From the edge of … Seneghe

The gentle jangle of bells in the morning heralds a flock of sheep in the lane, hooves raising dust as they meander by.   An idle thought bubbles to the surface of my mind – maybe we should put bells round the necks of our ewes – but it is rapidly dismissed given the  clamour 600 would make in comparison with the 20 or so passing by the farmstead in Sardinia where Ian's sister lives.  Kat and Nanni, with help from 1 year old Rowan, are converting a barn on the outskirts of Seneghe, and putting into practice permaculture techniques to live more sustainably than most.

Milking ewes rest as the day warms up.

Spending the longest period of my life in East Anglia (so far), I thought that the fields in Devon were small (and small is, of course, beautiful).  But the plots in this part of Sardinia are sometimes tiny, separated by drystone walls, and surprisingly often containing an ancient tomb or Bronze Age nuraghe (from the vegetable garden I can see one tomb and four nuraghi).

A nuraghe.

Kestrels are common here, and a little owl spends the day perched on an exposed rock.  Sardinian warblers call from the bushes, while spotless starlings feed around the feet of the beautiful local cattle (bue rosso), which seem not to notice the heat. 

Non parlo inglese, mi dispiace.

Lizards scuttle up and down the walls outside, while geckos sneak out from behind the fittings to clear away any flies that make it inside.  The insect life is abundant compared to home – crickets and grasshoppers, dangerous-looking ichneumon wasps, and everywhere trails of ants carry seed-heads from grasses back to their nests.  Meanwhile, the harvest here is of a different scale entirely to what we are used to with our hundreds of massive bales of silage.  

No tractor needed to shift these.

Many thanks to Kat, Nanni and Rowan for hosting us (and Ginella la bella, hound-in-residence).   And Grazie mille to Tore for all the wine!

One farmer...one potential farmer?