If starlings were a cash crop, we’d be golden

While the sheep hunker down under the hedges and the cattle enjoy their straw beds inside, our fields have been taken over by thousands of starlings – at times the house seems to be in inside a swirling mass of birds as they rush past the windows and head south in the mornings, whirring back overhead as dimpsy sets in.  Other birds brave the gales, determinedly collecting our scattered seeds with their heads into the wind, except this year’s pheasant, Squawky, who seems to like a draft round his nethers as his tail feathers flip into the air.

Poor heifers locked in the shed - they look so unhappy...rather be out in the rain.

The weather has been atrocious, although we’ve had a few lovely clear days recently.  The bottom of our drive is a mud pit, and just when things begin to dry out a little, the heavens open again and the clouds descent.  The rain is bearable, but what will finally unhinge me is the driving mizzle – horizontal, invidious and relentless. Hopefully, this colder clearer weather will prevail.  The snowdrops and daffs are up, while the roses are starting to leaf, and the hellebores are flowering nicely.

Erm, don't we only have two ponds normally?

Over the winter we moved a lot of Ann’s fruit trees from her splat into our garden – they were not thriving (partly because it’s a bit humid and airless at times, but mainly because the bloody rams keep eating the bark, despite being wired out). We now have an instant orchard.  Ian is buying interesting things to add, such as mulberries.  Hedge-laying is progressing, and there are some oaks with impressive ivy in the woods alongside where we are working.

We’ve been having dog trials recently – not the fun summer entertainment, but rather trials and tribulations.  Joey is becoming more out-of-touch on a daily basis, and wanders around lost a lot of the time.  If we can get him to settle, he’s quite happy…but the tapping of his claws on the wooden floor is like Chinese water torture as he goes back and forth.  Meanwhile Cody has been found to have a swollen liver – must be all that drinking.  It’s not particularly good news or reversible, and he is most unimpressed that he is now on a hepatic diet…which apparently sucks.  Still, he seems reasonably content most of the time and shows his happy tooth when given a load of fuss.  I’ve decided to ignore the vet and give him a bit of what he likes – if he’s not going to be around for much longer, then he might as well enjoy life.

The other two are fine.  Neddy is learning sheeping, and not doing badly at all. He does have his strange moments, like when I was laying on the floor trying to reach his chewed sticks under the sofa, and he came over and sat on my head.  Sonny rises above it all...still always filthy, and leaving his tail art on the walls.

"Wadda ya mean I'm not supposed to be on the sofa?"

Farmer Ian has badly sprained his ankle, so is limping around.  Yesterday bedtime, he was hobbling across the living-room followed by a string of damaged ducklings – Sonny, all creaky because he’d overdone it during the day, Cody with his bandy old back legs, and Joey tottering about on his old barely working pins.  One of those moments when you wish you had the phone ready to video…

In the sheds, the sheep are now mostly in and enjoying their warm residence.  We have a temporary bull, a youngster with only one testicle who was due to go to the place-that-shall-not-be-named, but had a reprieve.  Let’s hope he makes the most of this opportunity to exercise that one ball.  We also have a calf who is probably the most dopey that I have ever met.  Clearly we had to name him Doofus.

My bastard tongue

Now, before anyone says “Oooer Mrs!” or clutches their pearls in shock, I mean bastard in the sense of no longer in its original pure form…a hybrid of sorts.

These blog pages have already mentioned some of the local farm lingo that is bandied around casually that means absolutely squat to a casual bystander…mules (sheep), hogs (sheep), tud’duths (sheep), four’tuths (sheep), goyle (steep sided valley, where sheep live), mizzling (less than drizzle, but infinitely more annoying, which makes sheep wet), and dimpsey (dusk, the time when sheep do nefarious deeds out of eyesight of their overlords).

These words have slowly crept into my daily vocabulary, along with referring to anything as he, as all farmers here around seem to do.  “Turn him over (the sheep…invariably female), and pass him here (the foot trimmer) while you hold him steady (the foot)”.  Cheerzen is now my standard parting (thanks Richard for that Wiltshire-ism…I’ll get even one day), while I have started unconsciously to use your’n (your one), where’s he to (where is he) and back along (a while ago).  However, back-sunned (something that does not get much sun directly as it is facing the ‘wrong’ way) has yet to creep its way in.

