from a loose tummy. Upon cleaning up the paddock, I had noticed a green runny mess of a poo, so already knew someone was in trouble with their tum. Ah, so before me was the one.

Nothing for it but to clean her up. Hose pipe, bowl of warm soapy water, washing up gloves, scrubbing brush, all assembled by Hubs under my instruction. Meanwhile I stood in the doorway of the barn, keeping the lamb, who by the way is now almost the size of her mum, in the barn, but observed by the rest of the flock who had heard the hullabaloo and was wanting a look-see at what was happening. Sometimes those sheep regard us as devils who must be avoided at all costs. Other times they are indifferent to us. And then on other occasions they decide we are their friends and they move in close for a nuzzle. They have a range of emotions, those sheep. Last night, they were on our team judging by the concern they showed for the lamb.

Hubs arrived with the equipment. Into the barn. Got hold of the lamb. Hauled her out onto the grassy Side Path. Straddled her to keep her in one place, sheep being very difficult animals to get a hold of, as are pigs. I think it is because of lack of neck around which to tie a rope. Anyways, Hubs on board facing rear end but found it difficult to reach the washing stuff. Thought it a good idea if he were to order me on board to take his place. I had a skirt and pinny on. Not to worry, "get on board anyway". So I did.

And I bent over her head, holding her head between my hands, with my knees gripping her sides, sending her warm and positive vibes as best I could. Meanwhile I knew Hubs was starting the washing down of the rear end, and knew that the first phase of squirting the hosepipe over her had begun. I knew this because I could feel cold wet seepage starting to move up my skirt and onto my botty. Not to worry, there are times when needs must and one must stay put. Which I did.

Also, it having been very hot here, at around 30 degrees, the mozzies were out in force, whizzing about for their dusk time romp-arounds. With glee they homed in on us. Delightfully they partook of a drink of our blood. Couldn't swot them away because our hands were otherwise engaged. They had a goodly feast.

And then Hubs let out an awesome moan. I sent him for indoors for the scissors. Sent him back indoors for some Citronella.

She, the lamb, had a lump on her back. Flystrike. And then the flies came in the hundreds, back for another go at her, hence the Citronella.

But the Flystrike was in its first stage. Eggs only. One huge mass of eggs, all glued together in that lump. And then some more lumps scattered over her back.

We swopped places, Hubs having become exasperated, he having had a long day, he being dreadfully tired. So I clipped and clipped away at her coat. Clipped away at her soiled coat. Clipped away at the eggy bits of coat. To drive the flies off I smothered her in Citronella. It worked. Off they scarpered.

Then we could no more. Hubs got off and opened the gate to the paddock. I didn't have anything to hold on to, so she moved, but not towards the flock, no, she did an about turn and headed off down the Side Path and back onto the field. From thence she dived into the hedge copse, and despite the best efforts of Bools and Gus, she would not budge and we couldn't reach her, so nothing to do but leave go the situation, and make a return indoors, whereupon I divested myself of my soggy clothing, and Hubs divested himself of his egg splattered clothes.

A search on the Internet produced the info that lambs, even older lambs, are susceptible to runny tums, especially if they are eating lush fresh grass. The grass is just this at the moment. Normally, so the info went, their tums will settle down. Yes but she was flystruck as well. Ah well, see what the morrow brings. Probably a very ill lamb. Need to keep her indoors, away from the flies. Don't have that facility at the moment. Probably will have to cull her, to save her any more pain. Went to sleep with visions of her huddled up in the copse her life slowly ebbing away, and thoughts of how were we going to get her out of the copse, it being like quite jungle-like due to the brambles.

AM. Up later than usual. Normally 5-ish. Today, eight-ish. Boots on. Go have a look at the lamb, preparing myself for the worst. "She's out with the others...look she's eating" is what Hubs said to me as I neared the field. Crikey, but that was a surprise. So, for now, we still have her. Will have a look at her rear end to see what manner of damage those flies have done to her. Eggs hatch into maggots. Maggots get hungry. Need to grow. Move in on available flesh so they can get the nourishment. They can leave one hell of a mess on the host body when they do this. We have already learnt the lesson from the chicken who suffered flystrike, which we didn't know about because her feathers conveniently covered the munching place of those maggots.

Meanwhile.......While Max (our Tamworth male pig) is banned from cavorting with the girls (our two Tamworth female pigs) because it is not the right time to be having the patter of tiny feet even if Max is ready to get on board one of the girls and go go go, Jacob is. Getting on board. We think.

The evidence we have had from this supposition is the scrapes of earth on the backs of the girls. Oh by the way, Jacob is our ram (of the breed Jacob), and the girls are the ewes of our flock of sheep.

Now when they arrived they already had a ram with them, but he was already breeding with his daughters so he had to go. Into the freezer he went. So they ran ramless for a while, then friends of ours brought down from the Charente Jacob. He was very small. Looked like he would need a ladder to do his job. Hubs was not impressed. But I had researched the breed and liked what I had read: that they were of an ancient breed and so therefore resistant to many of the germs and diseases that the modern hybrid sheep are prone to. They also have good wool for spinning. But they are smaller than our ewes.

So he ran with the girls. He has been with us for over a year. He is a sweet thing. Always hangs along on the back of the flock, never is a mischief, doesn't give us a hard time.

But: A problem. We have nineteen sheep. They are too many for our needs. We need to cull the herd. Probably keep the younger ewes, and cull the older ones. That was our plan. Except that we couldn't find anyone to help us in the cull. So the year marched on. The other day an Internet search fetched up an instrument to help us with the culling (Pistolet Abbatoir which is a stun gun). So, we will do the cull ourselves. Hubs knows how to. I will learn. I will stand by him while the culling takes place. I will not go into a hissy fit and gallop off in the other direction. I shall not allow myself to feel squeamish. I am, after all, a homesteader-in-training.

So, solution found. Just need to find the time to do the cull. Easier to cull one ewe at a time, less stressful for the flock, less stressful for us. Last years cull of four males in one hit was too much of everything. One at a time, that is better for us all.

However, we don't know who Jacob has got on board of and done a proper job to. It would not be a good thing for us to cull a ewe only to find out that she is expectant of a lamb. This is why one is supposed to keep the ram away from the ewes. Ah well, lessons to be learnt again. Not sure what we are supposed to do now. Wait, I suppose, to see what transpires next Spring....has Jacob managed the task of procreation, or not!

Out at the Tamworth paddocks, the electric fencing seems to be failing again. We know this because Max can be seen prowling up and down the dividing fence between him and the girls.

Chickens good though. All chicks (8) still surviving. Geese good. Still parked up in the Courtyard with the chickens and dogs, and coming in closer when their food is put down for them. We are good. Hubs has an increased work load though, (he is a computer programming whizz, working over the Internet with a company in the UK) but at least it gives us the income to keep sorting out Labartere and her land. I am busy bouncing around trying to do a million tasks, as ever! Ah well, still, life is good!

But maybe not for the lamb. Will see how she is this morning.

Pigs have snouts....

2011-09-26T07:23:00.000+02:00

Pigs have snouts, which they put to good use when digging up the ground. Their snouts are long, long enough to poke through fencing wire to nibble at morsels of tastiness the other side of the fence. Their snouts are also robustly strong. Should the need arise they will put their weight behind their snout and push hard for all they are worth, and their snouts let them do this, unlike our noses which wouldn't. This pushing on the fence wire will make the wire itself billow, but not break providing it is strongly built.

Their snouts are also long enough to prise things up. Like the roots of a delicious plant. Like the water bucket because it is fun to mess about with such objects when things are a little on the slow side. Like the bottom of the fence, the fence which they have previously ballooned.

The wire itself is held in place by long strands of strengthening wire. So the snout goes under the lowest strand. This action would have been helped by previously excavating along the fencing line to expose this section of the fence. It is also a useful action to perform early morning, when the dew has fallen, when the earth is soft, soft enough to dig away at, when the owner of the snout is bored and hungry, or if there is a super duper big piggy the other side of the fence who needs to be romped with.

Once the snout has leverage all that has to be done is patiently keep lifting up that long holding wire. This will not break it, but it will stretch it eventually. It is also useful to push the head at the other end of the snout into the fencing wire at the same time. This will eventually break the little ties holding the fencing wire onto the fencing lines, the result being a hole through which the snout can go, then the head, then the shoulders, and whoopppeeee the rest of the body.

The two girl pigs where in a portion of the Sheep Paddock. It was a small portion, this being a temporary solution while they grew.

April 2011

They grew faster than expected, and quickly became too big to be kept in the space all day.

July 2011

So it was decided to let them out onto the Paddock grass for several hours of the day so they could stretch their legs. This they did with great enjoyment, romping up and down, squealing with delight. They got to eat grass and sheep's poo, this poo being considered a delight by both pigs, dogs and chickens.

They also got to dig holes. Many holes. Soon the green grass became populated with dark brown swathes of upturned earth which necessitated the task of raking over these damaged patches daily to try and reduce the damage. But at least the piggies got more space.

Well that was alright for a few weeks. The two of them would be quite happy being let out into the Paddock and then put back into their smaller space a few hours later. But then it wasn't.

To act as a barrier, Hubs had built a temporary fence. It was a strong fence made up of thick planks of wood. (See photo above, fence on the left) The snouts had trouble lifting those planks despite the impressive holes made beneath the planks to promote leverage. But what those piggies could do was clamber over the top of the planks. This they did by hooking their front feet onto the top plank then sort of hauling themselves over the top. Another plank was added. The piggies grew some more. This enabled them to conquer the fence. Over they went. Frequently.

Most time this action was done when the sheep were absent. One morning those piggies clambered over the fence and did a mix-in with the sheep. The sheep are docile animals. They are not fussed with having pigs romping around in their midst. Time to move the piggies.

This was done. In beside Max they had to go so we closed off the adjoining gate between the two paddocks. It was easy shifting them. Just hold a bucket of food under those snouts and the snouts will follow that bucket wherever it cares to go. Max was delighted to have company, as could be heard by his long chortles of happiness. The girls were delighted. Something new for them. This could be heard by their long squeals of gleefulness as they romped around their new living quarters. To give them shelter, if they required it, we rigged up an old tarpaulin tied across a corner of the fencing, and put their original tin hut underneath it.

Then they started flirting, rubbing themselves suggestively along the poles of the fence dividing the two paddocks, vocally interacting with each other and with Max. But the poles were sturdy and withstood their attentions. Not so Max. Having been on his own for a few months after the death of Tess, the adult female pig, his delight at having company was manifested by a sort of smirk he had on his face and the benign look he had in his eyes. He was smitten. So he started leaning into the fence between him and the girls. But he did not use his snout. No. Those two girls used theirs such that within a few days of sneaky work, such that the damage to the fence went largely un-noticed mostly because the spot which was being worked on by themselves was the furthest point away from the point at which we stood to feed, water, and talk to them, well those two girls squiggled their way through the fence and proceeded to get familiar with Max.

So....electric fencing? Did work once upon a time, but the voltage, we now think, had been reducing. Not a problem in regards to Max. He understood fencing which had white wire threaded along it. He new that that spelt out a problem should any part of him, particularly his snout, come into contact with it. Not so the girls. Small jolts were do-able for them. It was as if they became immune to anything the electric fence could give them.

On observation, it was seen that the rear end of one of the girls looked as if it could receive attentions from a rampant male. This was confirmed by observation of Max's male accoutrements which were looking plump and full. Ah. Possibly the patter of tiny feet ahead then. Would be arriving in the middle of winter. Urgent preventative action needed to be taken, it not being possible, for a variety of reasons, to offer contraceptives.

So the 'urgent action' was taken by the purchase of a super duper electric shocker. The fence was being continually mangled now as both the girls and Max went to and fro between the paddocks. Soon they would realise that they could go through the rest of the fencing. The girls are nice to be with close-in. They are not a problem. All they will do is strongly nuzzle the leg or have a mini chew at the shoes. They can be pushed away. They will also follow a bucket which makes them easy to move from place to place. Max, though, is a problem. To have him roaming out and about is not an option, mostly because of his tendency to want to chew, preferably at your foot, or your leg, or anything else he can get hold of. If he can't reach any of those parts he will use his snout to hook you over. Laying sprawled out on the ground whilst a big male pig stands over one is something one would not particularly welcome.

The new electric box works a treat. All is quiet. All ardour seems to have wilted. No squeals, no snorts, just quietness while the girls think about this new turn of events. Max looks fed-up. The girls look relaxed. He was, I think, getting on their nerves. It was his persistence which was stressing them, the need to procreate running strongly within him. It was not so evident with the girls at this time. It would therefore seem that the patter of tiny feet has been diverted for this year.

Meanwhile, our builder has built the girls a new cabin to sleep in. We were going to build one ourselves but time gets chewed up by other activities and since the year was slipping by and the colder nights were on their way, the cabin needed to get built.

They have a brand new cabin, built by our builder. Looks decidedly different to the one on the left, which is made of wood and built by Hubs. The new one is built in block brick. It does look a bit on the hefty side, but we will soften the look of it with plants. Also thought I would have at go at covering the bricks with lime mortar and stones.

And here is the cabin from the front. And here are the two girls, quite near to the fence but only because they have just been fed and so still have food on the ground. This again will be their temporary paddock, its eventual use being a farrowing pen. The girls will be down in the woods or out in the field. Max can have this space when no piglets are here.

Meanwhile, grumpy he remains.

Ah well, we do our best for him. He has a bigger space than at his previous owners, and he will be able to practice his procreating abilities in the new year. Hope he can hold on for the time being. Hope he doesn't become to irritable at not being able to get to those girls.

Lessons learnt:

- That pigs see fencing, which is minus a reasonably active electrical pulse going along side it, as not a problem.

- that pigs are intelligent creatures and will think long and hard about things.

- that they don't give up if they are on a particular task.

- that they need a warm and dry bed to sleep in, otherwise they will squeal their dislike if having had to endure a wet and cold night. And they will squeal and squeal and squeal.

- that they can be diverted away from naughtinesses by the throwing in of acorns, cut up apples, pieces of homemade bread, maize, anything really. This is best thrown in wide arcs so the morsels of food are widespread, and thrown in small handfuls, letting them eat what has been thrown before another handful is thrown in. The seeking of the morsels, then the eating of them, will divert the girls. It is also useful for exercising of the arms. A good arm swing to get the best flight for the food is really helpful for the batwings of the upper under arms. Good for the bust muscles as well.
- that sometimes it is better to get someone else to do the farm jobs otherwise they won't get done. It might cost more in terms of money, but it will save on the stress involved with trying to do the job yourself. This also includes the work on the house. If we had tried to do it ourselves we would not have got as far as we have.

