I saw something wicked in the strawberry patch....

7yo and Snowy

It is verging on bonkers here.

Thirty months ago we four, Hubby, the two sprogs and me, arrived to The Larches, catless, sheepless, chickenless, penniless.... (oh hang on, the last one has happened since we've been here.)

Yesterday I had a few pals and their children over for coffee. The Easter holidays have commenced and the sun was belting. According to Postie, as she sat sorting my mail, (bills and junk mostly) it was registering 26° in the van, in March!

‘We’ll pay for this,’ she predicted. An ominous statement. Bearing in mind that several parts of the country are already on hose pipe ban, I think the monthly instalments have already begun....

In the walled garden the mothers’ meeting was called to order over a slice of my coffee and several hunks of home-made Madeira cake... Yes you did read that right, I never really know how much ground coffee to put in the cafetiere. Still, it keeps you on your toes.

Although there were six, variously sized children in the vicinity, they seemed to prefer the privacy of the den, (a straw filled animal shelter in the field near the stables,) rather than the designed order of my raised beds. Now and again they popped back to display a wound, pilfer a cake or down a glass of juice.  Mothers took this opportunity to apply coconut smelling sun cream, heedless of yelps. 

‘There’s a chicken in the house,’ the smallest girl child pointed out as she waited in line to be basted.

She was right. The young white bantam is fearless, determined to seek out food where she isn’t welcome. Chickens are banned from the walled garden and, of course, the house. We temporarily evicted her but out of the corner of my eye I noticed Archie Archer, a black hen with attitude, had flown up and over the wall at the far end of the garden. While we fussed over the small bantam, she was checking out all the edible bits in the delphinium and lupin nursery bed.

Archie

Meanwhile the two lambs bombed up and down the pathways between the raised beds, checking out everything with their soft nibbly mouths. I was bemused to note that the children paid little heed to them while the lambs felt sure they were included in some huge chasing game. The two cats watched the madness from the top of the Shropshire stone wall, bathing in the sun.

Naughty Nibblers

Having just finished Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons, I found it all highly amusing.

*

The building work is progressing well. The old porch is being replaced by another within the same footprint, though with marginally less woodworm and damp. Finally we will have a front door and a door bell! No longer will guests wander round and round the property, unsure of how to penetrate the gothic fortress, powerless to alert us to their presence, (as most mobile phones don’t work within 2 miles of the place.)

Old Porch

New Entrance

Coat and Welly Land...Yipeee!

The mums were fairly pleased with the vista, (of the builders I fear.) The smallest girl child was less keen and came to tell tales on the three men working on the house.

‘Those builders have taken their shirts off.’ She said looking stern.

We were restrained. We didn’t rush to look.

‘Come back and tell us if they take their trousers off,’ I advised. She nodded and toddled off.

I'm a mummy again.....

Following on from my foray into lambing, I could not resist when offered two cade lambs.

They were both from triplets families and the farmer had decided not to raise them the conventional way, allowing their mothers to raise two other siblings each on the same number of  bosoms. [Technical term.]

I had already organised my holding number etc and had been cleared to have sheep and goats since last spring, plus I’d read every article going on the web.... I was primed for the call and when it came I said yes!

Both are girls and the sproglets made me promise that they are going to be pets, glorified lawnmowers, (they couldn’t be persuaded to raise meat sheep just yet.)

The smallest lamb, Moon, belongs to the 9yo and the hunky chunky one is the responsibility of the 7yo.... so I’m raising that one!

The tiny one was thought to be a twin, not a triplet and her mother was fed accordingly, hence the disparity in size. She more than makes up for it in personality and can look very like Gismo from the 1984 movie Gremlins.

They are just over one week old and, like all babies, we have had our trials and tribulations. First the big lamb wouldn’t feed. She refused the bottle for almost two days and so I took myself off to the farm shop and bought a syringe which hubby doctored, adding 2” of plastic tube. We fed her several tubes of milk this way and after that she seemed to get a taste for it and soon took to the bottle and the replacement lamb milk.... that costs a fortune.

Raising two lambs like this will cost approximately £60, as well as time and effort so you can understand why the vast majority of farmers are less than enthused with this method. I feed at 6.30am, 11.30am 5.30pm and 11pm and this seems to suffice. When she’s able the 9yo feeds with me and happily gets up for the 6.30 feed, the 7yo has resisted the offer.