A man is a mosaic of his history, and his language a bastard conceived from various influences.  While Devon and the south-west are now gently affecting my accent and vocabulary in subtle ways, bits and pieces have been accumulated along the journey.

I started off with a battle between Estuary English (Lahndan mate) and Received Pronunciation.  Environment vs mother exasperatedly trying to get us to speak properly (“It has a t in it!  Hope starts with an h”).  A failed experiment, as everyone adjusts the way that they speak subconsciously to where they are and who they are with (whom…but whatever).  I still find it easier not to pronounce the h in hair, (I’m goin for an ‘air cut), and use profanity in the standard London way – as punctuation, rather than as insult.  Someone once told me they lived in Herne Hill, and it took me a while to realise they meant Ern Ill, where even the Ill is pronounced iwl.  Which is just dahn the road from Fornton’eaf (Thornton Heath, for those RP amongst us).  Add to that a Kentish grandmother living with us (who gave me length, breadth and heighth) and my compulsive mimicry, and we were set.

Living in the States gave me a whole new set of words and phrases to incorporate.  I still now go to fill the car with gas, but have reverted to bonnet and pavement.  Ian says I am the only person in Devon who says “Dude!” but Aaron and Brontë down the road do too, so I’d like to modify that to the only person over 30.  I may be the only one who uses Jonesing (I’m really Jonesing for a hamburger… I really fancy one), and Bogart (Don’t Bogart the duvet…don’t keep it all to yourself).  Other USA-isms creep in from time to time, earning me a disgusted look.

As well as absorbing as I go along, I have a father who makes up words and always has – most of the time not realising he is actually doing it.  When he does, he shamelessly passes them off as real.  This is the same man who said he was going to hospital for his autopsy, so that gives you a bit of an idea as to the strength of his grasp on the dictionary.  However, his abandon with words has given us threddling the needle, which really ought to exist (I was convinced that it did for a long while), flobadobs (the hanging down bits of a boxer dog’s mouth), and mungling along the beach (I can’t even begin to fathom where that came from).  As he says, they are words – just the dictionary people aren’t clever enough to know what they mean.

Like father like son, I use words that exist in this household, but possibly not elsewhere.  When nothing fits, a new word is needed.  Strokage, what you give to dogs, the strokes, cuddles and general fussing that they love.  Ensmallen, to make smaller.  Sheeping (what Farmer Ian does all day, in its various forms). Ensneakulate (what puppies do when they are sneaking and inveigling and generally worming their way into or onto something, such as the sofa).

What got me thinking about all of this was that I said to Ian the other day, having failed to get any of the dogs to go out for a wee in the thunderstorm, “Nary a one wanted to go”.  Where that comes from, I have no idea…but clearly it’s in there from somewhere.

Meanwhile, after that digression, back on the farm, we’ve started more hedge-laying (or in the case of Little Field, fully grown tree laying), some new cows have arrived to be integrated with the herd, and we are starting to bring some sheep in for the winter (cattle already nicely bedded up and chewing cud).  Lambing will be a fortnight earlier next year, so things are happening sooner than normal. 

Mowing and strimming to encourage wildflowers in spring.

Ned is getting his farm inductions...lesson 5, quad bike etiquette.

Lesson 8, don't mess with the husky.

Goodbye old buddy, and happy trails

Yesterday, our dear old Billy Big Balls (aka Comet) eased off his mortal coil and went to the eternal rutting grounds in the sky.  It's a time of sadness and reflection.  While the reality is that all living things eventually die, some of our animals make more of an impact than others - and bulls are long-lived and lone, holding a special place on a farm. So we are off into the unknown for a while, with artificial insemination and all that may entail.

Remembering younger days, when he was a mighty beast.  Goodbye old buddy, and happy trails.

Mizzle, mizzle, mizzle

Yup, it’s raining again down here in the south-west.  I know it keeps things green, but that would still be the case with a quarter of the water and I fear that the only way I am going to get the lawn under control is with a flamethrower and a dose of Round Up, followed by several tonnes of concrete.  Today the cows decided that they are in for the winter...the sheds have been open for them for a week or so, and they have been wandering in and out…but they seem to be fed up with the weather too.  There is an upside, though – some spectacular sunrises, with colour-washed clouds resembling the roiling surface of Jupiter.

Animals are on the move – fat lambs to the place that shall not be named, spring calvers over to Farmer Rob, followed by early lambing ewes.  We’ll have the two vet students with us this year, so lambing has been brought forwards…starting over there mid-March and with us towards the end of the month.  And old Billy Big Balls (aka Comet) will take his final curtain call sometime soon, as is the nature of these things.

