Winter fever

I was starting to wonder if I was* coming down with something – scratchy throat, itchy eyes, runny nose and sneezes.  With the cold damp weather, I was expecting the worse. ..but symptoms were intermittent.  Oddly, I have worked out that with not a blade of grass in sight and snow covering the ground, I am suffering from hay fever….what's a tasty snack for the girls, is as irritating to me now as in the height of summer.

We're supplementing diets with grass from last year in its various forms.  In the past I have called everything grass-like "straw", but that's just townie-speak and I should be ashamed to be so generic nowadays.  Hay is lovely aromatic (and allergenic) dried grass (the cows love to eat it), silage is damp grass and much much more 'aromatic' (cows also love to eat it), while straw is dried stalks of wheat or barley (cows sleep on this, but also appear to love to eat it, especially while they are laying on their dinner).   Each bale of hay or silage smells different, depending on which field it has come from and what other flora is within. Today I had hay that definitely smelt like fenugreek and cardamom – neither of which grow round here (obviously) – but nevertheless, smell wonderful it did.

Talking of aromas, after a while you stop noticing smells that originally were quite, shall we say, dominant.  Ian and I were in the farm store the other day and I leant towards him and whispered that someone in the queue smelled like cow poo.  He whispered back that it was me, and I had ponged of it all day because I had it on my boots, trousers and jacket.  I guess I won't be invited to tea at the Palace any time soon.

* My grammatical OCD has kicked in and I am suffering ... because this should be subjunctive 'were' but it just sounds wrong nowadays.  I think I need help.

Rain, rain, go away

And it has. Unfortunately, to be replaced by snow. 

A first dose of real winter on an upland farm: trudging through drifts several feet deep, head down into the blizzard, still dark, dragging an old cake bag of hay behind. Needless to say, surrounded by wide-eyed and joyous dogs. 

So far, the quad bike can still make it to most places, despite a few exciting moments as it grounds in the deeper snow. Failing all else, we can use the tractor to take bales of hay out to the girls – precious little grass is visible, even under the hedges, so we're on to emergency rations. The ewes on the higher ground were brought down early last week in preparation, leaving the moor-side field abandoned to the ravens. 

Rams enjoying a tasty snack

Snow-wear adds an extra layer to the already numerous items of clothing (like Russian dolls, from inner vest, T-shirt, fleece and jumper to outer coat). Add snood, balaclava or hat, and gloves. Then in the pockets: keys, phone, knife, baling twine, lighter, torch, notebook, pencil, dog leads and lip-salve…with whatever assorted junk has been picked up over the last few days, including at the last inventory: black plastic, an old ear tag, a random bolt, and a broken 'tine' from the hay bob. No poaching pheasants for me – there just isn't room in the coat. 

Ian M sports the latest farm chic

The upside of this weather is that the landscapes are beautiful - and with appropriate gear, walking the fields and moor is a breath of fresh air (literally). However, if we get much more, I may be singing a very different tune later in the month.

Start of a new year

New Year has been and gone, and now the days are starting to lengthen noticeably, reminding me of something that I never realised before I moved here – it gets dark 23 minutes later in North Devon than it does in Cambridge… we're almost half a time zone away. 

The fields are still waterlogged after weeks of rain – ponds appeared out of nowhere, clear water sluicing across the grass as the soil had no further capacity to drain it away.  Even the River Mole in our village burst its banks for the first time in living memory, flooding houses and blocking roads.  I will carry with me the enduring memory of our neighbour wading through the torrents in wellies and Barbour, prom dress tucked very practically into her knickers.

The daily routine of feeding, cleaning and welfare doesn't stop for Christmas – Rob and Danaë helped us move some of the girls down from the fields near the moor to spread the load.  The grass is poor and the fewer head of sheep per acre the better.  Sonny had fun (all photos in this post courtesy of Danaë Sheehan). 

Sonny before and after

He has turned into an excellent herding dog, with a good instinct for his work.  However, on the occasions when I have taken him to the fields, I'm sure he rolls his eyes as I try to deal with "Come By" and "Away" in relation to his point of view instead of mine.  

Onwards into 2013....