At the moment they are in a stable and will probably live there for the next 10 – 15 days till we can wean them onto lamb creep and another molasses feed my friends has told me about. After that they’ll be out in a tiny compound and then onto a larger field.

The next stage is getting them used to their harnesses – essential if we are the ‘show’ at the huge agricultural show in early August. Bearing in mind the growth rate of a lamb I’m rather concerned to see whether my sprogs will walk the ring or be dragged around it... Time will tell!

And the winner is.....

The gorgeous, the wonderful, the funny, the..... wait a minute, I haven't told you what I'm wearing....

Well, as it's an awards ceremony I thought I'd wear something spesh. So, (I've still got the wellingtons on, obviously! and the jeans - c'mon, I'm working here,) for you, dear reader, I'm wearing my wedding tiara, all golden (wire,) cut glass and pearl Princessy, 'you doooo like me,' ... The chickens are seriously impressed.

....Drum roll please,

And the winner of the jam is............ Man of the 50's.... Yeahhhhhh!

If you've never read him, please do so NOW... go on, now! Scam! Check out some of his older posts, they are sooooo on the nail.

[Mr Man, send your address please c/o familyarcher@hotmail.co.uk and I will mail your yummy prize]

Lou
xx

'Ahhhh look, Likkel Lambs.....'

ZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzZZZZ!Sorry, what!? Pardon? No I was NOT snoring!

It's 4pm, Tuesday afternoon and I'm yawning those great big yawns that make tears come out your eyes. It's the end of my short-term apprenticeship as a farm hand in the hills of Shropshire (the last frontier before Wales,) and I'm super tired.

'Can I come lambing, can I, can I?' I'd asked, over and over for months. My farming friends caved in eventually, confident that I'd loathe it.

'It's mucky, pooy and you'll smell.' they suggested.
No change there then, I thought. I knew I wouldn't hate it. I've always loved the thought of farming, and yes I have romanticised it. Trouble was, I used to visit a family dairy farm in Ireland when I was young, a wonderful place with Uncle Jamesy and Aunt Tess and soda bread, jam and home made butter. It turned my head early on.

I got up super early this morning (though not as early as the hubby who left the house before 4am to fly to Germany.) I placed my kit by the door long before I woke the sproglets for school: Wellingtons, a pair of mechanic's overalls, plus gardening gloves and an entire change of clothes - something I'd been advised I'd need.

The drive to the hill farm was stunning, after yesterday's hideous gale force winds, it was a treat to have a calm day with belting sunshine and no hint of a breeze. Shropshire is a rare treat, if you've never been, please visit. It hints at the rugged charm of Wales but boasts a softer landscape.

The Shropshire Hills Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty (AONB) is believed to have the greatest variety of rock types of any comparable sized area in the UK. The rocky Stiperstones, the plateau of the Long Mynd, the craggy volcanic Stretton Hills and Wrekin, the harsh quarried landscape of the Clee Hills, the long wooded scarp of Wenlock Edge and the rolling enclosed hills of the Clun Forest all have their own distinctive beauty.

Parked in the farm yard I changed into wellingtons but was unsure of my overalls just yet. I politely knocked at the front door, suddenly feeling a little shy. There was no reply and I wondered whether I might actually be more of a hindrance than a help in this well oiled professional farming environment. Cows with young gazed at me from over the wall and I set off to find the workers.

Mr Farmer spotted me first, he grinned broadly glancing at my clean jeans and grey sweater.

'Have you got waterproofs with you?'

I described the overalls and he nodded.

'Put them on then and best take your ear-rings off too, we don't want to lose them up the arse of a ewe, do we now?'

Now I was quite worried. His wife, my gardening obsessed pal, laughed at me, watching as I whipped off all jewellery on the way back to the car.

*

The first job seemed easy enough: Us gals were to move seven ewes and their 14 babies to a little green field a quarter of a mile away. They were already loaded on the trailer so a simple job really. !!

Dear Lord!

No one seemed to know who their mother was and we had to ensure that everyone was bonded before we left the field. We herded and cajoled, we patted bottoms and removed confused lambs from incorrect teats to pass them back to their rightful owner. For a first timer like me, it was all a bit stressful, but in the end, nature took its course and the ewes settled to eat and the babies to drink, all in the spring sunshine. Lovely.

Moving another group through the yard was similarly challenging. Three adults and a dog versus 2 day old lambs and their protective mothers seemed fair but it took ages.  One new mum, a Texel, was very protective of her lamb. Texel's are a mighty breed, with a dog-like face and broad back. This mother was stocky and looked like she might have Sicilian connections, dipping her head as if to say,

If you touch my lamb again I'll bunt you into next week...

