Farmer Foch gives up on us

It has been an ongoing saga about Farmer Foch and our fields, so let me fill you in with a bit of info first: Farmer Foch has been farming the fields here on behalf of the previous owners for several years. It is of mutual benefit that he did so, because the owners get to have the fields used and Farmer Foch gets to reap harvests for minimal rent.

And then things changed. We arrived. Farmer Foch had emailed us in the UK during the sale of our house there, to ask if he could use the fields for one year. We thought that a good idea at the time because we didn't know when we would be able to leave the UK, and having him farm the land meant that the property didn't look so neglected.

A problem: if the farmer farms a land which he doesn't own, and does this for a number of years, then he has automatic rights over that land. Which means that he can keep on farming it until he decides not to, no matter what the owner wishes. The way round it, I thought, was not to receive any money for rent. In other words Farmer Foch got use of the land for free.

He put corn on the fields. We arrived in June 2008 to find the house surrounded by corn fields, apart from the entrance field. The farmers here use every inch of space, and the corn was so tightly packed onto the land, that we couldn't even get round to the back of the house or down to the river. No problem. We were still busy trying to clear the courtyard of vegetation which occupied us at that time.

Late July. Farmer Foch arrived with the combine harvester. And showed great amusement at the fact that we were living in a caravan and tent, that the house of our roof was all of a tumble, and that our French was almost zilch. We were newbies. Still plump from our UK lifestyle, still nervous of the adventure which we had given ourselves by coming here to Labartere, and showing uncertainty and unsureness which must have given him the impression that we didn't have the foggiest idea of what we were supposed to be doing here.

Hubs wanted him off the land and didn't want him to put another crop on. But I felt that since we had given him our word that he could have the land for one year, then we should honour that commitment.

He planted oil seed rape, which is probably the worst crop he could have planted. It took ages to grow, from September through until July and snarled the fields up so much that we couldn't walk round them and worst of all, that beneath the rape grew a multitude of vigorous weeds. We were left with fields full of such plants which we knew would produce difficulties when the fields were seeded with grass.

Meanwhile: the roof of the house was removed (September 2008), the tempest of January 2009 came and went leaving us with ripped tarpaulins everywhere but a second caravan to live in, and we managed to get the Hutto (once upon a time pig and chicken place by the gateway) up and running.

So when Farmer Foch paid a visit in June 2009, we had an 'office' to talk to him in, but still he seemed amused at our efforts to live here which made us feel belittled. But somehow he had a hold over us. We began to be worried in case he refused to budge from our land. He offered us rent again but we refused. This was just before he harvested the oil seed rape. Hubs also discussed his requirement of the fields: that they be laid down to grass so that animals could graze, such as sheep and cows. Farmer Foch thought this hilarious, said that we didn't have enough land for cows, and obviously had not changed his opinion of us: that we were newbies and didn't have a clue.

But Farmer Foch did say he would plant the fields to grass for us. He didn't seem very keen though. I guess he was losing income by not being able to put corn, oil seed rape or maize here.

The summer made its progression: long and hot. The house began to be ressurected. The half barn became almost done, and it was obvious that we were making headway with the house. Having lived here for just over a year, and been stretched mentally and emotionally a million different ways during that time, we have changed. We are not newbies any longer.

Farmer Foch paid us a visit again three weeks ago, still with his original attitude towards us in place. Here is what I wrote in the blog at that time: Farmer Foch has been asked to plough the two fields and then sow them with grass.

Since we don't really do French, and Farmer Foch doesn't really do English, well let's just say that wires can get crossed! Hence HG Hubs fetching up red faced with frustration, and Farmer Foch kind of cross eyed with trying to make himself understood.

And, yet again, God bless the Internet. Onto Babel Translation HG and Farmer Foch went. Ah. An even redder faced HG. For it transpired that Farmer Foch was saying that because we have had no rain since April, it is not advisable to put grass seed down because it won't have enough time to flourish before next summer arrives. Therefore, a 'meanwhile' idea from Farmer Foch: "Why don't I plant another winter cereal crop in December. Then we can have a go at getting the grass planted this time next year." He went on, "But if it rains in the next three weeks, then we might get the grass in this year". What he meant was: Can I use your fields for another nine months? Lets not do the grass because that won't make me any money. Or at least, that is what HG thought he meant.

So: a conundrum: pray for rain so we can get the grass growing which means we can get the animals who will eat the grass in two years time. Or pray for no rain so the roof can be put on.