Lessons to be learnt:

- that it is wise to respond to certain situations immediately and not hope that they will go away. But not to give one's self a beating up if there was a delay in taking action. After all, one is only doing one's best. After all, one is only human. After all, one is not a robot.

Another letting go...

2011-09-23T23:04:00.000+02:00

June 2008: This caravan had come my way before we left the UK for France. Conveniently parked not far from Labartere, I thought it ideal to use as our shelter while we sorted out the house. The problem of actually getting it on site was solved by friends of ours. Already resident in France, they zoomed down from Angouleme to see us. Like angels they were to us at that time. Being caravanners they knew the ins and outs of caravans, so not only did they tow the caravan here, but also set it up for us. (The campervan is on the right, and is the one which was swapped for a horsetrailer last week).

The tent on the left of the caravan is the one we slept in for our first few nights. The Courtyard is looking quite pristine as well. Everything looks quite, quite, tidy!

August 2008: I always thought the caravan was not in its right place, and soon it was moved:

Gosh! How pristine everything still looks. The grass is green, the newly erected gazebo is clean and tidy, and the tent is still all together in one piece. The gazebo served as the kitchen area, a sitting area, and at the far end Lester had his table and chair and that was where he worked on his computer all the day long. The tent housed our clothes. They were kept in boxes to keep them dry. The tent also housed our porta potti. We resisted using the loo in the caravan for some time. Not sure why this was. Those night time loo trips were a bit of a scary experience sometimes. Spiders and creepy crawlies.

Late August 2008:

After a huge summer storm swept over our heads we realised that the gazebo was a kite-in-waiting as it sought desperately to take off and run with the wind during the wildest bit of the storm. It was only by us hanging on to it that it remained in situ. We also realised the lack of effort the roof made at keeping us dry, it being ever so willing to let the rainwater through, just like a sieve does.

So, we began to cover the gazebo with tarpaulins and also started tying it down with large rocks in an effort to convince it that it was not a sieve and not a kite. It was to become so laden down with tarps that it could hardly stand. Meanwhile the tent stands firm despite having its door ripped during the winds of the storm, but its preference was to stay on firm ground. It did not seem to want to fly with the winds at all. Meanwhile the ground of the Courtyard gets its first proper churning up as the Big Cat machine is driven on site. This is the start of the work.

First, though, everything that is loose, fallen down, or just rotten, has to come out. After a few weeks all that was left was the walls of the house and some main beams of the roof. It was a relief that the work had started. Hearing the thuds, crashes, and bangs as our house slowly continued its march toward ruination had become quite stressing for us especially in the middle of the night. Having all that loose stuff taken out did bring us a sort of peacefulness, except that the tarpaulins that were put up to protect the vulnerable walls used to flap with the lightest of breezes. Eventually that was to get on our nerves as well.

Meanwhile caravan life was continuing on. The winter arrived, and with it our first taste of living the outdoor life in below zero temperatures. Of the mud which oozed underfoot, of having continual wet feet as our boots refused to dry out, of Lester sitting at his computer working away while icicles fell down on him from the tarped gazebo roof over his head. And then....

January 2009: A tempest hit us. 4.30 in the morning it arrived. The gazebo said 'Wahoo, sail time', as it started to buck about in the winds. But I said 'Oh no you don't' and literally hung onto one end of the gazebo while Lester raced about outside trying to keep the tarps on until it got too dangerous and he came inside to hang on to the gazebo who was really mightily wanting to go away up into the sky but then at 07.30 in the morning we all lost the fight as the hugest of huge gusts lifted the gazebo up taking Lester with it three feet into the air then smacked it down again with an almighty thump, breaking the gazebo in two and plunging us all into a chaotic jumble of wet tarps and shreds of soggy gazebo.

Untangling ourselves, we stood in the only dry space left here apart from the caravan, and that was underneath the lintel of the Half Barn doorway. We were wet. We were hungry. We were cold. So battled the wind again to get across to the caravan and spent the rest of the day huddled up in the damp bed, dog as well. Couldn't risk putting the gas on to make warm food. The electricity was off. As I say, huddled up we stayed until the tempest blew itself out, which was early evening. It was long day, that day was.

A couple of days later and those dear friends of ours came down to rescue us, fetching another caravan down with them. This was parked up alongside the other one. That was a big boost to our spirits because it provided us with sleeping quarters (the original caravan), a kitchen and living area (the new caravan) and by then we had done a quick renovation job on the Pig / chicken hut and turned it into our office.

Meanwhile, Danny, our French builder, had started work on the house.

The Courtyard was looking far less pristine, and generally more untidy. The grass was being pushed back as vehicles went to and fro the Courtyard. I was still parked up over at the caravans, keeping out of the way. Lester was most times parked up in the Pig / chick hut working away to provide the necessary income for the renovation work to continue. We also had acquired Gussy, who is standing in the middle of the above photo.

November 2009: And come the day when the roof was up, and into the house went my freezer and sundry other bits and pieces which had been piled up underneath those tarps which are now laying discarded on the ground. This was the start of our second winter here.

And then another storm blew on in, and despite Lester doing his best.....

.....to keep the tarps on the kitchen caravan' roof and awning, this happened...

.....a huge gust of wind and the awning back-flipped itself over the caravan.

January 2010: Enough! Abandoning the kitchen caravan, I took myself over to the house and made myself a temporary kitchen out of my therapy bed, a table, some planks of wood I 'borrowed' from the builders, some jam jars, a couple of logs, a camping table, and sundry other bits and pieces I managed to excavate from our belongings.

The kitchen caravan became abandoned, but we were still sleeping in the bedroom caravan. The 'office', too, was still in use.

To keep our feet dry I had made a 'runway' between the caravans and the office. This was valuable in keeping our feet away from mud. Tarps also covered the ground, which again kept our feet virtually mud-free.

Meanwhile, the sheep had arrived, as had the chickens....

...as had the chicken hut and the sundry other bits and pieces which seem always to be lying about the place despite my best efforts to keep it tidy.

And then it became time to donate the kitchen caravan to people needing it to house one of their mums when she came to visit. Meanwhile, I had made a little sitting room in a corner of the temporary kitchen, and all of our belongings were now in the house. The Half Barn had been three quarters finished but still needed the walls and flooring to be finished. The Tall Barn roof was nearly finished. The pigs were with us. Two of the fields had been fenced. A third winter beckoned. With no windows in the house it looked like it was going to be another cold one. Then our friends turned up for a third time and put the windows in, and made a door to the room which was to become our sitting room / office thus putting into retirement the pig/chick hut.

....but we were still commuting at night to our bed in the bedroom caravan. But with a fourth winter looming, an urgency came upon us to move into the Half Barn. Which we did.

Then a man came along and made us a proposition in regards to the camper van, which had been parked up out on the drive. This I wrote about a couple of blogs ago.

Then it came into our minds that perhaps our builder would like to have the bedroom caravan rather than seeing it rot away.

It's gone!

Looks a mess does the Courtyard! Ah, but at least we can start the process of turning it into a garden. Once the geese and chickens have their own house somewhere else. Once all the buildery stuff, most of which is Lester's, has found a home.

Like when the camper van left, the caravan has left a hole.

And my eternal thanks to Val and Ron, for being such wonderful people. Circumstances have put a distance between us, and contact is broken. But I send up my thanks to these two. We could have managed without their help, but they made our life easier by the help they brought our way.

I know that they regarded the giving away of the caravans as a waste. But I did not want to see them rot before my eye. Better that they be passed on to other people who will make good use of them. The same for the camper van.

Meanwhile, the geese are digging their own hole in the Courtyard, the builder has dug a huge hole which will be an eventual pond, and the chickens continue to rake the ground over, so it is likely that the Courtyard is going to stay looking a bit grim for a while yet. Not to worry, I shall start taking over little bits of it and plant a few shrubs for next year. The future beckons.

The entourage increases

2011-09-23T06:59:00.000+02:00

Once upon a time I only had one in my entourage: Bools, our Spinger Spaniel. But that was back in the old times, back in the UK.

He was my shadow. I could go nowhere without him in attendance on me. Sometimes this was a blessing, often not. He would get under my feet when I was busy which irritated me, when hungry or wanting a walk he would psyche me out by staring at me in a fixed manner which also irritated me. Often I felt he was ruling me, nevertheless he was good company.

This changed when doggy Gus arrived. He of the tendency to want cuddles whenever I stop long enough for him to take the opportunity to get near me. He of the big brown seal-type eyes that open even wider when he is of a need. He seems to be able to make them moist as well. One has to be firm with oneself when he does that. Gussy doggy, well he could do with an Oscar for acting.

These two, then, comprised my entourage. And then......

......which, a year later, had become...

.....my entourage has increased, such that wherever I go they will follow. And they have their own methods of psyching me out, mostly to do with cooing, clucking, and crowing. This they do, to great effect, on the front doorstep if I am indoors. If outside, then they will be close by, observing my activities.

And then, two weeks ago....

...these three arrived, put in my veg patch while they settled down. I was unhappy about this. Oh I knew that they had to go in an enclosed space and this was the only one available but I envisaged all eaten down to nothingness.

They didn't. Eat all. In fact, all they did was patrol along the fence line, keeping an eye on what was going on. They didn't seem to go anywhere else. Meanwhile it rained. Meanwhile the weeds grew. My veggie patch became a jungle. Not to worry, at least I am finding some veggies even though I have to delve into a thickness of weeds to do so.

Anyway, time to let the geese out, with the expectation that they would probably go somewhere else, like the river, or the sky them having quite huge wings which they often flap mostly when one is walking away from them, or walk off down the lane the side path being unfenced at the moment because the builder needs to drive his van to and fro the property.

They did none of this. All they did was park themselves up in the Courtyard. With the chickens. With the dogs. With us.

And there they have stayed, glued to the team. And if I venture forth from the Courtyard so will they. So will the chickens. So will the dogs. If I am not available they will wander off with the chickens but not for long.

And they do racing games whereby they, with speed, suddenly get the urge to have a run up and down. Not far, though, just enough to say that they could do 'lift off' up into the sky if they wanted to.

And they are starting to learn about feeding times. They don't like to eat their grain straight from the ground. They like to have their grain given to them in dishes. They are dainty creatures, these geese of ours. Very graceful, always chatting to each other, always watching.

So my entourage now comprises two dogs, ten chickens, one cockerel, eight chicks, three geese.

Crikey! And when I walk out of the Courtyard they all stream behind me....Gussy chasing the chickens, Bools chasing the chicks, the geese keeping a dignified rear guard. It raises the spirits no end. Unless I am in a hurry. As happened yesterday when the piggy girls raised mayhem, but I shall update you on that in the next blog.

And my thanks to John, over at Going Gently, for inspiring this blog because he too has an entourage and I know that it lifts his heart as well.

Hen love-ins, potty bedrooms.

2011-09-19T07:27:00.003+02:00

She's at it again. The little brown hen, the one who took a passionate inclination towards another little hen, mounting her frequently and going through the mating activity. Not sure if there was a conclusion. Probably not. She is a hen after all even if she thinks she isn't.

However......she has now turned her affections towards our best egg laying big brown hen. Upon her back she gets. But she is too small, so just bounces about. To get the grip necessary for that backwards under flip of the rear end so that seed can be transferred one to the other, the one on top has to hold, with the beak, the feathers on the head of the one being sat upon. This action is do-able if one is of the necessary size. The cockerel can manage quite successfully, but not with the smaller hens though, because his weight squashes them so flat that their rear end orifices are most times pushed into the soil. Not to worry, though, at least he tries.

But then it is his job to try and this he has done successfully as can be seen by the nine chicks that have been hatched since his arrival. And a quick word about those chicks. One was hatched under a hen-mum. Five, and then three, were hatched in the incubator. I was worried about them not having a mum to look after them, to snuggle up to when cold, to show them how to feed, how to behave. I shouldn't have worried.

In comparison to the chick and mum family, those eight are far happier, better socialized, roam wider and therefore have many more adventures than the single chick whose mum kept him glued to her side for several weeks and then shooed him away once she decided that she had done her job. He now remains a solitary chicken, and does not seem to fit in with the rest of the flock. Not to worry, he is booked to go to another flock of hens when is old enough.

As for the eight. They should have been kept in the outside run for several weeks but they didn't want to be cooped up even though the space was suitably large enough for them. In their heads was the requirement to be out amongst the rest of the flock and would kick up one hell of a hullabaloo about being kept caged up such that Hubs relented and let them out. Didn't think any would survive, but they all have so far, possibly because it is the end of season for any of the birds or animals who would need to hunt them, the hunger to feed their own young not being upon them like it is in the Spring.

And five run together, and the three make their only little group. They are so happy together in their little bands. Racing around the place. Getting into mischief. Enjoying life. Snuggling together in corners when they need to rest. A lot of the time being one of the flock. Life is good for them. This I shall remember should the time come to cull them, in particular the cockerels of which there are several.

But...back to that romping little brown hen. So she tries to keep a hold on the feathers at the back of the head of the big brown hen, which would then give her the momentum to do the backward rear flip over the rear end of the big brown hen. Except that to do that backward flip necessitates her leaving go of the head of the big brown hen, which then unbalances her such that the backward flip can't happen.

And oh what a carry on she makes. She squawks. She jumps. She carries on like a demented being. Meanwhile the big brown hen seems to be in a faze as to what is happening. Meanwhile, the cockerel seems just as fazed by the sight of two of his hens apparently having it away with each other.

He is losing his feathers. Has been doing so for a while. Might be as a result of the hot weather. Might be because he is in a natural time of moult. Might be because of stress. Might be having his head scrambled by the sight of one of his hens mounting the other. Can't fight the little brown hen. Could fight a cockerel. But little brown hen is not a cockerel. So he dithers about in front of the hens. Unsure. Not knowing what to do.

So what he does do, after a while, is peck at the head......but not of the little brown hen, but the big brown hen. So she now has two beaks having a go at her head. And it looks like he is telling her off, his attitude being, 'Oh you naughty, naughty girl....what do you think you are doing. Stop it. Stop it this minute!'

Which I think is terribly unfair. That big brown hen is one of our best egg layers. To have her upset is not good. To have the big cockerel having a go at her, and the little brown hen trying to mate with her....well, if I were her I would go on strike.