Vast flocks of starlings have taken over the fields during the day, and fieldfares and redwings are back raiding the berries.  The usual suspects hang around the house, and we had a great spotted woodpecker checking out our rockery tree moots recently.  Leaving seed heads on the flowers has encouraged goldfinches, blue tits and sparrows to hang precariously outside the window – it’s amazing how unaware of us they can be sometimes.  Or perhaps we just don’t look that scary.

Ned the Nipper is growing fast, and a lovely character…but yet to learn anything of any importance.  My attempts at training have led to him simply sitting and staring at me.  He is quite well behaved, despite this stubborn streak.  We’ve almost made it through the house-training stage…almost.

Ned is ambitious, to say the least...

Meanwhile, Cody has taken up drinking to cope.

I am the Wicked Wolf.

Someone else has just turned 40, and our lovely friend Cathy made him a birthday cake - not bad for her first try at decorating one!  Happy Birthday Farmer Ian.

Ann's Diary 3

While we went away to Kefalonia for a week, woken daily by the gentle tinkling of goat bells on the hillside, Ann held the fort, with an incontinent geriatric Joey and widdling nipper Ned.  Ann in charge?  We all know what that means…another instalment of Ann’s Diary!

Day 1 Saturday

Your lovely clean house was wrecked by 3pm.  Played fetch with Ned for a while, who promptly peed on the floor when he got in. You said to leave Joey behind on the evening walk, but how?  He trotted most of the way and even barked on half a lap of 7-Acres. He ambled behind for the other half.  Late back from my evening out to find Ned’s racoon completely disembowelled.

Day 2 Sunday

Paid the price for going out.  Two alarm calls from Cody at 2:15 and 3:30, but all good as there were no heaps (or otherwise) to clear up in the morning. A beautiful day and all went well until I got to Ball Allotments.  One of the rams seemed to have a shoulder injury and was playing dead until I got near, then hobbled away. Joey spent a lot of time in the garden with me and Alan, then came in to poo on the runner.  I fear it may need a dry clean!

Day 3 Monday

Well, everyone slept like tops last night, me too until I heard the wind rising. I spoke to dad this morning and he is going to bring the teaser ram from home to go in with the tudduths. He brought calf muesli and we went up to Ball to look at the lame ram in case he needs replacing – still lame, but ‘working’ so I think he’d been fighting.  I now have the Landover for a couple of days as we did a car swap so Kat has something to drive when she is over from Sardinia.  Hurricane Ophelia has been gusting all day, but not too dramatic. We had a really amazing orange sun and strange light for a while…it turned out to be Saharan dust picked up by the winds. One of the cows in Edwin’s was behaving very spookily when I drove around them.  Feeling a bit concerned, as she should not have reacted to the bike, I took dad for a look – we decided to start them on some wedges of straw. No accidents from the dogs today, but I did lose Cody for a short while – found him in the pond having a cool down.  Question: how much water does a husky fleece hold?  Answer: enough to flood the utility room floor, as I was not quick enough to stop him running indoors.

Day 4 Tuesday

Red kite at lunchtime.  All good today, although the Welsh Black is still keeping an eye on me.  Joey has had morning and evening walks so far, on the lead on the way out, then free-trotting on the way back – just like a pony when you turn it to home.

Day 5 Wednesday

The black cow ate straw this morning, so all fine.  Ned has been good(ish) – the runner, however, is getting a few wees…even when he has just come in from outside.

Day 6 Thursday

I fed the calves and cows before nipping into town for a coffee and some shopping.  I managed to get all the rest done before the rain set in.  Dad bought cake, and also checked Common and Ball Allotments for me as they had been fog-bound in the morning.  Another casualty – the ancient piece of blue string on the quad bike keys!  I have replaced it with a bright orange shoelace just in case they are dropped in the straw.  Dad says he hopes a rat doesn’t run off with them…now I am worried.

Day 7 Friday

Not a great night – very wet and windy.  Joey had the gallopers so he asked to go out a couple of times.  I lost Cody and just before I got dressed and went out to find him, I saw him looking through the front windows to come in – the side gate had blown down.  All good outside.  The ram is walking around again, but I am not sure how much he is working – though he was in hot pursuit when I saw him.  5-Acres was looking bare and I moved the sheep on, especially with Storm Brian arriving tonight.  Tried to get a photo of Ned and Cody playing, but they stopped as soon as I got my phone out.  Just at the moment, there is a wren picking flies out of the window frames.  I have seen several rats today – quite young ones.