Well, it did rain. Only for four days, but rain it did. Plus the roof kept on going up. But in the background of our minds was the niggling thought about whether Farmer Foch was going to plant the grass or not. Too mentally tired to phone him, and not wanting to deal with his attitude, which was still that we didn't have a clue about what we were doing, we left it as a bubbling irritation in the back of our minds. In truth, I think we would have probably let him bully us into planting another grain crop.

And then! A tractor arrived. On it, Farmer Michel. Come to discuss the ploughing of the fields, and the grassing of them. Worse to talk to than Farmer Foch because his French is laden heavily with local dialect, nevertheless he treated us more as equals, perhaps because he hadn't seen us when first we arrived so didn't have an entrenched view of us in his mind.

And he came, and he raked over the fields with one tractor, ploughed them with another tractor, smoothed it over with yet another one, went and purchased the grass seed on our behalf (one type for cows, one type for sheep), someone else came with another tractor specifically designed to sow seed, then Farmer Michel smoothed the land back over again. It took three days, and he charged us less than the grass seed cost.

And I think that Farmer Foch must have finally realised that we do know what we are doing, that we are here to stay, and that we won't be messed with. Somehow, during that last visit of his, he must have realised that we remain intent on our purpose and that we haven't wilted under the pressure of living here, which so many of the English do. And so, I think, he handed us over to Farmer Michel.

It is a big step forward for us. By his doing so we feel that we have proved ourselves. And it means that we have control of our land back, that once the fences are up we can start having livestock. But most of all, that we can walk all over our land without being worried about damaging a crop which isn't ours. It is a good feeling.

Front field:

Side field:

What will grow: the newly planted grass, or the newly turned over weed seeds? Probably both. So: how to get the grass to grow without being strangled by the weeds? Two ways: Inorganic which means spraying with a herbicide next spring. Or organic. Which means going out and weeding it by hand. Mmmmmm. A question, I think, I will leave for the moment! They are, after all, quite big fields!!!

The rain arrives and so does Gus

So last night a phone from Jonathen: "Are you still looking for a spaniel friend for Bools?" he said.
I handed the phone over to Head Man Hubs. This was a follow on conversation that the two of them had been having recently while J worked on the halfbarn.

The rains have come. The summer is now done. Farmer Foch, the farmer who has been farming our fields and who Head Gardener Hubs wants off the fields because "This is my land and I want to farm it myself", called the other day. He has been asked to plough the two fields and then sow them with grass.

Since we don't really do French, and Farmer Foch doesn't really do English, well let's just say that wires can get crossed! Hence HG Hubs fetching up red faced with frustration, and Farmer Foch kind of cross eyed with trying to make himself understood.

And, yet again, God bless the Internet. Onto Babel Translation HG and Farmer Foch went. Ah. An even redder faced HG. For it transpired that Farmer Foch was saying that because we have had no rain since April, it is not advisable to put grass seed down because it won't have enough time to flourish before next summer arrives. Therefore, a 'meanwhile' idea from Farmer Foch: "Why don't I plant another winter cereal crop in December. Then we can have a go at getting the grass planted this time next year." He went on, "But if it rains in the next three weeks, then we might get the grass in this year". What he meant was: Can I use your fields for another nine months? Lets not do the grass because that won't make me any money. Or at least, that is what HG thought he meant.

So: a conundrum: pray for rain so we can get the grass growing which means we can get the animals who will eat the grass in two years time. Or pray for no rain so the roof can be put on. Delays with that, yet again, as the wood is delayed because the mill is still getting over the August holiday shut down and there is a back log which was supposed to have been cleared but hasn't. We have managed most of last week with no rain. Some roof-work done, and a grand plan made because left and right hand internal walls didn't meet in the centre of the house properly. Thursday. Friday. Sunny weather. No wood arrived. So no builders did either.

Friday afternoon, the weather turned. Down came the rain, and we knew the rainy season had probably started. And at night-fall, as the rain exhuberantly kept us company, Gus arrived.

Living in caravans is not an extremely roomy experience. OK when the sun shines because then all the outside becomes available as extra living accomodation. But not when it rains. It was raining with Gus arrived. Gus is a cocker spaniel boy-dog of two years old. And he is homeless. Jonathen found out about him, remembered the chat with HG, and brought him to us.

Bools is a boy dog. 1 boy dog + 1 boy dog = doggy scraps. So Gus has to stay in a kennel in the office while we wait for the rain to ease, so the two of them can be allowed to get to know each other in the more open space of the courtyard. There is no room in either of the two caravans for two boy dogs to get to know each other. Bedlam would result if it was even tried.