And the other little brown hen is just as troublesome. She is the one who sat for weeks incubating the onions being dried in the Tall Barn until the onions became all used up such that there was nothing left to sit on. She then changed her sit-in area to the Wood Shed / Used to be the Office. This was not do-able because I have managed to keep the hens sitting in that particular spot for some weeks, mostly due to the large plastic egg which is always in situ. Therefore, frequently, I hauled her off that spot and put in the 'naughty box' which is an empty rabbit cage. Seems to have worked. She has finally gone off the boil in regards to sit-ins, a mode she must have sustained for at least two months.

Meanwhile, one of the big brown hens has gone half-broody in one of the three flower pots housing the young olive trees. I say 'half-broody' because unlike the little brown hen, she is half hearted with her sit-in activities.

I put a couple of eggs underneath her in an endeavour to make her sit-it worth while for both of us, only to find that she sometimes sat on the eggs sometimes didn't which enabled Gussy doggy to steal one of the eggs himself being sat in the opposite flower pot.

And here he is doing cute-dog pose. Only he is not a cute dog. Like a sudden summer storm he can blow up into a fiend when he likes. He also has a coat which is a nightmare to look after. He should be long coated, being a cocker spaniel, but his body hairs seem to have the capacity to stick together with much ease into horrid clumps of smelliness so he has to be kept clipped which has made him look far less pretty. Not sure how we are going to manage the winter with him. Might knit him a woolly coat. He does feel the cold and shivers frequently even if allowed to grow a full, tangled coat.

So, pots one and two have now trampled down flowers which were at the end of their growing season anyway. Pot number three is still free!

To the pot, I think, the little brown hens will have to go. Not the flower pots, but the pot on the stove via a short rest in the freezer. I am still dithering about this decision, but the little brown hen is putting herself in the freezer because of the upset she is causing and every time I hear the ruckus she is making she is reinforcing my thoughts about despatching her.

These decisions about life and death are very relevant when running a small farm. Who to save. Who to let go. It is not done lightly, these decisions about who to cull. But when I start stepping back from this task of choosing I only have to walk past the meat counter of the local supermarket. At least we know the history of our meat.

I think that the majority of the chicks are cockerels. Two are booked to go to new homes when they are big enough, but the rest will go into the freezer. Meanwhile they are rollicking around, having adventures, exploring life. This I shall remember when they are due to be recycled.

As for incubators: As I have said, despite my previous misgivings about using them because of the lack of parenting the chicks would have, it would seem that the chicks have a better time without a hen-mum around, and enjoy far more freedom which seems to generally make them more socialized and happy all round.

And although the chicks are devastatingly cute when hatched, and one wants to keep picking them up and cuddling them, this stage does evaporate once they get their proper feathers.

So off to feed everyone now..... first of the wet, colder mornings today, a portent of the winter to come. Not to worry, soon be Spring again! Will keep saying that to myself as clump about in my welly boots during the coming weeks!

A friend leaves

2011-09-14T09:18:00.001+02:00

Our first day here, just over three years ago. We had travelled down in convoy (three vehicles) from the UK and had finally arrived in the early hours of the morning. We were tired. It had been raining. Getting out of the camper van we were plunged into a sea of sopping wet grass. Nowhere to make a cup of tea, (camper van too full of stuff to be able to get to the cooking facilities it has on board), no proper bathroom to have a shower and a loo, although we had a porta potti on board and we had made sure of being able to use it albeit with a bit of a struggle swamped as it was by stuff. Anyway, all we could do was shift all the 'stuff' around so we could get to the bed, and down for a sleep we went.

We had sold our house in the UK. Taken the plunge. Do it. Or not. 'Or not' was dreadfully relevant that first morning. In the dark nothing could be seen of Labartere. It was a blob of blackness. Wetness. But with the arrival of daylight we could see all. The overgrown Courtyard. The gates hanging off their hinges. The house. Half the roof down, the rest almost. We were tired. Wanted only to get onto a comfy sofa, switch telly on, munch on a humungous pile of food. Be cosy. Warm. Dry. That is what I wanted.

Dismay, therefore, took hold of me as I stood beside the camper van and observed our new home. Behind me, footsteps. It was Gary, our removal man. He, who had remained optimistic and cheerful for all the long hours of packing us up in the UK, and delivering us here in SW France. He, who had sat-navved us all the way down, probably taking several hours longer than what we should have as the sat-nav directed us this way and that way through Paris often in the opposite direction to the actual signs for Bordeaux.

But cheerful, he remained always cheerful, as did we. Only my cheerfulness seemed to be on holiday at that moment, and forlorn-ness was swamping me.

"I'm not taking you back" he said. Just that. It was enough. We unpacked. We started life.

But the camper van didn't. Start life, I mean. Oh for a while it was our only vehicle. It took us into the first visits to the local supermarket where we stood for hours in front of foreign food shelves which didn't make any sense to us, it took us into our first city to try and get the internet and phones sorted out which was absolutely necessary because it is connected to our work, it took me on my first solo drive on foreign roads teaching me how to drive on the opposite of the road. For a while it stood in the gateway, then it got parked out front, pushed to one side as we came by an old French Mercedes which became our first vehicle.

And so it got left, driven less and less, eventually becoming mechanically sticky such that it went into a miff and refused to budge. Meanwhile life went on. One roof up, two roofs, three, and the fourth was finished yesterday.

A man came by three days ago and made us an offer. Yesterday he fetched up here unexpectedly.

I felt a deep lump in my chest as I watched the camper van being towed away behind a big black lorry. It gave us France. I had an urge to purchase it when we moved from Kent to Buckinghamshire. Then I eventually got another urge to travel to France with it. Although I argued with that urge for a year or so, the urge won and to France we went and our life unexpectedly changed around because it felt like we were coming home. Three years or so later, another trip to France, and Labartere was bought. Another year or so, and we started our life here. It was the camper van which helped open that door.

It is ironic that the day the fourth roof is finished, the camper van goes. The remaining caravan goes next week. It is the end of a phase. Like all endings, there is a time to stop and reflect, to feel that wrench of parting, even if it is with a vehicle rather than a person.

But enough! I wallowed in memories yesterday. I guess that memories, because they are known, give one a measure of safety. After all, the future is unknown, which makes it a scary place to think about stepping into.

We couldn't register the camper van here, that is why it eventually became almost abandoned. I put up a thought to the Universe as to what to do with it. The Universe answered and sent a man our way. But the man did not come 'empty handed'. Here is what he delivered by way of a trade:

......an Ifor horsebox! Takes two horses and a pony apparently. So what are we supposed to do with that! It's too big for our requirements really although we do need a trailer. Lester is not fussed with towing it anyway. I looked inside it and thought it would make a cosy 'get away from it all' space especially if parked down in the woodland. Or the chickens could have it. Or we could use it as a shed. Like our future, its future is unknown to us at this time.........

Me, the hosepipe, and new recruitees

2011-09-01T09:09:00.001+02:00

Just me mucking about as per usual...

Hope you enjoyed sharing time with me, Max, and the new arrivals.

The five have become eight!

2011-08-26T15:04:00.006+02:00

So the five little chicks, who have become hooligans, were supposed to spend several weeks in the evacuated chicken run while they put on body weight and gained height so that they could then be let out to run free without the bother of being got at by anything which would want to eat them because they were bite sized morsels of little beings.

Well that didn't happen. They just could not see any point whatsoever in being kept in that environment when there was a big world outside to investigate. Not only that, but they wouldn't eat the food I put in for them but preferred the vegetation which was already growing in that space, the rest of the flock not having been in it for some time, them preferring to go to bed in the fig tree above the run, thereby letting sundry plants populate, and thrive, in the rich dungyness of that space.

And inside the run there grew Deadly Nightshade, for which the chicks seemed to develop a passion such that they demolished most of the plants by jumping up and eating the leaves. Was worried when first I saw them do this thinking that they might be poisoning themselves, but they didn't. They just seemed to get more energy to jump. I think perhaps that they found it more fun to jump up and try to grab bits of leaf. I think that those five are bright little beings and were find it boring to be stuck in the run. I think that it was driving them nuts!

So, with Hubs in agreement, I let them out despite being worried that they might get eaten by anything passing which was of a mind to eat them. Like the crows, buzzards, or magpies. So far, however, we still have the five.

Oh and by the way, every day the swifts are gathering. A few days ago, just a few. Each day a few more. And so they are building up a gathering, getting ready to depart this land for the coming winter. Down to South Africa they will go. A fearsome journey indeed. Always I am in awe of their efforts. Always I am made to feel insignificant in the face of such a task. Always I am enthused with energy to keep going on when I watch those birds.

Anyway, back to our five. I think that they are mostly cockerels. Therefore they will be in the freezer in four or five months time, when they start feeling the need to mate with others which will upset the energy of the flock. Meanwhile I enjoy them. I am the chicken-shepherd for them, making sure that they get enough to eat at feeding time when all the rest will try and steal away their food. It is not to fatten them up that I do this, it is because I want them to get past this vulnerable stage when they can be up taken by the bigger birds of the sky. Yesterday there were five buzzards circling, but think that they were keeping an eye on what was happening in the sunflower fields nearby which are now being harvested.

Back indoors, and there are another three little chicks coming along. These came from four eggs that were going to be boiled up for the pigs after I found six underneath the hen in the Tall Barn who is now sitting on onions. She is a bantam and will not manage a large family, so we thought to leave her two eggs, the rest were, as I say, going to go to the pigs but since the incubator was now vacated I thought it a good idea to put the eggs in there. Give them a chance was my thinking. And so we have three hatchlings. As for the hen in the Tall Barn...... I wrote about her in a previous blog, and there is still no change since then. Will have to remove the onions I think.

A few hours later: A sad thing. It is raining. Fed the chickens late. Noticed that I had not shut the chicken run to protect the chicks as they slept. Too late to worry about that. Umbrella up, sat on the step of the Tall Barn to feed all. All came flying over to me. Hungry. Damp. Did my usual count of heads. All were present. One, two, three, four. But where was the fifth little chick. No where. Four only. Stupid, stupid me for forgetting to shut the pen down. Must have been got by a feral cat, or stoat, or owl, or something or other. With heart in my boots I carried on with the day.

A few hours later: Still raining, which is good. We are rather parched here and could do with a damping of rain. Had been keeping an eye on the four chicks throughout the morning. They were OK. But I put them back in the run and shut them in. Didn't want them running around in case I lost another. It was wet anyway. They didn't look like they thought much of the water being tossed down on them. Their faces looked glum, and they kept wanting to get into a huddle with each other. So best to put them back in the run.

Hubs went on an egg hunt. "It's here", he yelled, gesturing towards the floor of the going-to-be-pond.
"What's here, another egg? What down in the pond? That's odd" I said, although wasn't really surprised, the hen's, after all, being crafty b**********s when it comes to hiding their eggs away from us.
"Noooooooo! The chick!!"
And there it was. Almost swimming in the couple of inches of rainfall water on the floor of the pond.

Nothing to do but put it on a warm bosom, towel dry it off, feed it some mashed boiled egg, during which it tweeted its dislike of such manhandling, then off into the hen run again to be with its mates. Five! We still have the five!

Ah the joys, the ups and downs. And now I am off to have a lie down. What I am supposed to be doing is washing the floor tiles in the Half Barn, but it is a huge space and all I seem to be managing is to wash, with my newly bought floor mop, a couple of rows of tiles, dry them off with a towel wrapped around a broom head, then I seem to feel the need to go lie down and read my book for an hour or so on my newly assembled bed before washing a couple of more rows of tiles and repeating the process over and over again. It is taking a while to wash that floor! The book is a good read. I haven't read a novel-type book in years, mostly focussing on writing my own books, blogs, website, etc, and reading non-fiction but avoiding, always avoiding, the French books which I am supposed to be studying.

And hooray! I have a new floor mop which I shall eventually manage to introduce to all of the floor, and the little chick who went for an unintentional swim is not floating upside down in the water, done unto death by its desire to have an adventure.

I might let the gang of five out for a romp now the rain has ceased. Hope the word has got out amongst them that the pond is a place that little chicks do not need to investigate.

I'm cooking!

2011-08-22T07:02:00.006+02:00

Orange Alert we are under, Orange Alert for a heatwave! Up near the 40's the heat has been (nearly 100F) with the air saturated with moisture so the humidity is very high.

And then into the kitchen, with a broad grin on his face and carrying a big bowl of figs, walked Hubs. Into the bottom of the fridge the figs went. But only for one night. Figs go off fast. So they need jamming. Which I did. Yesterday. It was hot. Orange Alert for heatwave. Shut the sun out by closing the shutters.....

.....made my usual jamming mess......

........made the first batch..........

.....went on to sweat and slide myself through another batch. Nineteen pots in total. Would have better to have done this task another day, but figs won't wait. I cooked. The figs cooked. The kitchen cooked. I became extremely soggy, as can be seen in the first photo. But my halo is brightly shining over the crown of my head. Yes, I did get into a crump whilst jamming. Yes, I was experiencing a sprinkling of annoyance that Hubs was snoring away on the settee. Yes, I was sticky, as is normal when making jam, but it was also soooooo hot. Better, however, to be able to cook inside the house. Worse, by far, was making fig jam in the caravan in previous years.

And then there is the little brown hen in the Tall Barn, who has taken in upon herself to go broody, only it is not eggs she is sitting on......

.....it's our onions, presumably because they resemble an egg in shape. So to give her dignity I put a couple of eggs from the incubator under her, which she graciously accepted. Next day, though, she was off the 'nest', bored with sitting in that spot, one egg being broken open and the other egg abandoned. That night she took it upon herself to sit in the Wood Hut, brooding over the four eggs left there by the other hen and which I had forgotten to collect. The following day I found her on those eggs and hoicked her off. Those eggs are now donated to the pigs, after being cooked. I am a bit fragile about eating eggs upon which a hen has sat, even if it is just overnight that she has done so.

Anyways, back to the Tall Barn she has gone. I found her there last night, lifted her up to have a look.....onions and one egg she was sitting on, which must have been donated by one of the other hens who couldn't be bothered to set up a nest herself. That I have taken indoors. The onions remain.

As for the five little chicks.....they have grown into five hooligans and are now out in the chicken run, although would prefer to be out and about with the flock. One has already found a way to break out and it is only a matter of time before the rest follow. I keep telling them that it is for there own safety that they have to stay cooped up, but they just tell me that they want out. I think that they will possibly have their way soon. They are bright little things, full of spirit, and I wouldn't like to reduce their capacity for mischief or adventure by keeping them enclosed for longer than is absolutely necessary.