Fortunately she didn't bunt me and we slowly drove these family members to a lovely patch of green, close to the farmhouse.

*

In the lambing shed, ewes awaited their time in fenced sections on beds of straw. They leapt up in excitement when I started to meet out fresh bedding, as I gathered a great armful of silage which I'd mistaken for straw! [Not even remotely like straw - my only excuse being over excitement!] Fortunately I was corrected quickly.... how embarrassing.

Here and there were signs of labour and I began to feel nervous. What if I did something wrong, or hurt a sheep? In the end I had little time to think. Joining a big NZ guy who'd just wrestled a ewe needing help to the floor, I watched as he buried his hands in her, searching out little hooves.

Within a moment he'd located legs and head and was pulling. As soon as the head was free a great whoosh of sack, amniotic fluid and goo pushed the baby free. He cleaned the nose and mouth and the new lamb coughed and sneezed, drinking in life. Wow. But that wasn't the end, another baby was due and this time I tentatively felt for the hooves and the head. With a little help (I confess) I gripped the legs and pulled, delivering my first ever lamb. Stupendous.

The next instant the ewe was on her feet cleaning her lambs and we were off to wash thoroughly.

Do you get chapped hands from lambing?' asked my pal of the New Zealander.

'Yeah,' he replied in that great broad drawl. 'I think it's a bit of fanny-itch.'

I fought the urge to examine my, or anyone else's, hands and used all my will power so as not to rush back to the wash station to rewash with the yellow kitchen cleaner I'd previously mistaken for soap.

Most lambs fared well during the day, thanks to the expertise of the farmers who spotted difficulties I had no knowledge of. One moment I was talking to my pal, the next she'd vaulted the pen and was atop a mother in difficulty. Her baby was backwards, an awkward birth. Reaching in, she extracted the lamb (that sounds so easy doesn't it!?) cleaned airways and began swinging the lamb around in a most unusual way. [I'm sure this move is more difficult with a calf!] In an instant the lamb was fine, lying next to its sibling, being licked to within an inch of its life.

The day progressed similarly and I even got to feed a lamb a bottle of powdered colostrum. Colostrum is the first milk produced by a ewe during the 48 hours immediately after the birth of a lamb. It is yellow and thicker than normal ewe milk. The new-born lamb must receive colostrum or a substitute within 18 hours of birth, otherwise it has only a 50:50 chance of survival.

I was bewitched. The feel of a small lamb with a warm belly, lying trustingly in your arms while sucking milk, is gorgeous.

*

We snatched a lunch and my friend tried to encourage her husband to sleep, as he'd been in the shed all night with the sheep. He resisted, having too much to do while the weather was being kind. Soon he joined us on a hillside that overlooked the whole world while we planted a hedge of holly and blackthorn, something they do every year on their extensive plot. I was inconsistent at my planting, not quite managing the staggered 6 plants per meter first time. I may have begun to flag by this stage in the day.


It was a wonderful experience, one I'd gladly repeat, (even the hedge planting.) So great to be with lovely people all day, out in the air, lambs bleating at your ankles.


But it's not an easy life by any means. If you're tired or the weather is bad, an animal dies or your back aches, you're still required to get up, go about your duties and deliver. Worse, for me, would be the huge stack of paperwork that farming requires, passports for animals, ear-rings (less sparkly than mine) to identify each beast and then there's the movement papers if you take them to market. It must take just as long to process the farm in the office, as it does to run the farm. Still, I guess it needs to be done.


All in all, it's a life I admire and certainly I think it's a far better one better than some of the high-powered jobs I've done in city offices with demanding clients.

What do you think?

_____________________________________________

Don't forget to sign up for the Larches Jam giveaway as described in the previous blog post. Just become a follower for a chance to win. Lou xx

S.A.S. (Special Assignment Sheep) and a Jam Giveaway

The three fields immediately visible from the house were looking a bit shaggy. One of our neighbours has a lot of sheep. It was only a matter of time before I figured out that this was a marriage made in heaven and so they arrived.

It's very relaxing to look out over the fields to see dozens of contented girls munching or standing or lying about the grass, great woolly eating machines. These sheep had one red dot on their backs, indicating they had just one lamb growing in their rapidly expanding tummies.