Message from Gus: (Translated from the French because Gus us a French cocker spaniel).
"Bonjour. I would like to say hello to you, but I am put in this cage-thing, and I don't like it. I keep on trying to tell Him and Her that I don't like it, but all they do is make strange sounds at me which I don't understand. Her and Him left me in this room last night (The Hut/Office) and I called and called out to them to come and fetch me but they didn't. So I chewed up my bed instead. Her has taken me out today. Went with Big Dog (Bools) who keeps bullying me. Big Dog could run all over the place. I had to stay tied to Her. Still, I did get into the ditches, would have chased a little creature (mouse?) if I had been able to, and went into the river for a swim. Then I was put back into that cagey-thing. Which I hate. So I said so, but Her didn't seem to care. Him came in ages afterwards. Dried me off. Gave me a nice lovies. So I said thankyou and can I come out now? But Him said no. So I sat and shivered to make them feel sorry for me. I am still in this cagey-thing, but I am all toasty-warm because Him has put the fire on for me. So I am going to try 'fluffy dog cute' to see if that gets me some attention. I will smile into a photo for you next time. But I don't want to say hello to you while I am still in this cagey-thing. Au revoir!"

Things I have learnt today: that when the Universe decides to send you an animal to look after, just say 'thankyou' even if the arrival of that animal couldn't have come at a more inconvenient time.

So now the roof could be delayed although the half barn work continues on at a goodly pace, but the grass might be planted if Farmer Foch decides to oblige and it continues to rain. And we have a new addition to our menagerie, which is a gorgeous cocker spaniel who hopefully has found a new home with us, which might be up for debate if he bites Lester's hand again, which he has just done! Another Oooooops, I think!

Big harvesting

And with a huge bang and a clatter, and much largeness of noise this monster of a machine gingerly negotiated its way past the half barn and veg plot with hardly an inch to spare. On its way to the front field was.


Harvest time for the oil seed rape.

It just about got past the cement mixer and the lorry parked up loaded with wood for the house roof.

Then off down the field, chomping and cutting, filling its belly with seed, belching plumes of dust that would do justice to a mini sandstorm in the Sahara.



It was oh so hungry, that machine, and was ruthless in its eating of the rape.

And after its meal there wasn't much left, only stiff dry stalks.

So now the fields are back in our hands, and we can once again walk round them which was something we have been prevented from doing for the last three months due to the vigorous growth of the oil seed rape. We missed the daily walk around the permiter of our land, and although the stubble is unpleasant to walk over, at least we can now do that again.

It feels like we are being submerged with machinery at the moment, all doing Big Jobs.

I nearly didn't have an adventure today

But then I did. Initiated by Boolie deciding that he really needed to Go OUT, and not keep poncing about on the campus like me and Lester had been doing all day. Well, we had been working. Lester to pay for Boo's food, and me to try and become an ever-so-famous-writer by selling at least one book. And what slow going that is and how I am learning that being a writer requires of one hours and hours and hours and yet more hours of earnest endeavour which can, quite frankly, drive one up the pole.

Anyway, on with today. It has been hot, so early lunch because being in the kitchen caravan is like being in a sauna if one is trying to cook. Heat from the sun + heat from the oven (if on, which most days it is) + top of stove cooking = one hot and drippy moi. Yesterday, it was hotter. I left it until late evening to wash up. It was still swelteringly hot. So I divested myself of my top and other articles except my pinny, and hoped that Bruno, bless him, wouldn't come swinging along to see how we were getting along. Fortunately he didn't. But I relied on Boo's ears to let me know if he, or anyone else, was about.

Trouble is that Boo's getting lazy. He used to bark at everything, which was a nuisance sometimes, but a blessing at other times especially if one was doing things which one didn't want anyone else to see. But he is getting inattentive to his job of late, and we are finding that we are the ones to investigate new arrivals before he does. I think I will have to have a talk with him about what his job actually entails, especially as it looks as if I am going to be only wearing a pinny in the kitchen caravan more often. We are, as it happens, still only in late spring, and the temperature in the bedroom caravan was at 30 degrees C.

So, 7pm here. Bools was of the opinion that messing about with potting compost was too damn boring. So he psyched me out. He does this by lying down with his head on his front paws and stares and stares at me, knowing that I will get the message eventually.

Off we go down the lane. Now I don't know why he has to do this, but he always does at least one or two deposits right outside Christiane's house. No matter how I try to get him to do his doggy dollops elsewhere, always he manages to find some contribution to dump around her property. I have become deft at doing a quick sideways flick with my booted foot to reposition the deposits. I am sure that Bools thinks it fun.