Apparently, so a friend of ours said, our animals are full of mischief because they aren't afraid of us.

Crikey but it has been an itchy summer. With no prolonged dry spell to kill them off, the insects have been able keep up their breeding programme. Midges, mozzies, flies, we continue to suffer from their biting off us. Ah well, Orange Alert on again for today so must be off to do a zillion things before the temperature zooms up, so saying bye for now....

We're in!

2011-08-13T07:21:00.005+02:00

And so it came to be time. Floor was finished, apart from washing and polishing. Cob walls finished, apart from cleaning and polishing the stones. Plasterboard ceiling and side wall finished, apart from painting. So: it became time.

And this sudden urgency to get into the Half Barn was inspired by me stumbling, slipping, and sliding my way across to the caravan. It was late. It was dark. My torch was put in a safe place but I couldn't remember where that was. So in the dark, at nearly midnight, I was wending my way across the Courtyard over newly dug uneven soil which Danny, our builder, had rucked up whilst digging the drainage trenches.

"Danny, while you have the digger here can you make a hole so we can make a pond?" I asked, but through Hubs' translation services which I had to pay for by making him a cup of tea.

So he did. Make a pond. But a big pond-hole. Will tell you about that another time.

And the end of this quite deep pond-hole came very close to the steps of the caravan. This I was aware of as I stumbled in the dark at nearly midnight on this particular night, a week ago.

Into the caravan. Into bed. Two hours later wanted to go the loo. Big loos. Meant using the toilet in the house. Rummaged around in the dark for Hubs' torch, the electrics of the van were now not working because the lead had been pulled out so Danny wouldn't inadvertently elecrocute himself while digging the hole. Couldn't find it. Desperation upon me. Must get to the loo. Out the door. It was drizzling with rain. Made my skin, all of which was exposed, damp. Ground was damp too. Sticky with wetness sufficient to glue a goodly quantity to the bottom of my shoes.

Managed to avoid the pond-hole. Managed to avoid the washing line to the right. Managed to avoid the table of seedlings to the left. Managed not to trip over Gus and Bools who were waiting to get into the house. Managed not to trip over the chickens because they were still asleep up in their tree. Loo got to. Was a relief.

But I had had enough. 'I can't do this any more' was squealing through my mind as I lay myself down upon the settee to finish my sleep.

'I can't do this anymore' said Hubs when he came through the door later on. 'After you left I killed four mozzies. That caravan is murderous to sleep in. We're out of there'......

So we had a hunt around and found the bits and pieces of our four poster bed. It was a miracle that all were accounted for. Not only that, but none were broken.

Off we went to a BBQ. Back later to lug the mattress across from the caravan. First night, slept with bare mattress and throws to cover us up. Second night the same. Third night got the bedding sorted out. Slid into the wonderful comfort of a real bed for the first time in just over three years.

I didn't think the bed would survive. It was broken up into its constituent parts by our removal men. It is a 'flat pack' bed. Good thing really. If it had been an 'all glued together' bed it definitely would have suffered damage. But it didn't. Now I have not been fixated about that bed during the last three years. If it survived, then great. If it did not, then that was alright as well. Friends of ours had offered us a divan base, which was probably going to be the needed. It wasn't.

......because here I am. On my bed. Looking down the Half Barn. And I have missed that bed. It was like coming home. So many memories. Of the hours spent making plans for the future when back in the UK, most of which we have managed to achieve, or are on our way to achieving. Of the hours spent reading the smallholding books. And it was on this bed that I fretted and fussed whilst waiting to hear if Labartere was actually going to be ours. The same for when the sale was being finalised, my stress being so great that I couldn't do anything except lie on that bed and fret.

And back in the UK this bed dominated the bedroom. Was far to big really for the space. Here, though, it is a small bed in a big space......

As I said before, the walls need painting, the floor is still smeary from the tile filler, but we are home.

And from the window beside the bed, here is the view.....

It's nice to see Maxy. A magpie is perched on his back. He doesn't care. He is busy eating his breakfast. The house you can see is our nearest neighbour. It is lovely to have a good yelling match with Hubs without being aware of neighbours on the other side of the wall. It is lovely to be here. It is lovely to have a bed to lollop on. A proper bed. One which carries our history too.

It is lovely to go to the loo in the middle of the night.....and that is being sorted as well!

Gosh!

2008

Feb 2009

April 2009

December 2010

August 2011

Anyone want a flock of sheep? Anyone?

2011-08-12T08:06:00.001+02:00

So we have a problem. For some reason the sheep, in particular TM (the twin's mum), have decided that the field in which they are supposed to reside until we can get the last of the perimeter fencing done, is not where they want to go.

So what should happen is this.....Hubs opens the lower gate of the Sheep Paddock. Since they have been banned from munching on the grass of the paddock over night they are hungry. (The grass has to recover for the winter which will not happen if the sheep eat it right down to its roots) Now what they are supposed to do is move right down the Side Path, then veer right, leaping over a small ditch and going through the entrance to their field. It is a big field. Has an attached copse which used to be thick with vegetation but no longer is because they have done an efficient clearance of all greenery to just above their head heights. But they do have shade during the heat of the day. This is all imminently preferable to the Side Field, which is low in grass, has no shade and no copse.

This was alright for TM. Most times she is the first one to barge out of the gate, and leads the charge at a good gallop. Down the Side Path. Veer right. Jump. Through gate. Onto field. Done.

However.....what we didn't know was that TM had found a weakness in the fence. Well it wasn't a weakness really, just the place at which we had stopped fencing temporarily while we did other things. So what she was doing was nipping through the fencing wire, which is four strands of parallel wire to which the fencing wire itself is clipped, doing a sharp left, with a bit of a struggle, through Blackthorn bushes, then filling herself up with the long grass of the verges of the lane. We had wondered why we had been hearing horns beeping from passing cars. But she was crafty, was TM. Once her tum was full, back she would go to the field.

However, she got caught out. A neighbour stopped and told us. Urgently we finished off that part of the fencing. TM was curtailed. Was OK about it for a couple of days. But then....open the gate.... down the Side Path, jump th.....but no. TM at the front leading the charge as usual. Left. They went left. Out into the Kitchen Field. Hubs did a yell for help. Bools, Gus and me all charged out. Just in time to see TM leading the flock, still at an unstoppable pace, back up the Side Path, onto the Drive, onto the lane, then left, sharp right, did a bit of a milling about, then onto the field of stubble beside the Side Field, came off that, stood at the gate of the Side Field waiting expectantly for it to be opened.

There are times, however, when it is necessary to show authority. I said that no, they should not be allowed to go where they wanted to do, but should be got back to the Copse Field which is where WE said they should go. It was going to be a baker of a day, and they would need the shade anyway. This was done. Except that TM stood at the gate of that field and told me to expect more probs from her as she was not best pleased at not being able to go where she wanted to go.

So the next day:.......gate open....down Side Path.....jump ditch....but no. TM stopped in the middle of the ditch, swung round, did sharp right, then another sharp right into the other half of the Home Field, the one which has lovely long grass all brightly sparkling with heavy dew. Knew that this was a disaster. Poles up. No fencing wire as yet. No boundaries. They kept going. Through the poles they went. Down to the Lower Wood. Sharp right. Through another line of poles. On into our neighbour's field they went. There they stopped. Spread out. Munched. Hubs nowhere to be seen. Me, Bools and Gus only. We three crossed over into the field. Did a circle round the sheep to head them off, turn them round. This we did. Back to the poles. Through them.....but no. Did a sharp right. Did a long gallop on out into the neighbour's field. Now spread even further out. Opened my lungs. Yelled at full voice for Hubs to come. He did. At his full gallop which was about a quarter of the speed at which the sheep went. My speed is about a sixteenth.

Hubs got behind the sheep. Instructions obeyed. Flock turned round. Still reluctant to get a move on now. Brakes on. Flowers to be eaten. Gus, the would-be sheep dog, to the rescue. Bounding onwards towards the sheep, they started picking up speed again. Headed towards the poles. Got Bools beside me. Jumped up and down and made a fuss. TM looked at me. Knew I was not to be messed with. Kept on going through the poles, the rest shoulder to shoulder with each other in a tight bunch following her lead. Took a swing left. Through the other poles. Now into the Home Field, but the wrong side of the central fence. Hubs took a trot down to the end of the field to open the Side Field gate and also the Paddock gate which had been closed in case the piglets got out into the Paddock which is where they expect to go for the morning so they can stretch their legs. It was OK. They were still in their little paddock, albeit screaming at full voice with indignation about being ignored.

Sheep now down bottom of Home Field. Could see them stop. Bang infront of the Veg Plot, in particular the courgette patch. Heads went down. Munch time! But no! Not today! Sent Gussy off after them to get them moving. They did. Sharp left, sharp right, out onto the Kitchen Field. Gave up. I gave up. Stood and waited for Hubs. Instructions given..... go out onto the lane in case they go that way... hope they will go into the Home Field though. They didn't. They repeated the same route as the previous day, milling about in the lane, then onto the other field, then parking themselves up infront of the Side Field gate. Which Hubs opened. Wet of foot, puffed out, p*****ed off, we gave up the fight.

"Cup of tea and a piece of toast?" I said.

"Good idea" said Hubs.

And so.....anyone want a flock of sheep?

Ah but no! We don't mean that! But nineteen is too many to manage. So which ones are going to fetch up in the freezer? Does this mean that TM's days are numbered? Only time will tell! She did, after all, give us two superb lambs both of which show the same desire to get into mischief!

By the way, we're in. The House. To Sleep......

Hay bales, big eggs, another Project...

2011-08-04T07:10:00.001+02:00

Noooooo! These have not arrived from the rear end of our hens! These whoppers are plastic and therefore non-eatable!

So why have I got them? Well, in an effort to organize our flock of hens into laying in more accessible places, I purchased these yesterday. What you are supposed to do is put them into a place where you hope the hens will lay their eggs, and they will oblige in due course.

However........

...on the left is a real egg. On the right is the artificial one. And so why do they make those pretend eggs sooooo huge! What is a hen supposed to think when she sees such a monster.....will she become intimidated, thinking that she could never match up to such a big one, and go off somewhere else to lay........or will she sit anyway, but pretend to her fellow hens that she laid that egg and get a 'Aren't I the best hen ever because I have laid the biggest egg ever'........but then will all of the hens who lay their eggs in that spot do the same....will all of them brag that they have laid the biggest egg of all time....will there then be a minor war as they argue with each other...... oh but it might cheer up the two hens who no longer lay eggs but still sit in case one might pop out. Hubs said did we ought to put them in the freezer, but we have decided not to. They have done good service, so they will be left to live their lives out.

Oh well so anyway, I put the plastic egg into the nest, and will await developments. At the moment they have made a super duper little nest in the wood shed which was once our office, which was once a pig and chicken hut so the space has now returned to what it used to be. They have also taken over the little shelter I made for the hen and her chick. Seven eggs I got yesterday. Normally I can only find one if I am lucky.

And the chicks are doing well........

But I am very aware that they are orphans. This might be because we have that hen and her chick out in the Courtyard, and also a hen sitting on eggs in the Tall Barn. Those little ones have a mum to cuddle up to and teach them the chickeny way of life. These little chicks don't. But I feel reassured that such is the way of a chicken, that when they are old enough to roost, then they will know companionship. Chickens are not solitary creatures, but love to snuggle up alongside each other both at night and during the day. This is despite their bickerings and general bitchiness. Underneath all of that, they are quite warm towards each other.

And the chicks are very quiet. Not many chirrupings in comparison to the chick out in the Courtyard. So in a few days time I am going to take them outside during the day so they can talk to their fellows, so that they can get to know their world.

And in the incubator are now four more eggs, unplanned though because they have been 'rescued' from underneath the hen in the Tall Barn who had managed to acquire eight, the other hens having decided that it was a good idea to take advantage of a hen already sitting on eggs to deposit some more with her. So have marked four which she is continuing to brood over, and put the other four in the incubator. It feels like a bit of a production line at the moment!

Back outside, and the Front Wall Project has begun......

.....and a thought! It has just occurred to me that the photos do not have any colour in them! Must have switched the camera onto another setting......

Anyways, re the Front Wall Project: Danny, our builder, has filled in the drainage trench beside the Tall Barn, leaving a patch of uneven rough ground devoid of weeds. So before nature takes over and grows a heap of whatever it wants to, I have decided to take control of the patch. At first I was going to just rake the ground over, get the stones out, plant next winter. Then it came into my head that perhaps the wall needed sorting out. That why couldn't I do it. It is made of river stones some of which have loosened, so take them off, leave the ones still stuck fast, patch in new ones, hey presto... a tidy wall.

It will, I know, take quite some time! But I have to start somewhere. And a small wall is a good place to do so. And it can always be knocked down if it looks a mess. Hubs was going to do that anyway. So I am going to have a go.

......'nothing ventured nothing gained'! This has been my motto throughout life. Have a go. If it doesn't pan out, not to worry, at least one has tried. 'Better to have tried and failed rather than not to have tried at all'. That's been another motto. Both have served me well.

The farmer who cut the hay and made loads of bales which were left scattered over the field.......well he had to come and rescue his bales because the sheep had been looking upon them as something they needed to be involved with. Useful for rubbing up against. Useful for snuggling into for shade. Useful to have a munch on. So Hubs had to go and tell him that he ought to shift them. They are now in the Kitchen Field behind the house. Apparently, so Hubs says, they are there until Winter. Not sure that they will survive that long. The sheep have really done them some damage, and the baling machine of the farmer only seemed to do a half-job anyway. They were dripping hay at a fast rate as he tractored them to their new position. Methinks that they will probably just gently disintegrate.

Not to worry. We have two spanking new bales parked up in the Front Porch, properly baled, and delivered by another farmer from out of his wheat fields. They are straw bales, and for animal bedding this Winter. (You can just see them in the above photo) The chickens seem to be leaving them alone for the moment. They are busy working their way through the old hay bales by the Sheep Paddock. This is of great help to me. Getting hay or straw from off those big bales is a horror of a job. Takes an age. Have to use gloves because my hands get sore from the having to pull the hay / straw from out of the compressed bale. Good for exercising the arms though! But those chickens - they attack the bales from ground level, and they do a mighty fine job, leaving a good amount of hay scattered all about, which I pick up and deposit in the Sheep Barn. This same service they will offer in regards to the new bales. Not yet!