Day 8 Saturday

We all overslept, but managed to get our walk done before any rain arrived.  Joey wasn’t keen this morning.  I have been hand-feeding him to get him to eat – sorry!  Much squealing…more rats – time for the air rifle.  All good outside.  I spent an hour trying to make the house look as though the dogs had been at the kennels all week.  Hopefully, it won’t look too bad by the time you get back in the small hours.

Goodbyes and hellos

Blue skies, happy cattle, the moon and Sonny.

It’s not the same once the swallows have gone.  Not long ago they were chasing each other around the house, chittering with excitement and keeping the insect population in check.  Our gang flew south and were temporarily replaced by fellow travellers from the north, but now my swallow wire is empty and it’s time to clean the crap off of the walls.

However, nature always provides a new distraction…in fact, several.  The stags are getting a bit frisky and we can now hear their ghostly moaning some nights.  Dad’s telescope is coming in very handy for remote-spotting.  At our latest pub quiz, Ann excitedly reported that she had seen a barn owl at our Cross, and lo and behold it flew over my head when I turned into our drive as I came home.  Imagine my surprise the next morning when I found it sheltering under our porch, lifting off on silent wings to glide away gracefully across the valley.  You are welcome back to eat our vermin any night.  An hour later, I disturbed a snipe in the field just below the house…an exciting day.

Farmer Ian was looking after his dad’s place for the weekend, so I was left in charge.  Saturday was a real stinker for weather – Sonny and I got drenched.  Ian had bought me new leggings, but while labelled as large, they were clearly designed for someone a lot taller and wider than me…so I waddled around with the cuffs turned up (which filled with water) and three inches of the waist tucked into my jeans.  Fortunately, I did not come across anyone on my travels.

The teaser rams are in and performing their services.  Their vasectomised role is to get the ladies ready and receptive to the amorous advances of the rams with functioning equipment.  A plum job I would imagine for some – lots of sex and no child maintenance.  Not that the other rams do much different, I suppose.  I’ve also come across some very sleepy sheepy in the fields – several times I’ve had to drive up to a “corpse” and shout to get a very startled sheep to wake up and smell the hay.  And of course there is the occasional animal with its head stuck in the fence that needs a wiggle to get it out.

The Sunday was glorious, and a reward for not getting too grumpy the day before.  The mist hung in the valleys, while the hilltops were in blazing sunshine.  I felt a bit sun-struck by the end of the day, having engineered being outside most of it (and helping Ian do hooves – always hooves – when he got back).

Looking across Devon.  Autumn is beautiful...and so is Mrs Cow.

We’ve also been cutting logs as “Winter is coming”.  My dad is probably very excited seeing these pictures.  I’ve never met anyone so log obsessed as him - he would bring huge branches home from outings to the woods.

Love the chainsaw!

That should keep us going for a bit.

We also had an unexpected visitor in the garden...Bonnie helped us keep the clover down when Innes popped in for a cuppa.  Might borrow her more often for grass control...

Ian keeps Bonnie out of the flowerbeds.

The biggest hello has to be reserved for the new man in my life.  Neddy arrived just over a week ago from the neighbouring farm, and I am completely smitten.  He has fitted in (although the other dogs might disagree and just refer to him as “the little shite who keeps nipping my ankles”), and adores Sonny.  He seems very bright, and has a stubborn streak in him that will be interesting to deal with as it develops.  He’s already met cows, sheep and a horse, and while cautious, is not fearful…which is what you need in a sheepdog.  The house is a mess, and Ned thinks that the log basket is simply full of toys to be taken around the house and stripped of bark.  The indoor plants are for shredding, and Joey’s bed needs a thorough killing and disembowelling.  I made the mistake of putting down a new roll of kitchen tissue (on its spike) while I mopped up a little accident…and he Andrexed the whole thing across the room.  That’s my boy!

Ned with Sonny; Cody is not really impressed; Neddy poses; exhausted; and totally hyper - get off the bloody sofa!

Ned becomes more dog-like in the week between two photos: with Jos, then with Hannah; Joey is resigned; and finally, a minute of peace...

...until he's back in your face again!