The grass has grown. So has the oil seed rape on our fields which means that we haven't been able to walk round our fields for weeks. We miss that. It makes us feel disengaged from the full extent of Labartere. Today I thought I would plough a way through. After all, I haven't had an adventure today, so here goes. Instead of returning the way I had come, I carried on over Christiane's field, into a little strip of woodland, then round the edge of our oil seed rape field.

The grass was as tall as my head. It was fun for a couple of yards. Bools thought so too. He does kangaroo hops in long grass. But he also spooks himself. The thing is, I rely on his desire to look after and protect me from anything which might come and eat me. It would seem that this only applies to when I am having a lie down in bed, when he can do watch-dog in comfort, or sitting at my computer when he can do a full-on sleep as can be heard by his snoring, him being obviously off-duty. But when it matters, as when I am having an adventure in tall grass which could be housing all manner of creatures both great and small, and here I am reminded of that humungous snake that I disturbed in the middle of winter when I was messing about out front, he seems to be looking toward me for protection. So it ended up with both of us spooking each other.

We made a safe return.

I had an adventure today. I have the mozzie bites to prove it and my nose is full of grass seed and oil seed rape dust, which means that the bedroom caravan will swim sweetly with the scent of Vick Vapour Rub which I will have to use in quantity if I am to keep my airways open so I can breath.

Bools meanwhile, is having a nap. After all, he was the leader on the adventure as such thinks he deserves the reward of a kip.

Things I have learnt today: That its best to wait until Farmer Foch cuts the oil seed rape and hopefully also cuts the verges so me and Bools can make a safe passage round our land and also ensure I do not become peppered overall with mozzie bites. That an early dinner was a good idea because I could wash up when it wasn't so hot and therefore avoid any embarassment to Bruno and other visitors by wearing only my pinny because it is too hot to do otherwise. That even when one doesn't think one is going to have an adventure, an adventure will pop up and find one. That Vick is a blessing.

Watering, logs and bees.

Upon his watering mission last night, Lester found the plod round the property just too much. Having planted seventeen fruit trees all about the place, I said he would have trouble keeping up with the watering. "Make an orchard" I said, "by putting them in a random clump as nature would have intented. That'll make the watering easier" which seemed a logical solution to where to plant our trees.
"I want them in straight lines...." he said in his 'I am the chief planter around here' voice which he is using a lot of late. "And I want them around the edge of the property" he added.
"Yes but it will make the watering harder. Can't you put them all together in a group?"
"No."

And thus was my prophecy proved correct last night as he trundled the water bucket from tree to tree. Out front there are nine edging the perimeter: 2 peach, 2 apricot, 2 Pear, 3 plum. By the oak out back: 2 peach, 2 apricot. By the bridge: 2 apple, 1 cherry, 1 unknown. It is quite a walk for him. But he found a solution for the furthest ones: he got the water from the Adour. "It's full of minerals and things" he said, "better than tap water. It comes down off the Pyrenees so it must be good". And yes, it is, only I know my husband well enough to expect the news that sometime soon that she has taken away the bucket and that she has made him have wet feet. Only I hope he is careful, I wouldn't like to see him floating off down the Adour. She is a fast and busy river, and would be eager to have a passenger.

Already he is eyeing up the pile of logs captured by the bridge support and is making plans as to how he can retrieve them, one of which is wading across to them and manhandling them back to dry land. I smile and say "What a good idea, but wouldn't it be better to get a blow-up boat or something so you can row across", not wanting to put him off his gung-ho, 'man-provider' mode while all the while secretly hoping that the French will come and tidy up the bridge themselves. Only Lester rarely does anything at Labartere without needing my help, so it is a distinct possibility that moi will be captured into a retrieval of logs adventure sometime during 2009, hopefully when the Adour is in her sleepy state of summertime laziness. Or perhaps he might drop the idea all together, which will be even better!

As for the trees: if we manage to get half of them to survive then we will consider it a bonus. We are organically minded. Unfortunately, this area is rife with humungous bugs. They are big. And voracious. I am not sure we can stay organic, this land may not let us, but we will wait and see on that.

On inspection of the trees, I find myself hugging them and telling them to "hang on in there, we will do our best to look after you". I may, or may not, be losing the plot! Our French neighbours might be thinking the same as they see me hugging, and talking to, our little trees.