And the Half Barn. Did we have enough tiles for Danny to finish the floor? Yes! Exactly. None were left over. It is now count down time for caravan life. Good job too. With all the rain we have had, it is mozzie time big time very big time and strewth we are getting bitten to pieces and Hubs does not do well when mozzies are buzzing him during the night and I don't mind so much but I am all of a scratch with the number of drinks the mozzies have been taking from me and so it would be nice to go to sleep at night and not wake up in the morning counting the pimples of scratchiness which have been done unto me during the night. We can't make the caravan mozzie free, you see.

So must go feed the chicks, feed the flock, get dressed, scratch! Hope your desire to scratch is less than mine, hope the mozzies are not giving you any probs, and saying bye for now!........

Not 1, not 2, 3, or 4....

2011-07-30T07:47:00.004+02:00

Up at five this morning. Troddled over to the house from the caravan. Half light. All still asleep. Not me, though. Busy day ahead. Two large straw bales being delivered from a farmer friend, who also traded one of his brown and white rabbits for one of our white and grey ones, is saving two geese for us, has promised to donate some grape vines later on and is also going to help Hubs get some maize planted next year. These bales are going into the Tall Barn so need to make space for them. Also, the escapee ewe did another escape yesterday so it is full steam ahead to get the fence sorted out, so lots of bramble cutting and fencing to be done. Also, the blackberries are starting to plumpen up, more so this year because of the recent rain, so will pick them to do something with.

So: up early to get a head start on the day. Straight onto the PC. Need to catch up with emails, and need to keep on working on my 'work' website. Heard a banging sound. Disregarded it.

Often noises here. Bits falling off the walls as they continue to dry out. Birds having a jolly in the guttering, or showing off on top of the roof, sometimes coming in through the gaps in the wall to have a look-see which was happening a lot last year but not so much this year. I think they have got used to the house no longer being part of their territory.

And then there are the rats which were frequent visitors last year, but not at the moment. Having the floor of the Middle Barn done must have pushed them further away from the house, although there is still the population entrenched in the wood pile. But there has been a cat with kittens in residence in the wood pile as well so perhaps she has done some hunting.

So was tapping away on my keyboard, and I heard the sound again. Still 'deaf-eared' it. Ah but time for some tea. Off to the kitchen. Crossing the hallway the sound sounded again. With a tweet. A couple of tweets. Chirrups. Chick!!!!!!!!!!

I had temporarily forgotten about the incubator parked down the bottom of the hallway on the tumble dryer. Day One, last day, yesterday. No hatching last night. Felt hope dwindle.

Sped down the hallway, torch in hand. No lights in the house that hang from the ceiling yet. Have lamps in the office/ lounge and kitchen. Otherwise, it is torch light. And there! Inside the incubator, just visible in the beam of the torch, was a yellow fluffy lump!

Oh so now what to do...... go fetch Hubs is what I did. Groggy any time before 8.30 in the morning, at 6 in the morning he is not do-able. But he managed anyway. Got the pig transport box from the Tall Barn, the same one as had the Buff Orpington hen in it recently when she thought she might want to sit on eggs but then decided half way through the twenty one days necessary for an egg-sit that she was bored and had other things she needed to do but had got into such a state of muckiness with her under carriage that I had to hose her under parts with a hosepipe. This same box Hubs manhandled into the house. Rigged it up with a heat lamp.

Opened the incubator to rescue the chick. Or two. Or three. Or four. Or five!!!! Out they kept coming, some already dry, some a little on the damp side but not soggy:

Oh wow! And they are so big. How could they have possibly fitted inside the egg shells:

And here is the incubator tray. The one entire egg was infertile, which I already knew but left there anyway. I hoped that one would hatch, the rest I hadn't looked inside so didn't know if they would or would not hatch.

The bees are dead. Not all. But most. Despite my best efforts, I think the weather eventually defeated them. Felt like giving up with the Bee Project yesterday. But while cutting the bramble hedge all that kept going through my mind was : giving up is not an option.

But now we have five little chicks! All hatched from our own flock. We still have one chick and mum out in the hen run, and one hen sitting on a clutch of eggs in the Tall Barn. Gosh! All that young life! The miracle of life. How fascinating it is to watch. Not so fascinating is trying to keep an eye on the would-be-escapee ewe, so off into the Side Field they go today while we keep working on the fence.

Off to have a moment with the chicks. I shall probably spend loads of moments watching them. Must make a cake, must prep lunch, must get dressed, must feed the flock, must make Hubs his morning cup of tea otherwise he will be inclined to snooze on, but first.....I must, simply must, have a moment with those chicks!!!

And we will carry on with the Bee Project. Next year.......

Strewth, but don't I feel nervous!

2011-07-28T20:11:00.002+02:00

Two days to go. That is what it says on the lid of the incubator wherein sit six eggs, one of which I know is infertile but I left in in there anyway, just in case. So I had a look at the instructions but had to go on the Internet to read them seeing as how the instruction pamphlet send with the incubator is in French, even though it was purchased from a UK company who posted it out to us.

And I have got all of a dither. Had to get the eggs out of the incubator, remove the tray which rolls the eggs, put some paper on the base to catch sundry bits and pieces which could occur should the eggs hatch. And I am in a right flumox with it all! After all, they are just eggs. Plenty more where they come from. Um, well that is not exactly right although the hens are laying eggs somewhere but it is just about locating the spot-of-the-day where they have deposited their eggs, the 'spot-of-the-day' changing daily. But we could try to incubate more eggs if necessary, that is what I am saying.

And so why do I feel so darned nervous! Stomach churning. Heart doing a bit of a race. And all I did was carry the incubator into the kitchen to take the turning rack out, but was so tensed up with trying not to jolt the eggs - perhaps that is why I feel so nervy. Did have a look at an egg to see whats happening inside of it, but all I could see was a black blob, so put it back into the incubator quickly.

That sheep got out again today, the mum of the twin lambs. When I tried to do a super duper shepherdess-herding-the-flock stance, she just looked at me long sufferingly. Didn't take a bit of notice. So I put her back in the Sheep Barn, the piglets having vacated the area to have a doze in their part of the Paddock. Good job too. Took ages filling in the ruts and holes they had made yesterday. Anyway, the ewe has been moaning about being back in her barn for the last hour, but there she will stay until the rest of her mates are brought back in from the field.

So urgent effort now in force, and that is to get the rest of the fencing up so she can't escape again. Should have that finished this weekend. And then the piglets are going to have the space, which is the hedge copse.

Off to do battle with the brambles so Hubs can get the fencing wire up, trying to get rid of this irrational nervousness along the way - I hope!

The next morning: re: my nervousness for which there does not seem to be any reason. Upon reflection I have come to the conclusion that it is because for the last nineteen days the incubator has done a twirl of the egg tray every half an hour during those days. And the sound it makes as it does so is quite cheerful, as if to say " I'm on the ball, I'm doing my bit, I'm making life".

I think hearing the incubator 'talk' has sort of involved me more than it would have done if it had been in the barn. And seeing inside the egg as well. Seeing life being created.

It would seem that this little incubator has made quite an impact on me!

Ah well, off into my day now. Hope your day is a good one, and bye for now.....

Oh just the normal chaos!

2011-07-27T11:29:00.003+02:00

And here in the foggy dustiness of the Half Barn sits Gus. And for why is the air fogged up? Because the floor has just been cleared of clutter and swept, this task having been helped along by the two year old daughter and the ten year old son of our builder, their mum having spent the previous few days here helping her sister's partner to fill in the holes in the wall, of which there were a humungous amount. The wall is drying out now. It is looking good. Like it has never been touched since it was first built a couple of hundred years ago. Takes skill, that does, to make a wall look like it has never been renovated.

So last week was a busy one, with Danny our builder to-ing and fro-ing with his digging machine making trenches for the drainage pipes, which were subsequently tested during the four days of rain we have had since.

.....helped along by the flock who thought it was their task to fill in the trench....

..... and Danny's children romping around doing childreny things. It was nice to have them here, though, even if my head was nearly falling off my shoulders by the time Friday arrived with having to speak French all day.

I haven't mentioned the Middle Barn much, but that, too, is mid-way towards completion...

......the concrete floor has now been laid, so now waiting for the roof to go on.

The Middle Barn joins up the house (centre) and Tall Barn (right). Once upon a time my plans were to have it as a winter sunlounge, with glass roof, shingled floor, and lots of exotic plants. Yes, well!!!!! Homesteading life requires that the space becomes the goat barn / milking parlour eventually, plus a place for Hubs to store stuff. Not to worry! Milking is preferable to lolloping about on a sunbed in the middle of winter: I think!

And then there was the cock in the box......

...so while doing an egg hunt with the children, we came across a black head peeping from out of a tall box of sorted fleece. Upon raising up the head with attached body, it transpired that it was the juvenile cockerel. And quelle surprise! He was sitting on an egg! And a further hunt around the Tall Barn produced a pile of eggs being sat on by the hen who had been mounting the other hens who I thought was having a sex change but is obviously not because now she has gone broody.

I went indoors to have a think about all of this. Hubs said that cockerels do not lay eggs. Ever. And so why was he sitting in a pile of fleece on an egg? Hubs had no answer to that one. So I got the cockerel out of the box and now he is in the freezer because he couldn't walk because he had a broken leg. This is the second member of the flock to have a broken leg and be put into the freezer. If we have a third, then we are going to have a go at putting the leg into a splint. Apparently duck tape and popsicle sticks is the equipment one needs. As for 'his egg'..... I put that into the pig food pot. As for the hen....I counted ten eggs underneath her. She is a tiny bantam hen so no way was she ever going to keep all of them warm, so I removed three, leaving her with seven, but the following day she had abandoned two, leaving five. She is now in the dog kennel recently evacuated by the other hen who managed to raise one chick. She is now in the abandoned chicken run with her youngster. The first thing she did was have a joyous dirt bath, and boy oh boy didn't she enjoy herself!

.......she is getting along alright and they are safe, although the chick would be safer if it could stop persisting in having adventures through the wire. How it gets out I do not know, but often we have to rescue it and put it back with its mum. Hubs said that we may as well let them out of the run since the chick seems hell bent on getting out anyway, but I think that for every day it builds a bit of height and body weight, then the less likely it will be to be taken away by magpies when it is let out.

The piglets are now being let out into the Sheep Paddock during the day so they can stretch their legs, their patch of the paddock having become confining for them as they continue to put on height and weight........

....and everyone is very friendly as they rake the bedding over. However, those two piglets are busy making the Paddock into a mud bath, but needs must. They will have to stay there until we get their Woodland Paddock finished, then we can reseed the Paddock which probably needed doing anyway.

Ah and the rain it did fall. But used the wetness to empty some seed packets into the Veg Plot thinking along the lines that those seeds were not going to do any good stuck away in a box and that it was better to send them out into the world to do whatever they could do. And blow me down, but loads have come up already and them just being three days in the ground!

And another surprise.....re: the incubating machine. When the incubator was bought, also purchased a little gadget which lets you look inside the egg. On first try the other day, couldn't seem to 'see' anything inside the egg, but on second try this morning....Wow! First egg studied was devoid of life, but the second..........Wow, and wow again! There, in a corner of the egg, was a little being wobbling about. Crikey, but life is a miracle! Didn't look at the other eggs. I am satisfied that at least one might hatch.

Rabbits:

I don't say much about the rabbits. But they taste lovely. Was very squeamish at the beginning of the Rabbit Project, but Hubs said that as smallholders we needed to engage with them so I followed on behind him. I am still a step behind, but catching him up.

So our days of sleeping in the caravan are now numbered. The tiles are being laid in the Half Barn, so even at the pace that Danny goes, we should be in there soon. The piglets are busy rotovating the Sheep Paddock. The sheep are busy cleaning out the hedge copse behind their Paddock, plus eating half of the Home Field down into nothingness. The chickens remain themselves, ranging here and there, generally getting under our feet. Max the big male pig) remains irritable, but then he was irritable when Tess lived with him before she died, so no difference there then. The rabbits continue to look cute. But I am off to cook one now.

Saying bye for now, ........

An hour or so later: rabbit off menu today, having spent the last hour or so trying to herd one of the sheep back into the field after she squeezed through a gap betwixt new fencing and the end of the hedge copse. Round and round she went. Round and round after her went the dogs. Round and round I went chasing all three. I have found that the best way to deter would-be future escapees is to show them that it really is not a good idea to move out of the field, and I do this by keeping them on the move and not letting them munch on any tasty morsels along the way, which they would do if given half a chance. This method seems to have worked with the twin lambs, and I hope it worked with their mum just now.

But Hubs has made an inspection of the break-out point, and my instructions this afternoon, as given to me by Hubs, is to clip (with the big clippers- his exact words!) the hedge line so that he can put another fifty metres of fencing up.

....and then the little chick has just got out of the run again, romping around, having fun, while its mum freaked herself out in the run. Caught it. Had a little cuddle. Put it back into the run. Have promised myself that three times more I will do this, then the hen and the chick will be let out together, and if something else eats the chick, then at least I know that I tried to keep it safe.

.....so its a quicky lunch of fish fingers and pasta, followed by yesterday's rice pudding. The rabbit will have to wait until tomorrow.

Sheep naughty, bees dance.

2011-07-18T08:30:00.002+02:00

Out in the Home Field yesterday patching up the electric fencing, which isn't 'electric fencing' anymore, because no electricity runs through its wires after Hubs inadvertently left the producer of the electrical current for those wires on the ground overnight. Then it rained. Electrical box found itself in a puddle. Melted some of its constituent parts. Gave up its life.

Anyway, 'dead' electrical fence still in use. Divides the Home Field into two. Keeps the sheep in the part of the field which has fencing wire. Or is supposed to. Because despite running the electric wire through all of the four positions on the poles two sheep, last winter's lambs, insist on going on an adventure through the wire. None of the others do.

And we don't know why this is, but when we put the flock out onto the Side Field, which has hardly any shelter and grass which is minimal, we do not hear a peep out of them all the day long. Yet when we put them in the Home Field, in which there are loads of different types of grazing habitats, a hedge to eat and go for forays into, plus they can go to and fro their barn, they are absolute nightmares. To and fro they go betwixt barn and field they go, getting into any mischief they can, shouting at each other and at us if they see us.

