Small things 01st Feb 2010

Small things

Last month, as in any other, things happen.

A strange cat came into the yard and lay in the straw barn.  Although apparently not well, it could not be caught.  It ate some milk and food put out for it, but over the next day or two continued to fade until Gillian was able to get it into a pet carrier.  She took it to the vet who without specifying its injuries/illness, thought it had little chance of recovery.  He put it down; -- and sent me a bill for £70.

The off-side front tyre of our horse/cattle lorry showed a slow puncture.  This had to be rectified, and soon, as Dilly would shortly be returning to Lambourn to prepare for the coming "flat" season.  It took most of the morning to drive to the next village, Moretonhampstead, where Mid Devon Tyres removed an offending tack, and sealed the puncture.

Hounds met at the farm last Saturday, which won me a week of not going to London, in order to host the meet.   Somewhat surreal,  the cattle shut in the shed; the gates opened wide; the drive and the yard cleared of all cars and tractors; all quiet.  In the kitchen, plonk, port, brown sugar and spices simmer on the aga; bacon is grilled, and sandwiched in buttered wholemeal (and tasted); ginger cake is cut into cubes with a dollop of marmalade; there is quiet chat and background radio.  It is 10.30am.  The first foot followers arrive, park tidily in the yard and loiter a little, until offered mulled wine and a bacon butty -  10.35am; then more followers, braver, park in the drive, greetings all round, and the initiated offer to distribute food and drink, as the first riders clip clop in - 10.40am; more foot followers and more riders stream in, can't get the food and drink out fast enough, welcome everyone and converse a little to  catch up on the gossip - 10.45am; a general harouch and in sweep the hounds, gaily , with Master, Huntsman and Whippers -in, bright colours against Winter's sober hues; up the bank to the stable field and put themselves neatly in the corner of the gate, bristling with eager anticipation.  A whiskey for the Master, and a great mingling of all our community; farmers and professionals; A-levels just sat and the very young on lead-reins; the wage packet and the monthly salary; those that work and those that pay; the retired and the go-getters; boys, girls. men and women, on horses or on foot, all mingling and chatting cheerfully - 11am; another whiskey for the Master.  Everyone happy to be there, in no hurry to leave, punch nearly gone, and food too; a call for quiet; a few words of appreciation, of the day ahead, of any "parish notices"; two notes on the horn, and huntsman and hounds trot down the bank out to the lane, hats doffed as they go, and away up to the moor; the pied piper, leading the bold and the brave, and the cautious and cool.  The foot followers race or drift after them; others talk, enjoying a fine day.  In the kitchen, spilled punch, crusts of bread, bacon rind, used tumblers, plates and trays and towels and cutlery, and spread and marmalade, all higgledy piggledy; all is quiet - it is 11.15am.

Lizzie's bird table has come into it's own this winter.  It is never empty, with corn, seeds, pea-nuts and rendered suet and bread crumbs.  We are host to blackbirds, thrushes, starlings and collar doves; great,blue,coal, marsh and longtailed tits; house and hedge sparrows; green, gold and chaffinches; ravens, magpies, jays, woodpeckers, nuthatches; robins and wrens(reappeared after a torrid last winter).  In the yard we have wagtails,that don't come to the table.  All of them a delight.

This week The Soil Association inspected our organic farming practices, as well as our beef labelling compliance; all in good order but expensive(some £600 annually), and time consuming, preparing reports and accounts and specific documents, as well as giving 1/2 a day for the visit.

It is always a sad day when the old cows have to be put down; they have been a constant in our lives for so many years, and always patient and biddable.  Last week Annie(18) and Catrin(16) had to go; they were no longer breeding, and were losing condition.  To spare them a stressful journey, we try where possible to do it at home.  Catrin was the mother of Epic, whose story I will tell some other time.

The cattle do well in the cold, dry weather, preferring it to rain and winds.  It does, however, mean a constant watch on the drinking troughs that freeze, and time is continually spent with kettle and thermos keeping them flowing.  The header tank(2000 gals) at the top of the farm, is lagged with straw and cardboard, and wrapped in a tarpaulin with baler twine, looking like an out-sized pudding.

I have been waiting for an opportune time to wean last years calves, now 9/10 mths old, and their mothers due to calve again from the Ides of March.  We have a gradual system, seperating cows and calves in the barn, and letting the cows out to feed each day and return to the barn at night.  Once the soreness goes out of their udders they soon accept the situation.  For a day or two, though, the bawling is incessant, not helpful to our sleep; all quiet now.

Last Tuesday evening met a few kindred spirits at the Globe to review the horse and pony schedule for the Chagford show.  We made one or two changes, additions and refinements.  I don't like turning out again at night after a long day, but as always enjoy it when I do.  Sadly we always miss the show dinner through being in London each weekend.

The changes at Borough Market have not been good for us.  The market management's decision to relocate most stalls has cost us dear; we have lost all our passing trade, and are effectively in a back-water, where 4mths on, customers are still unable to find us.  There is no effective liason between traders and management, only arbitary decisions.