It is my belief that some animals have more personality than others, most of the creatures that live at The Larches have been overly blessed with personality! To prove this rule, one of the sheep, that had been bottle reared last year, was determined to choose her own grazing. No matter the height of the fence or electrical tape, she jumped it. I did suggest to the farmer that she might try out for the Olympics, but with so many sheep to lamb, I think he's rather too busy to undertake the training required as coach. She wasn't a bother really, she just preferred the grass on the other side of the fence - I'm sure we've all felt like that at some time. At bed time she hopped back over to the rest of the girls and settled down for the night.

All was peaceful.

Then, over a weekend, the tegs arrived.

The tegs [new word for me] are the yearling sheep that will be put to the tup, the ram, at the end of this year. They are the sheep equivalent of hoodies. No fence, gate or bolt of electricity can keep them from exploring their environment. It was like fat camp for me.

As I continued with my chores around the house between bouts of writing; I'm Head of Relocations for Chez Archer don't you know and my duties include returning an endless amount of c.r.a.p. back to the sproglets' bedrooms as well as piles of laundry from the utility room to bedrooms, usually via an unlimited stay in a blue Ikea bag etc, etc... I spied the escapees from the long Gothic window on the stairs.

This was my 95th journey upstairs that day, a teetering stack of neatly folded fresh clothes in my arms, I glanced out across our rural view, usually a pleasurable moment. It took me a couple of seconds to realise that these new commando-girls weren't munching the grass in Home Field but rather had surrounded my fenced-off allotment in the bottom left of the field. They were salivating over my cabbages, kale, leeks and celeriac. My eyes narrowed as I observed one determined girl rise up on her back legs and headbutt the corner post. Three more crack shots and the post began to teeter.

'Noooo,' screamed I, chucking the laundry to the floor.

I was too late, by the time I'd got down there they had pruned the cabbages. Everything else was fine. For the rest of the day I was on guard, they ran off whenever I chased them, returning to the far paddocks, but as soon as I turned my back to go to the house they formed an orderly queue and trotted back towards the restaurant allotment. In the end I bribed enlisted the children to continue to repel the siege of the cotton balls, till my neighbour came to secure them with more electical torture wire.

Sheep. Who'd have thought they could be so naughty?

I was thinking of getting two orphan lambs this year but, bearing in mind the fact that our fences are clearly less than sheep-proof and that every farmer and his dog round here has warned me not to do it AND the fact that I can't get the sproglets out of bed in the mornings, (so how the heck will they get up to clean and feed lambs?) - I was just coming down on the side of saying 'No, I'm not doing lambs this year.' It was really rather unfortunate therefore that a friend should turn up to the house last night with a cardboard box in the boot of her car..... Inside was a day old lamb, a triplet. She had been given him by another farmer and was going to try to latch him onto one of her sheep, a sheep that had lost a lamb. It had died not long after being born.

The sproglets had just returned from school and begged to hold him.

He was gorgeous and all my delay tactics flew out of the window. So, if there are any cades going, we'll probably have two. I'll let you know.

Next Tuesday I'm off to be a slave for a day, lambing on a friend's farm. I can't wait and yes, I'm fully aware that there will be poo, blood and my toes may get stamped.. or worse. Still can't wait.

* 

It's definitely Spring here, the pond is full of frog and toad spawn and in the greenhouse sown seeds are sprouting without the need for the propogator, calundula, sunflowers and cosmos to name but a few. I've re-potted the tomatoes already, planting their leggy stems deep into larger pots. I may do that several more times yet.

I feel my novel, The Perrys at The Berries, is progressing well and I'm well on my way to finishing. In fact, if you would be so kind I'd be grateful for your opinion of the first three chapters, I'm a little nervous to upload any more of my book at this time but you can read this excerpt in Authonomy. I'd be so grateful for any opinion from you, the readers of The Archers at The Larches, as it's a fictionalised account of a family, like us, trying out the rural life for the first time. Try it, see what you think.

Lastly, I'm offering the chance to win 2 pots of home made Larches jam. This draw is open to all followers.

To be eligible for the draw on Sunday 11th March. The first name pulled from a hat by hubby will get 1 pot of yummy, scrummy Blackberry and Plum Jam and 1 pot of delicious Damson Jam.

• register yourself as a Follower before Saturday 10th March with Google Friend Connect (add your little picture or logo to my Global Friends gallery,)
• AND add a comment to this post
• Existing followers need only add a comment to this blog post to be eligible for the giveaway

Good luck!