I might manage to make one or two more baby hay bales (as in last blog). The farmer has now cut and baled the Home Field, managing only eight grown-up bales this year from our land because of the way the weather was in the Spring. So sheep over in the Side Field during the two days this was being done. All was quiet. So we hatched a plan. Keep them in the Home Field all day and don't allow them access to the barn until nightfall. Hence the need to patch up the line of 'electric fencing' as well.

And it was when I was doing this task that I noticed the furious activity around the bee hive, where a bundle of bees seemed to be attacking each other. Gosh but they seemed to be in a jumble of little bodies, going round and round, over and under, each other.

"They're doing the bee dance" Hubs said from behind me. Oh so that is what the 'bee dance' is! A bee's way of telling its fellow mates where to find the flowers which I had read about and seen videos of, but there is nothing like seeing it happen in real life. Enchanting!

And I have noticed that the bees are flying with a lot more energy of late. Although not many of them, they are most definitely more active. I think it must be the sugar water inside the hive, (the last but one blog about the recycling of the empty pot of Sainsbury's Mincemeat). The weather has been unsettled since they arrived, often being patches of non-flying weather. Since they have no larder to fall back on, not having had the time to make a honey-store, they go hungry and eventually weaken. Should have got the Sainsbury pot into the hive sooner really. Not to worry. It's in now. The bees are obviously appreciating it as can be seen by the way they are now zooming about. It's good to see. At least they are living their lives, even we think that they are too small a colony to survive the winter.

I also noticed that the farmer had not managed to bale all of the hay he had cut. There were several swathes of cut grass lying here and there. Shame to waste them. Hence my thoughts about perhaps making some more baby bales.

So, temporary fencing put on the fencing poles across the ditch, over which the sheep do a leap to then go up the Side Path to their paddock and barn. Morning time. Sheep out. Supposed to go down the Side Path to the Home Field. Didn't. Did a sharp left turn. Went in the opposite direction. Down the drive. Out onto the lane. Hubs followed behind. Tried to turn them back. Nope. Weren't going to go thataways. Turned to go down the lane. Then turned again to go up the lane. Turned again and jammed their noses up against the gate leading into the Side Field. Nope. Were not going to move. At all. Hubs losing patience. Me standing ineffectively in my dressing gown and slippers. Bools and Gus thinking it all a good game and bouncing about round the sheep which didn't help at all.

Nothing for it. Patience now all expired, Hubs opened the gate and into the field they went. That's where they wanted to go, so that's where they went. And we don't know why they prefer that field when it is such a non-environment for them when compared to the Home Field. But we didn't hear one single moan from them all day. There was no naughtiness. No bother.

Animals are not stupid. Just because they have a different understanding of the world to that which we do does not mean that they are less than us, rather that they are our equals, just different. That is what we are currently learning as we continue to let go our years of UK lifestyle living and try to move towards a gentler, more balanced, way of life.

Nineteen sheep, two piglets, one pig, eleven chickens, two dogs. All of them 'talk' to us in various ways. Trying to understand their language, as well as dealing with the French language, sometimes, just sometimes, fogs my head up! HeyHo. At least I am not sitting soporifically infront of the telly, and can spend time chatting to you. Hope you have a good day............bye for now.

Let's make a hay bale!

2011-07-15T11:06:00.002+02:00

Noooooo!!! Not THIS type of hale bale. THIS type:

Now what, you might ask, is that! Now I know that it looks like just a heap of straw, without particular shape or form and just a mess really. But trust me when I say that it is actually quite firm and compacted enough to hold its shape providing the string does not come undone upon which event the whole thing will disintegrate quite rapidly. But it is not such a fluffy ball as what it looks. Providing the string stays put.

But why would one want to make such a thing when one can acquire such super duper professional hay bales. They come at a cost, that's why. Either one finds a farmer with farming kit which will cut, rake, and bale, who then takes the bales away leaving one or two behind as a trade for the hay he has taken. Or one can buy the kit one's self and DIY the hay. That costs money. Therefore not do-able.

Possibilities: Leave field to go wild if uncut, making it difficult for the sheep to graze it. But if it has been cut, leave grass on ground to rot. We had half and half in the Home Field: half the field was cut, then the cutter on the tractor broke its welds yet again so is now having a sicky until it can be mended. Meanwhile, half of that section of field remains uncut. A farmer is supposed to be cutting the rest. He still hasn't turned up.

So, being trainee homesteaders, a thought came into my mind to make a hand made hay bale.

Out into the field I went, together with my trusty wheelbarrow containing a plastic box, a plastic grass rake, and a bag of string. With gusto I raked a couple of rows of mown grass, turning it over to make sure it was dry. Phew! Hot work! So off indoors to cool down for an hour or so.

Made a return to the field. Spots of rain drifted down from a now darkened-by-rainclouds sky, but the urge was upon me. Push on.

...raked up some hay....

.....laid some string across the box in both directions....

......filled box with straw, making sure not to let string get submerged in the tangle....

.....stood in box to press straw down. Stomped around in it, flailing my arms as I did so to stop myself from taking a tumble, the box having become quite unbalanced because of my weight in it and the unevenness of the ground. Shouted at Boolie to stop barking at me because he thought I was being silly.

Gus had gone off somewhere. He gets embarrassed when there are silly goings-on. Can't cope, bless him.

Put more straw in box. Did some more stomping. Repeated all until box was full. Folded over bits hanging out......

....tied up the string. Only 'lost' one strand of string. That's now interred within the bale.

Et voila!

....and may I proudly present my first bale of hay.

....and then I made another bale.

......and then it rained!

So I went indoors, dried off, felt quite saintly!

Refused to let myself think about the largeness of the field, of the amount of string I would have to use although it would be recyclable in the future, of the amount of energy to be expended although would come in useful for keeping fit, and of the glee with which Hubs looked at the bales and said, "Why do I need to buy machinery when I have such a wife as you. How long did it take you?"

"Not long, but would be quicker if there were two of us making them."

He seemed to lose interest after that, but to be fair to him he is time-poor, having to spend all of his day on his PC earning the income to keep us going, his time being interspersed with farm emergencies or people popping by.

And sexy goings on in the Sheep Barn. The little brown hen, the one who seems to have the urge to mate with others....well there she was, having a jolly good try at doing the business with one of the new big brown hens while I was putting bedding down for the sheep. I am starting to wonder if she is having something like a mid-life crisis. Do hens have such times in their lives? Will leave that one for you to answer.

Back to Hubs. I have a website of over two hundred pages. I don't mention it here because it is my 'other work' and people may not perhaps understand what I do. Anyways, links on the site were getting untidy. Hubs to the rescue. Result: a complete overhaul of the entire site to be done. Weeks of work.

I frequently say that we could do with two of me. Or three. Or four. One to do the numerous farmwork tasks. One to do the numerous domestic tasks. One to do my 'other work'. One just to be me. But perhaps not. None of us can cope with one of me, let alone several.

Off to Plaisance now. Dogs are scratching themselves to bits, so vet's anti-flea stuff urgently needed. Have managed to make do with cheaper but weaker products, but now the heavy stuff is needed. Also to buy a big role of string, in case the grass dries up sufficient for me to make more bales.

Au revoir for now......

JUST BEFORE BED TIME:

Ahha!!!!!! No more hay bales for me to make this year! Just as I uploaded this blog, the farmer man came along in his huge blue tractor which had a cutting arm sharp as sharp could be, and spent several hours cutting the Home Field. Will be baling it up tomorrow, he said, so that's me done with haymaking for this year.

But I did manage to make two!

And thanks to Horst for posting some helpful hints about haymaking, which I will file away in my head for 2012.

We've got a hatchling!

2011-07-11T14:28:00.001+02:00

Tall Barn Maternity Wing: One little chick out of four eggs sat on by two hens, et voila, le petit:

There is something absolutely delightful about watching a mum hen show her little ones how to feed. She clucks, chuckles and coos, then when tums are full under her they go to snuggle up for a sleep. Anyway, these two will have to be moved today, and they are going into the now abandoned hen run, the other chickens preferring to go to bed up in the fig tree which gracefully arches over the run. Well it was graceful in shape and form at one time, but having the flock, including a few hefties, clambering up onto its branches has bent it all out of shape and made it raggedy:

Eventually it will be the place for a shady hot afternoon snooze for us....

...see how the dappled sunlight seems to lend itself to a feeling of wanting to leave all activity behind and stop for an hour or so, maybe to lie down and look up at the enchantment of the leafy canopy overhead, maybe to let one's eyelids drift down, maybe to have a quiet snooze to recharge one's batteries. Of course you have to disregard the chicken run and the rather raggedy leaves of the fig, but I hope you get my drift of thought. This, then, is the plan for this space in the future. For now, it is chicken territory.

Hey! Look at this cool gadget!......

It's a Brinsea egg incubator, and what a fangly dangly bit of kit it is! Takes seven eggs, and acts as the hot botty of a hen, keeping the eggs surprisingly warm and in a moist environment. Presumably this moistness acts the same as does the sweaty environment of the hot hen - as I say, the temperature is surprisingly warm, so much so that at first I thought that we were going to end up with hard boiled eggs, and I can quite see that if this is the same temperature as that of the hen's undercarriage, that indeed it would be quite a damp place.

So this incubator is the model which turns the eggs as well. Took us a couple of days to actually see the machine do this, and in fact I was manually turning the eggs to make sure that this was being done. And the marvelous thing is that the eggs have already grown in size. But I have a bit of a bother in my head - it feels quite a thing to be actually giving life.

An egg, you see, arrives from the hen, but it does not immediately start growing into a chick. In fact it can sit around for up to a week with nothing happening inside providing the external temperature is fairly cool. Now this is because the hen needs to sit on a few eggs to make it worth her while. And these eggs do not come out in a wadge, no, they come out at the rate of one per day.

So she lays an egg, then goes off about her business for the rest of the day, then makes a return to the nest the following day to lay another egg, then goes off, etc..., until she considers that enough has been laid to warrant her efforts at sitting in one place for twenty one days, which is a bit of marathon. Then she plonks herself down on the pile of eggs, the temperature of her bottom half increases, the sweatiness must also surely increase, and this triggers the movement of life within the each egg. All of the eggs, then, start building life at the same time. And that is what this incubator does. but I am very aware of the life that is possibly being created within these egg shells.

We have six eggs in the incubator, one of which is a handsome size so we had high hopes of being able to hatch a good sized chicken. However...this hen has just started laying, so this is her second egg. I don't know what has happened to the first egg. I suspect Hubs 'borrowed' it to make an egg sandwich when I wasn't looking. But the third egg I cracked open today for breakfast, to find a double yolk. And a thought: what happens if there are two yolks inside the egg in the incubator. Is it possible to have twins?

And another thought: why has one of the little brown hens suddenly decided to start crowing? She, who has been one of our best egg layers. And why oh why, did she decide to jump on the back of one of the new little hens this morning and 'give her one', just like the cockerel does. Are hens able to cross-gender? That question I leave with you.

Have had a bit of a trouble with the sheep. Why are they so naughty when they are able to move between the Home Field and their home in the Sheep Paddock, but yet are docile and undemanding when put over the lane in the Side Field. What goes on in their heads, that when they are across the road, which is when they should complain, they don't. It would seem that the more fuss you make of them the more demanding they become.

Anyways, the farmer who cut the grass for hay last year visited again. Said he would cut the fields at eight the next morning. So up early. Out to take the fences down across the drive through which the sheep travel to and fro betwixt field and paddock. Sheep out in Side Field, even though the grazing is minimal due to lack of rain, but the Home Field needed to left clear for the farmer and his machine.

No farmer, cloud and showers arrive instead. Cross about having to take those fences down, as tricky to put back up again, the ground being as hard as iron. In a mood with it all, was Hubs and moi.

So we hatched a plan, and decided to make the sheep stay out in the Home Field all the day long, and would move them if and when the farmer turned up but that he would have to wait while we did so. No travelling to and fro is allowed now. 'Twas their fault we have arrived at this decision. Out in the field they have to stay until night fall.

Checked up on them a while ago. They were having adventures in the hedge, and have eaten the vegetation away in one spot particularly sufficient for them to have a hideaway. But at least they are quiet, and not busting through the temporary fencing to eat in places they are not allowed to eat from, nor are they pushing open the gate to get into the Courtyard, nor are they yelling their heads off at each other. For today, the plan is working!

And for lunch, the first pickings from the beans and mangetout:

The size of one's personal halo does quite an inflation when one surveys the outcome of a raid into the veg plot. And it might not be much, but it gave us lunch.

There is nothing, but nothing, like eating produce fresh from the garden. I will often say this, and so will everyone else who does the self -grow thing!

Now off to check on the sheep to see what they are getting up to, and to move that little hen and her littler chick, so saying 'bye for now'....

Recycling Sainsbury's Mincemeat pot

2011-07-06T18:47:00.004+02:00

I have a general nervousness about looking inside the bee hive. I don't think I am nervous of the bees themselves, although as a newbie I naturally feel tentative about going amongst them. My nervousness is more, I think, because I do not want to do them harm rather than being overly worried about being stung although that is always a background thought when I am near them. I so want the bees to survive. I don't know why I do but I just do. It is not about being successful so we can then tell everyone how clever we are to have a hive of bees. It is not about wanting to harvest loads of pots of honey from the bees.

No, my general nervousness about looking inside the bee hive, apart from my lack of experience, is because I am afraid of what I might find: perhaps the queen is making lots of cells (whatever they are supposed to be!), perhaps the colony has become even more diminished in size, perhaps an 'orrid thing has invaded the hive and eaten everyone up, perhaps the queen is dead, perhaps all are dead.

I have been able to put off the internal investigation this past week because the weather has been sunny. I have kept an eye on the hive and seen bees flying to and fro. Not many. Just a few.

I have kept a bowl of sugar water in front of the hive most days, so they can have an extra boost of energy if needed. However the sun tends to dry the sugar water up after a while, so the bees can only access it for a few hours. A better solution was needed. Ahha! In the local supermarket I espied a possible gadget: a budgie feeder!

Worked a treat. However, it is too small really, especially the drinking part. I made a little platform so the bees could have somewhere to sit and drink, but it was not the best solution.

Today the sun is not shining. It is very windy and overcast, so they will not fly today unless the weather stops being inhospitable for them. They will need help with keeping their energies up. They need sugar water. And they need it inside the hive, not outside.

Ah so! Project Hive Feeder!

- Had empty carton of Sainbury's Mincemeat still with attached lid. Made holes in the lid with hot screwdriver.