But then they may become even more concerned when we get the bee keeping project under way. The beehives will be out by the woodland on the front field and there is no way that we are going to manage to look after them without all the neighbourhood knowing about it. Seeing us walking about in veiled white overalls might just push our neighbours over the edge with us! But the whole bee-keeping project might be put off until later on in the year: apparently bees don't like lawn mowers which I presume also includes tractors, and we don't want Monsieur Prunet-Foch to be stung to pieces while he is lifting off his harvest from our fields in June. Swatting away at the bees while they are telling him to "**** away from our flight paths" will possibly have him fetching up, tractor and all, in the Adour. Which will make her happy as she will then have a passenger to play with, plus a bit of mechanical equipment as well.

First gnat bite. First bramble scratch. First visit from the Gendarmerie. Ooh la la!

Oh, just about things in general!

We can't have pigs yet because we don't know how much of our woodland will be flooded as the Spring melt water comes down off the snow in the Pyrenees. We can't do ducks yet for the same reason. We can't do chickens for the same reason, although we were going to put a little family in beside the bedroom caravan only that area has now become a dump ground for grotty and torn tarpaulins and the roofers stuff is in the way as well. The only other place is out on the front field, but that is planted with crops at the moment. Oil Seed Rape actually. Just found that out. Farmer Foch popped in to ask us if he could plant grass on the back field which has been left unplanted after the harvest last year. In other words, we took back control of it after he finished harvesting.

So nothing has been done and it is full of weeds apart from a small plot which Lester has dug for veg. At the moment it is full of onions. It did have cabbages, some of which we ate, most of which the deer took a mouthful out of and leaving the insect population to finish off the rest. In percentage terms we had about 25% of the crop: well, it was our first planting experience.

Anyway, Farmer Foch mentioned that he could grass it over, but we are not sure about whether it was a neighbourly gesture to help us, or he was looking to take back the field for making hay and / or silage. Lester is up in arms about that. He defends the right to his land with vigour. Another farmer has been making pushy comments about buying a strip off the side field so he can sell a chicken shed-cum-gite which is at the end of it. Possibly to one of our English friends. Lester looked like he was going to chin him the last time he came calling. Lester is smaller than he is, but will fiercely defend every inch of Labartere. After all, he says, he slaved away for years in the UK to buy the farm and no-one is going to have an inch of it. I am sometimes surprised at how he is so fiercely protective of his home. I could see him in days of long ago, standing in the gateway with a blunderbuss on his shoulder to ward off all wrong-doers! Which is a fanciful notion, but then you haven't seen him patrolling the perimeter of his fields, bless him.

As for les animaux: they will have to wait. I am still trying to become a purveyor of goods and a published writer and with a roof to pay for, Lester has to carry the financial burden for the time being. Farmer Foch is being paid for the grass seed so it is our crop rather than his, and in two years time the fields should be ready for the cows and sheep. Meanwhile, I will keep battling with the brambles in Duck Pond Wood so hopefully we might at least get chickens this year, but the ducks and pigs will also have to wait. That leaves the bees: we might manage to get them.

And one of the ironies of living here is that we have the land, but we neither have the time or finances to invest in self-sufficiency properly. Lester has a large number of various seeds sourced globally, most of which probably won't be planted this year because we haven't had time to do a proper dig, and we can't afford a tractor to get it ploughed to make that job easier. But we do have the rotovator - Hooray! It has been to the rotovator-doctor and been duly checked out, but is still in the car because the weather has been too wet to use it, and Lester has had to work on the computer so he wouldn't have the time anyway. We need duplicate copies of ourselves; one set to work, the other set to get out onto the land.

So: Plan A. Do A Bit Each Day.Focus on little steps forward, then hopefully the bigger picture will fall into place. Thirteen acres is an awfully big chunk of land, and even the little bit we can get on to seems daunting, the tendency being to panic and not do anything at all. So: Late New Years Resolution: Put Plan A into force.

This week's tasks: Look at finding some bees who would like to come and live with us, listen patiently to Lester when he does his daily enthusing about his plans for the farm, look for a source of bee-houses, be patient with Fleur when she tries to elope Boolie away, find time to read up on what to do with a load of newly-arrived bees, try to learn at least one more word in French, try not to burn myself on the gas cooker, try to be patient when I explain to Lester for the umpteenth ime that the reason why he is running out of clothes to wear is because the washing machine needs the hosepipe connected to it after the roofers used it last week, look in the mirror and say to myself: I CAN DO THIS. Oh, and I must keep slogging away with learning how to self-publish, and how to set up an internet shop.... and mmmmmm, what was Plan B? Maybe that one is less intimidating!