Catch-up

The rotovator has died. It was old when we got it, and now it is beyond repair. It resides now in the Gate Porch, out of the way of the weather.

The lawnmower resides with the rotovator. That was old when we got it as well. Engine still sort of goes OK, but the blades have gone all wonky underneath due to the task put upon this machine of trying to mow rough, uneven, stone laden ground into a lawn. It is not quite a dead'un, but nearly is.

The strimmer does not reside with these two machines. It was working for ten minutes or so in its first outing of the year recently, then it stopped.

The tractor is alright though. But the cutter is not. That is a dead one too, having got a big crack just by the bit that someone welded to heal another crack.

The car got a sicky, but is not dead. Upon returning to the car, which was parked in a car park up aways, I espied a puddle. Quite a big puddle. One that could not be ignored. So I looked at that puddle, with interest. Not panic. Just interest. I glanced at the handsome young Frenchman chatting away on his phone nearby. Always, when in a situation which is not good, an angel is sent my way. And this helpful angel Frenchman also looked at the puddle. Directed me to a garage nearby. Asked if he could look under the bonnet. I said no, he had helped enough. Anyway, car not dead, but unexpected money had to be paid out.

The grass is growing apace. The sheep are munching as much as they can, but moan dreadfully if made to go into the same patch of grass two days running even though they have only half eaten what is on offer. 

The chickens have gone odd, three of the hens deciding to cohabit in a sit-in underneath the rabbit hutches. Can't think why they would want to do that. It is very squashy, and any eggs laid sort of get kicked about from hen to hen. Not sure what to do about these three. Leave them for the moment then.

The grey rabbit has had babies. Nine. Cute. But are for the pot. Will Hubs be able to do the deed and send them into the freezer? Only time will tell. He has not managed it so far with the other rabbits we have bred. Its the way those ears flop about. Very cutesy. Makes Hubs go squishy.

The little brown hen sat on eggs and got four chicks, none of which are hers, three being blond barenecks, and one little black'un. But the crows, they came a-calling, and then there were three. And then the magpies paid a visit for to find supper for their brood up in the tree nearby. So two little chicks were left. Hubs said to let nature take its course. But I thought it unfair on the little brown hen to be robbed of her family, so she is in the rabbit hutch for safety. She hates it. She swears and cusses and carries on in anger at being treated thus so, and does not listen to my explanations as to why she has to be penned up in a rabbit hutch.

The little piggies are continuing to follow their desire to be miners, and are practising the art of digging holes with great energy. To contain them within their small temporary paddock they have been introduced to the electric fence. So what they do now is mine away beneath the wire, although they are unable to break through because they are also busy growing into bigger piggies.

And the wheat has appeared down in Hubs'  veggie plot, together with other plantings we planted there. The rotovator gave its last gasp of life on that veg plot, and the lawnmover was mortally wounded when working out front by my veg plot, which has also now got sproutings. The tractor's cutter was terminally injured when cutting the Back Field.

So how are we going to manage with our main tools for working the land no longer usable. And I have got to go and buy eggs because our girls are doing henny things which do not include donating their eggs to us. And how are we going to get those little piggies down to the woodland paddock after our trailor was kept by the garage where it had been taken for repair the garageman laughing fit to bust at the state of it and saying that he would pass it on to the local scrap metal man. And where are we going to put nine bunnies while they get big enough to possibly eat but that is only if Hubs can do the deed which he has not managed to do so far. And should the sheep be given into about having their electric poles moved every two days so they can eat the choicest morsels and leave the rest which is not worthy of their attention, when the ground is rock hard and the poles have to be banged in and there are loads of poles to shift and it takes ages and ages with them shouting all the time because they know that when the poles are in place they will have new munchings, or should we deaf-head them and make them eat the older pasture, not minding that they are standing at the gate nearby yelling their indignation.  And should the little brown hen be given in to and released out into the world which includes her henny mates, black crows, and sqawking magpies. Does it matter if those little chicks are eaten by others........

Thus, then, the life of a petite ferme tumbles along in its quiet and timeless way.....