- Filled pot with water. Put lid on. Inverted pot. Water dripped out quite slowly. Lid stayed on and did not fall off thus making the water leave the pot in a rush.

- Got bowl as need somewhere for the liquid to settle when it has left the pot.

Cereal bowl then! Good idea but realised that the bees would probably have difficulty scrambling up the sides of the bowl, thereby possibly being subjected to 'death by sugar water drowning'.

- A plate then. Flatter. More easily accessible for their little feet.

- Pot upright. Plate on top. Inverted pot. But.... no liquid could I see. Ah! The lid of the pot had a small rim which had created a vacuum. So raided my bag of jam jar lids, 'borrowed' two, put them on the plate.

- Ummm....now can't invert pot and plate as I had previously done because of the need to keep the lids on the plate. Not to worry. With swiftness I deftly flipped the pot over. A bit of a splash ensued. But it worked! A little bit of water oozed onto the plate. Perfect!

- Repeated the process, but with sugar water. The 'splash' bit was messier though, sugar being sticky, especially if twinned with water.

- Syrup not coming out onto plate. Found it hard to ooze itself through holes which were jammed up against jam jar lids. So made more holes in lid of pot and removed one lid. A good drippy flow then ensued.

Now all I have to do is get that kit into the hive. So am now off to don my bee keeping uniform........Be back later on....

Two days later! Yes well, didn't do that too fast did I! But I have now done my task, the feeder is in the hive, and I had a slow look round the bees, couldn't see the queen, but the bees looked busy and well.

And I am glad that we only have a small colony of bees to learn on. If we had been in the UK then we would have had the local bee keeping association to fall back on, but here in France there is no such thing although there are plenty of beekeepers around, none of who we can seem to connect with. So, as with everything here, we are on our own and having to do the best we can and a small colony is easier to learn with rather than a humungously huge quantity of bees.

It was lovely fiddling about with the bees. Took my time. They were calm. Oh a couple of bees did do a buzz around me but were not a problem. The major problem was that my beekeeping hat kept getting in a tangle with the several bramble branches which were hanging down through the branches of the small oak tree beneath which the hive sits. But there were no ants. Cannelle (cinnamon) works!

So now our bees have their own inhouse larder. This should help them when the weather is not do-able for them. And 'thank you' to Eddie and Rita who donated the Sainsbury's Mincemeat pot, fully loaded with mincemeat and carried all the way down here from the UK in their car from the UK just before they closed up their French house and left for Singapore for I don't know how long and neither do they (work commitments for them). With sadness we waived them goodbye. With sadness they left.

But the Sainsbury pot continues on as a reminder of our friendship with them.

Chicken Project: re: Tall Barn broody chickens. Not looking good. The Buff Orpington hen took herself away from the nest never to return and has trundled across to sit beneath the rabbit hutches instead. It does not seem to have entered her head that she should have her eggs with her, or rather, one egg, the other two having disappeared. Perhaps her inattentiveness to the needs of this solo egg was because I had subjected her botty to a jet of cold water straight from the outside water tap upon seeing that her undercarriage was in quite a dire state. Being very much aware of fly strike, I picked her up, turned her over, and jetted her rump. Perhaps that is why she is going on strike with egg sitting.

So the other broody hen has the egg. However she is only half heartedly sitting on it, preferring to donate all her body warmth to the one egg she is sitting on.

In truth, we are increasingly swinging towards using our so far unused incubator machine.

Pig Project: Max continues to be his grotty self, although is not in quite such a grot as he was when Tess was alive. But to liven his day I have invented games. Like spraying him with the hose pipe, which he pretends to hate but still stands rooted to the spot. Like singing to him in a chant-like fashion: now with this activity he still does grot-posturing and grunting, but his eyes look at me as if to say, "Well I quite like this but don't want you to know that I do!" And today I found a broken branch which had a nobbly bit at one end. I used that to scratch his back and tickle his chin, meanwhile he grotted away at me as usual. Little things, these are what makes him feel part of our team, which he wants to be but pretends not to want to be.

Piglets: Aw bless! They continue to romp around the Sheep Paddock when the sheep are out in the field, and today they toddled around the perimeter of the paddock with me and Boolie, keeping stride with us and generally being part of the team. We are growing in confidence that they can be led out into the farm when we need to rehome them. However, they have a tendency to nudge. Now this is OK when done on thigh, hand or foot, but not in the back of the knee which unfortunately seems to be their most favoured spot. It is surprising how quickly one can become pole-axed when this spot is nudged.

Sheep Project: Doing OK. Still have Bot fly problem, and three of the sheep need more medication to stop the infestation. Next year we will have to find a deterrent to those flies. But the sheep love being in the Home Field, as can be seen by their general cheerful attitude. They also love being in the hedge and are busy making tunnels through the vegetation. The Jacob ram is also looking friskier now. Still small though, but by not so much. To make lambs he might now only need a stepstool rather than a ladder.

So now off to make some bread, then down to the woods to cut a pathway through the vegetation to the river bank. This we need to do so we can get some water for the veg garden, the pond we were using to pump water from now having dried up. It is Midge Heaven down there in the woods, but needs must..... And the good thing is that once one has received a few bites from one particular type of insect one's immune system seems to be able to make a faster response so that the itch-factor is very much reduced. However, there are several different types of biting insects, but one's immune system will win through in the end. I hope.

Saying bye for now.....This seems to have been quite a gabble of a blog, so well done you if you have stayed to the end.

Harvesting

2011-07-02T06:27:00.004+02:00

There is something really satisfying about building a stash of food for future use. Harvest time has started, and the first onion and potato crops have been brought in from the veg plot and the first twenty two pots of jam have been made from our fruit. Gosh!

And hard work it is. Many a time we have wondered about the advisability of expending the energy needed to produce these harvests. The plod of prepping the ground, planting the seed, watering and weeding. It is a long journey and one which at any time can fail that end harvest: not watering, or leaving the weeds to grow over the young plants, or not keeping an eye on how things are going, will fail that end crop. As I say, it is a bit of a plod.

Perhaps that is why I tend to spend more time out in the front garden amongst the flowers. A flower garden, I think, is more restful, perhaps because one tills the soil, one plants the seed, shrub or tree, one waters and weeds, and then the flowers come, relieving one of the necessity of then bringing in the harvest. But then one is also robbed of the immense sense of satisfaction when one sees the produce heaped up for future use. A good balance, therefore, is to have both, which I am gradually coming to terms with. It takes time to cross over between two lives and one has to patient with the process, this is what I am learning. I have an expanding life, and at sixty four, I feel lucky to have such a life.

Sometimes, however, I do fall out of the saddle. Sometimes, just sometimes, I do sigh. But not today! Because I have just made some pots of jam and I feeeeelllllll goooooodddd!

Five pots of apricot. Eight pots of peach and apricot. Nine pots of yellow plum. In the midst of winter they will bring summer sunshine into us. And I will have forgotten the ages it took to prep the fruit....

....although I did have help to clean up the stickiness of the 'testing for the set of the jam' spoon, which requires a spoonful of jam being taken from the hot jam pot on the stove, taking it outside and then waving it about to cool the jam down. If it all falls off the spoon it is not done, but if it sticks then it is. This, however, produces puddles of jam on the floor / ground which is why it is best to this part outside! And it's nice to have a bit of help now and again to clean up the stickiness.

Harvesting things is good for the soul, and makes one feel in charge of one's life, that is what I am finding out. Hope you have something in your life which makes you feel equally as proud of yourself,...... and saying bye for now. x

PS: Would that one of the broody hens in the Tall Barn felt the same. Her lack of effort at keeping all the eggs underneath her at the same time tells me that we are unlikely to have any little ones hatching from those eggs. She might, I am thinking, just be regarding this 'broody' lark as an excuse to have a holiday from life!

The reverence of the Maternity Wing

2011-06-29T21:48:00.002+02:00

They're at it again! Those hens! Two gone broody, one under the big Burdock bush by the water tap and one under the rabbit cages. Now the Burdock bush is in a high traffic area, especially when it gets hot because all the chicken flock congregate in the puddle beneath the tap to wet their feet and have a paddle. A water dish is also handily placed by the tap for dogs and chickens to sate their thirst, thus producing more activity. Not to mention the builders who have been toing and froing on the other side of the bush as they work on the Middle Barn, oh and the cement mixer placed just in front of the bush which has been noisily active for several days.

And the hen just kept sitting under the bush with a dedication which was impressive to watch.

At first it wasn't too bad for her. The vegetation was quite vigorous, and hardly at all could she be seen. And then someone, (NOT me!) decided that the bush was too large, and while it is a naughty type of bush because once it has flowered the Burdock plant makes these scratchy, sticky, seed heads which can give one quite a swipe if one is bare armed and bare legged, anyways someone, ( I repeat NOT me) cut it. Not in total. Just heavily trimmed. Her shelter had been reduced by half.

First there was one egg. Then two. Then one. Then three. Then one. And it came into my head that this should not be so. To blame: either Bools, Gus, the magpies of which there are several now that they have raised their young who are no doubt extremely healthy youngsters because of their diet of eggs, sheep's poo, piglet's poo, pig poo, and the leavings after all have been fed.

Action! At nightfall, with stealth, the hen under the Burdock was lifted up by Hubs, with moi lifting up the remaining egg. Into the dog kennel she was put, on a bed of straw, with the egg tucked up again beneath her.

Action! With continued stealth, on hand and knees, Hubs pulled the other hen out from under the rabbit hutches. Right at the back of them she was. But no eggs. Still......better to put her somewhere safe, so into the piglet transport box she went, again on a bed of straw, and tucked up underneath her I put three fresh eggs one of which was hers from yesterday and which I had been saving for the newly purchased egg incubator.

Well all this was a couple of days ago. But here's an odd thing..... there seems to have come upon the Tall Barn, which is where they are now in residence, a sort of quiet hush. A waitingness. It is as if the air is in suspension.

And so Labartere has a Maternity Wing. Of course it is nothing like an authorised hospital-type environment. For a start, the 'expectant mums' have to cope with me sorting out the sheep fleeces over their heads (I am separating various parts of the individual fleeces into piles of 'clean', 'sort of clean', 'a bit daggy but do-able', 'definitely a bit beyond do-able but still could be used at a push', and 'yucky, dreadfully daggy, definitely no-go'.) And then there is Jean-Pierre and his co-worker to-ing and fro-ing. Yet the air still seems to hold a quietness. Do people-type Maternity Wings hold that same quietness I wonder! I think not.

The hens have hot botts now. But they don't complain. When they come into broodiness that is what happens: Hot botts. To help them go un-broody one has to cool their botties down. Not sure how one does that, but should the occasions arise in the future then a search on the Internet will no doubt provide the answer. One thing for sure, though, they don't moan or carry on about their aches and pains! Perhaps that is why there is this waiting silence hanging in the air around them. It is so strong that I have started tiptoeing and talking quietly just so I do not disturb the quietness!

Three weeks time we shall know if we are to have littl'uns. Fingers crossed for at least one chick between the pair of them!

Et voila: The Maternity Wing:

To the far left, the dog kennel in which is the Burdock bush hen. To give her privacy I have lent her my throw. On top is a pile of 'clean, wonderfully clean' fleece. On the chair on the lower right is another pile of same. I struck lucky with that particular sheep's fleece. The rest are mostly yucky. Behind the kennel is a pile of onions newly harvested, waiting for me to make them into a tidy pile after Hubs threw them down in a heap. Behind them is an assorted jumble of gardening pots which were quite tidy once - until the hens decided that it was fun to rummage amongst them. To the far upper right is the other hen. I put some pots and stuff on top of the wire on the roof of box so she could feel private. In front of her is the pile of tiles waiting since January for our builder to come and lay them in the Half Barn.

Meanwhile life goes on:

These two are fixated by the red bucket. It is the animal feed bucket. Wherever it goes, so do they. Hubs is in charge of the red bucket. Therefore wherever he goes so do they. He may or may not be carrying the red bucket though. But this does not seem to worry these two. They trot along behind him anyway, just in case the red bucket should miraculously appear.

However.... I am now having to buy eggs. Unless I am sharp and keep my ears skinned for the hens telling me that they have just laid an egg and then dash to wherever it is they have laid, the magpies will get there first. I know that all should live in harmony, but we are starting to list ways in which to deter the magpies from nesting here next year. I favour trapping and then taking it aways off to release. Hubs is erring on the side of catapult or shot gun. I am, however, trying to deter him, his fly-swatting activities making me feel concerned for the general safety of all. Bless.

That's it, then. The End. But only for this blog! How could I not continue to share the ups and downs of trying to run a homestead with you all, and I hope I give you as much enjoyment as I get from reading your wonderful and interesting blogs.

Nicely cooking!!!

2011-06-27T12:03:00.004+02:00

Phew, but the temperatures have suddenly rocketed here. 35 yesterday, probably higher today, the ground of the Courtyard being so hot that you could hardly walk on it yesterday, which is probably why a couple of the hens were paddling their feet in the puddle beneath the outside water tap!

To cool Max off I have taken to giving him a squirt of the hosepipe. He is in two minds as to whether he should tolerate it or not, as can be seen by his 'happy' upright ears and the 'unhappy' gnashing of his teeth. Probably thinks it is an infringement of his space, me sending water into his patch. But he stands and lets the water run over him nevertheless. Hope it cheers him up now he is without company.

Hubs came up with the idea of putting the two piglet girls in with him to remedy this situation, but I was less that enthusiastic. They will start having seasons soon and they are only half grown but he would not take this into account and still feel the need to have a go having practised with Tess for nearly a year and he might get stuck and then there would be direness in the piggy camp.

Anyways, the piglets are fast outgrowing their small temporary paddock, but Hubs came up with the idea of letting them out into the sheep paddock during the day, when the sheep are over in the Side Field therefore leaving the paddock free. Good idea. Piglets romped over the grass, and rotovated the sheep's bedding thus helping the hens who also help out with this task.

And here's an oddness. To get the piglet girls used to us we need to train them to follow the bucket. Up to now they have been cute, but themselves. But when we went into the paddock one of the girls raced up to us and did nibbly things to the parts of us she could reach, as could be seen by the round piggy marks stamped on our legs and shorts made by the muddiness of her nose. And suddenly she had become one of us, part of the team. And it felt like Tess had transferred her spirit into that little piggy. Odd that..... And every time I think of Tess I 'see' an image in my head of her jumping up and racing toward me, as if she is well and happy.....

But now the sheep are out into the Home Field, so are in and out of their barn all the day long, which means the little piggies have to stay where they are. However, upon making a check on them yesterday, they were not to be seen. Oooohh deeeaaarrr! So where? Had a look in the Home Field. Sheep at the far end, looking like they were sheltering beneath the small oak tree. But no! They made a sudden dart to the right, shoulder to shoulder in a tight squash. Off they went. And to the left of them, hot on their heels, two reddish blobs trotting along behind. Ahha! So that's where they were, messing about with the sheep! Raced into the house to alert Hubs. Grabbed a bucket of maize. Out to the field. And there they were, those two on-an-adventure-but-now-needed-to-come-home piggy girls, heading towards us at a fast trot, the sheep having meanwhile galloped back to the barn. Oh but those little girls were pleased to see us! And didn't one of them glue her nose to my leg as she followed me through to their paddock, as if to say 'Don't leave me mum!', whilst the other one tried to get into the sheep's water trough which is an old Halfords box. She managed three legs but the last one couldn't squeeze in.

And so these adventuring girls remain within their small patch today, but we are very pleased to see that they regard us as 'parents' and that they will return to us when trouble is brewing, which also means that they should follow us when we move them about the farm in the future.

Meanwhile..... made a check on the bees. Queen cage down on the floor. Picked it up and repositioned it on a frame after first opening the sugar stash part so she could eventually get out. Not much progress has been made in the hive, but the weather for the best part of the week was not condusive for flight, and now it is frantically hot. They are really up against it. I feel troubled for them. But.....the ant community have resisted the urge to start a colony in the lid of the hive, put off by my liberal sprinkling of Quatre Epices. 'Cinnamon', the Internet said, is what you should use to deter ants in the hive, but didn't know the French word for cinnamon (it's 'cannelle' apparently), so used Mixed Spice, which I think the Quatre Epices is. Anyway, it worked! Ants: zero. AND the bees are flying with more purpose - instead of kind of falling out of the hive then flying off, they zoom straight out, intent to get to wherever it is they are going. They look more purposeful, so perhaps the queen has given them a boost.

The temperature is starting to rocket up again, so had better go and make a check on our outside team. Hope you are well, and I hope you have a lovely day.

....and then Tess died

2011-06-21T10:01:00.001+02:00

And so it came to be the evening of the day. It had been a hot day. After several weeks of cold and wet weather the sun was welcome. That is, until late afternoon when it became so hot that I was beaten back into the house, all effort expired.

Out to to our Tamworth Pig Paddock. Max up and waiting for his evening meal. Tess down. 'Twas not good, you could see that, 'twas not good. Nothing we could do. Except that I gave her a scratch round her ear just to let her know I was standing by, and she responded by snortling. And that was that. Her journey now.

A midnight check and she was quiet, calm, and sleeping. Into the deep sleep she must have gone soon after that because I was up at five to see her, and she was no more in this life. Max was chatting away to her, telling her to get up but she was never going to do that ever again.

Off to tell Hubs. Cup of tea, then swing into action, that's what we did. Max separated from Tess, seduced away by a super duper bucket of food. Best not to have him anywhere near the scene of the Tess Recycling Project. He would have interfered. He is always irate when Hubs is nearby. Looks upon him as a possible challenger for Tess's affections. Anyways he was away in the other paddock, with the entrance between the two paddocks blocked by my kitchen table, that being the only large block of wood we had to hand.

Chains, rope, tractor. Hubs fretting. A big task this, the Tess Recycling Project. All I could do was stand about feeling useless. She was starting to redden. Chemical reactions starting to break down her body parts, the energy of the Universe at work. Needed to get a move on. Hubs into paddock. Rope around her back legs. Chain around her front legs. Back out of the paddock. Up onto tractor. Put lifting mechanism on. Up she came. Down again she plopped, the front chains having slipped. Expletives darted through the air as Hubs clambered back into the paddock. Chains repositioned. Up on tractor again. Up into the air Tessy came. Down the path she went, jiggling about a little bit as the tractor bounced over the furrows of the path.

A little distance away, the fire pit. It was not intended as a fire pit. It was originally a huge hole our builder made with his digging machine, into which rubble from the house was supposed to go, but it was never finished. Good job really. It has served up well, that fire pit.

Now the gathering of the wood. Masses of it. All our dry wood for next winter's fires. Not to worry. Needs must. Build the fire. Last year's sheep fleeces. Anything. Fire must burn hot hot hot.

Tessy put on log pile. Rolled off it. Yelled instructions from Hubs sent me scrambling up onto the seat of the tractor. Pulled a lever. Shooting upwards came the lifting arm of the tractor. Ah! Too enthusiastic! Nearly made Hubs fall over. He was in the firepit with Tess, trying to position her better. Lower the handle now. Did so. Too quick again. Hubs nearly sent into a sprawl with Tessy, who was starting to inflate a teensy weensy bit. Instructions yelled at me again. Up, I got the arm up, and gently this time.

Then I went and made a cup of tea whilst Hubs carried on with fetching wood. Fire lit. Flames dancing high. No smoke though, just a very cheerful fire. Did a visit to my neighbour over at the Chambre d'hote, to tell her to close her bedroom windows. Just in case an aroma pervaded the air during the burning of Tess.

And it came to me that Tess had been looking life-tired for some time. Hubs thought that we had caused her demise but I think not. Yes, the heat was fierce and she probably over heated. Pigs can't sweat the heat out of them, which is why they need a wallow: the mud cools them down. And yes, the wallow had dried out fast and was the driest it had ever been. But I think that Tess had had enough in life. She was sleeping for longer and longer, and had been declining in the effort to show interest in life. But it is only in hindsight that I recognise this.

My overwhelming feeling is that she is glad not to be here any more, and all I have is a sense of relief for her. I think the heat finished her off, but she was not in good health anyway when she arrived just under a year ago, this I now recognise. And bless her for contributing to one of our many learning curves here. This learning we shall take forward with us while her chemical constituents get recycled into the chemical banks of the Universe.

Did you know that we are all made from the same chemical bank? That bits of you could have been all sorts of things before your parents came together to make you? That DNA gives you the roadmap for the construction of you, but that the chemicals needed to build your physical structure comes from the same chemical bank which every single living being on Earth uses for its growth as well. And that the chemical bank is derived from the stars of the Universe. Stardust, then.

So fare thee well, Tessy. We did the best we could for you. You never gave us piglets, but then I don't think you were ever meant to. I think you came here to teach us about the gracefulness of nature which a female pig can have. Burn you well, and let your spirit fly high in the sky. RIP.

PS. We didn't recycle her into the freezer because my instinct was that she was not well enough for us to do so, but we thought about it and would have done so had she been sound. As I say, on reflection, I think that she had been in declining health for some time.

An unexpected arrival!

2011-06-18T19:52:00.006+02:00

"What's this?" I said, upon arriving back from a food shopping trip and seeing a packet parked upon my computer keyboard.

"Dunno. Came in the post" muttered a busy and 'I-don't-have-time-to-stop-and chatter-and-so-why-haven't-you-got-lunch-yet-and-why-have-you-been-out-for-longer-than-you-said-you-would-be' mildly irritated Hubs.

Anyways.....investigated the packet, and this is what it said was inside: 'Live queen bee (x1). Live attending bees (x5) all enclosed in plastic cage'.

She'd come! Yippeeidaydo!!!! But.......What to do! What to do!! What to dooooo!!!!

Well open her up. So I did:

Yes, but now what to do! What to do!! Now what to doooo!!!!!!

So scrambled onto our apiarist friend's website for instructions: 'Can keep queencage in a dark place for a day or so.' So I put her in the cupboard. And shut the door. Then went out to find a puddle of clean rain water. Scopped some rain water into wine glass. Back to cupboard. Gingerly opened the door half expecting to be buzzed by escapee bees. No. All still in the queen cage. Could see a leg waving about. One was alive at least. Dropped in a drop of rain water into the queen cage. More went in than I meant, but it flowed straight through the cage and onto the floor, which was good. At least I did not drown anyone. Cage back into cupboard. Door firmly shut. Sent email to Lucy to say that I got the queen, although surprised that she had not said that she was going to do so. Message back: didn't send queen, but think that it was Patsy, her assistant. Anyways, not to worry. She's here. And God bless Patsy!

Leave her in the cupboard then. Copy the 'queen introduction' instructions from Lucy's website: 'give sugar syrup to the hive before introducing the queen'. So made some sugar syrup. Then went out to a rehearsal with other folk I am playing music with on Sunday. Went into avoidance mode about Bee Project. Time for bed.

The following morning. Hubs: "When are you going to put the queen in the hive then?"

"Oh, perhaps tomorrow, or Monday......." says moi, still in avoidance mode as to the Bee Project. So Hubs took control. This happens when either one or the other is doing the avoidance thing - one will push the other along, which means, I guess, that we are pedalling the same bike. What I mean is that when one of us stops pedalling then the other one will keep on doing the pedalling to keep us travelling forward. Teamwork!

Into our gear then:

.....with me being thoroughly silly and Hubs saying "Oh get a move on Vera. I haven't got all day!" and him looking stern faced at me all the while I was making a photo-shoot, as can be seen in the above photo!

...then off we went, with Gus and Bools trolling along behind:

...... I was bringing up the rear, still trying to stifle giggles.

Out to the hive we went. Off came the lid. Ants. Thousands of ants inside the lid. Off it came. Out into the air the ants found themselves flying, as Hubs swung the lid about to encourage their evacuation. Next lid off. Yahooooo! Bbbbeeeeez!!! Still at one end, same as before.

Lifted a frame out from the no bee zone. Put that on the ground. Moved the other frames along, slowly. Got to a bee-frame. Not many on. Next frame, more. And what was this! It looked like those little girls were building some cells, and the same for the next one, lots more bees too although not enough to get them through the coming winter, but it is only June so they should have time to increase the colony and stack up some honey, but they have a lot of hard work ahead. A bit like us really.

So Hubs jammed the queencage between the two most populated frames. Hope it doesn't fall to the floor of the hive. Hope it stays in place. Hope we didn't squash any bees.

Lids on. Sugar syrup in tray outside hive. Should be put inside the hive but nowhere to put it, so outside the front door it goes. Other bees, however, do take advantage of this bounty. How do we know this? Because I watch them partake of the syrup then fly off in the opposite direction to our hive. Not to worry, at least some of it goes to our bees.

Gussy limped up. Oh no! Grass dart in his foot again. Second time in three days. Hubs investigated. Bad one this time. Swelling. Vets? Probably. Just paid ninety pounds out for the vet to come and give medicine and take blood tests for the sheep. But: must be done. Thought I would try the river. Not to throw myself in to! No, not that! Thought that the cool, fast flow of the river would sooth his foot. Seems to have worked. Not much limping now. Worked for me too. I forgot how soothing paddling in the river can be, albeit with wellington boots on.

Meanwhile, Danny and crew turned up. Half Barn to be done at long last, so we can dispense with the caravan to sleep in forever? No. Afraid not. They seem to have bypassed the Side Barn and are pushing on with doing the roof of the Middle Barn. It looks like all the roofs will be done soon. Will post up photos in the next blog.

So the new queen is in situ. Have to stay away from the hive for at least a week. Then we have to go inside the hive and release her from the queen cage. But that is for next weekend. For the moment, though, I think I might go and have a lie down!

Still Queenless

2011-06-16T10:27:00.002+02:00

So she didn't arrive, the queen bee, shipped out from Lucy in the UK suitably packaged and with the appropriate documents attached. Noooooooo! What happened was that she fetched up back with Lucy from thence she was put back into a hive with some bee chums. Which was good. At least she stayed alive. However, another package (some bee equipment) took only three days to arrive here from the UK, and that was by normal post. So Lucy, a very helpful apiarist, has offered two alternative ways of getting a queen to us:
1) Put her in an airy travelling box and send her by normal mail to France.
2) Get Lucy's Mum to give her a lift in her handbag when she comes over to France for a holiday. I would then go and fetch her, (the queen, not Lucy's Mum although she would be more than welcome to visit us if she so wished) or she could be put into the French postal system (the queen, not Lucy's Mum!)

Ah so! A couple of days ago, in through the door, with a very glum face, came Hubs. "I'm sorry" he says, "But all the bees are dead. I lifted the lid up (of the hive) and there weren't any inside".
I knew this to be so. So off we went, my intent being to empty the hive of all carcasses and put it away for next year when we would start again with the Bee Project. Meanwhile, our bee keeping equipment had arrived, which at least made me feel optimistic that we would indeed keep the project going forward, but next year.

A few bees were flying about, but the hive is snuggled in beside a large and florally busy patch of blackberry bushes. Visiting bees then. With a flourish Hubs lifted off the roof. Ants there were in abundance. Still in full flourish, Hubs lifted off the top board. No bees to the right. Yikes!!!!!!!! But there were BEES TO THE LEFT!!!! Yessir!!!! BBBBEEEEZZZZZZZ!!!! Strewth, but we never moved so fast to get those bees covered back up again, the shock of seeing bees, real live bees, was too much to cope with especially since we were not in bee keeping gear and were suddenly made to feel very vulnerable being in shorts, t-shirts, and hatless. The bees, meanwhile, remained quiet. We were not attacked, or stung.

And did you know that: a colony of bees can live for quite some time without a queen.
..that male bees are called drones. That all drones do is mate with the queen. They have no stinger so cannot sting although may pretend they are doing so just to give you a fright. They do not do work. To pass the time during the day they all go off and enjoy a 'boy's jolly', this being done at a distance from the hive, them possibly being evicted from the girls in the hive who are busy going about their house duties and who do not want them underfoot. Apparently they all hang out together, the boy-drones..... but I guess they have to enjoy they day because when winter comes they will be thrown out of the hive for good, them being too expensive food-wise for the girls to keep during the cold months, and so they will die.

So we are still queenless, but still have a portion of bees left in the hive. Will have a look later on today to see what they are up to. I will let you know how I get on with doing that. It will be my first time of lifting the frames up. I have a smoker. That is a useful implement for quietening the bees down apparently, should they get feisty. And I have a proper bee keeping jacket complete with veil, so now I can actually see what I am doing - the temporary veil blocked my view so I couldn't even see where I was walking very clearly, let alone get my hands in amongst the bees, clad though they were in latex. (My hands, not the bees!)

.............but we do still have bees, and we might be having a queen sometime soon! The Bee Project is still a goer for this year......