The Archers at The Larches

Silent Sunday at The Larches

noreply@blogger.com (Lou) — Sun, 12 Feb 2012 03:08:34 PST

Cold but stunning

Best place for dust baths for the girls..

Fat new Buff Orpington girl

Come on Spring!

Mrs Bradshaw Geum

Sweet Pea

Free Range Egg Collecting... the proper way

noreply@blogger.com (Lou) — Fri, 10 Feb 2012 06:24:04 PST

Take a suitable receptacle, (bucket basket shape,) pull on your wellies, [Lou checks that this tricky little word hasn't been spell checked by the computer. Computer is obsessed by sex and keeps changing wellies to willies, really annoying.]

Where was I? ...Oh yes.. wear appropriate clothing. Currently my appropriate clothing comprises two pairs of sox, one pair of saggy crotch thermal long johns, one pair of tight jeans, (to keep the thermals up,) several jumpers, a light windproof coat, a wool scarf, gardening gloves and my sturdy fake fur. I will, of course, put other layers on when I actually venture outdoors to collect the eggs.

Now, it's best to try to look innocent when egg collecting. We don't need to alert the girls to the fact that you're stealing their children, so practise sauntering. Imagine it is late spring and you are admiring the flowers. Walk in a zig-zag towards the coop so as not to be too obvious.

When you arrive at the coop exclaim loudly,

'Gosh, I'll just lift up this nest box flap and peer in, purely for the purpose of checking if the coop needs cleaning.' [Remember to smile in a nice way.]

To be honest, none of this am dram stuff really works. The girls are wise to the fact that chickens only lay eggs in the nest box when they have no where else to go. When they have access to acres and acres, it's much more fun to play hidey-seeky with the fat girl, [I'm not actually that fat, it's my coat, it makes me look poofy.]

In reality the nest box is usually the last place I check.

Ideally you need to 1.find bucket, 2. dress appropriately 3. make a coffee. All this to be done before you open the hen coop in the morning. Dressed correctly and clutching coffee and basket, pop outdoors and let the girls out. Spread a little food about and make sure they have fresh clean water, rather than a block of ice!

Then sit/stand back and sip coffee. Sure they'll all start eating, drinking and rooster will be doing his thang to the ladies, (urgh!) but sooner or later one of those girls will crave a bit of egg laying.

This is the time to employ your 'innocent look' and ideally you should appear lethargic.

She'll look surreptitiously around, probably give you a stare before picking her skirts up and running like a 6yo who needs the toilet. Here at The Larches the favoured spot for off-piste laying seems to be up behind the compost heap, so said hen, (usually Archie,) darts from the coop area, towards the house, past the front door and up the drive.

As soon as she passes me I launch into commando mode, lethargy forgotten. By tip-toe running up the drive after her, I soon reach the cover of one of the cars before she turns around to check if anyone is following her.

She stops. Checks.

By this time I am slammed against Dizzy Discovery, hardly breathing for fear of being exposed and therefore evade her beady eyes.

Off she goes again and this time I am forced to run for the cover of the Monkey Puzzle tree. Bloody spiky that tree! Again, I am undetected.

Off she goes again but this time it is clear that she has reached her destination; the hollow of the tree in the hedge behind the compost. Ah ha! I will return there later to collect that egg.

All in all, very successful, except I have 20 hens and there are approximately ten nests that are used on a rota basis. I don't need to join a gym really. Clearly the girls confer during the night in order to test my resolve. Last week they lay eggs behind the huge mountain of logs in the woodshed and the saying 'I saw something nasty in the woodshed!' has never been truer. I made it to the top of the unsteady pile and spotted 6 eggs but then the pile moved and I ended up on my derriere. Apparently country folk are taught from an early age not to climb bales or wood stacks, this wasn't mentioned in St John's Wood, London.

Anyhoo, I hope this egg collecting malarkey is now as clear as day. I shall look for an equally challenging subject shortly, possibly regarding hand-rearing lambs as I understand that the sproglets have finally worn their father down.

Till next time. Over, And. Owt!

Far from the madding crowd.....

noreply@blogger.com (Lou) — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 05:23:20 PST

The Farmer has a fab field opposite ours. It's perfect for sledging as you will see in the video. It takes a bit of effort to walk up it, but coming down is just fine.

You know I love you to read my blog, really I do, but I also like you to experience the pictures and the daft videos I post too. Sometimes Blogger, computers or iphones block perfectly safe video or picure content, which can be annoying. If you don't see the video above, PLEASE click on the blue title of the post and you will be transported to the internet to watch the sproglets sledge.

That was Sunday and now it's Wednesday and the snow has almost gone. The sun is shining this afternoon and having spent the morning writing, I'm now off to open up the green house and check on the girls' egg production before setting off for school to watch the netball.

Catch you soon. Next blog post will be an in-depth analysis of how to collect eggs..... dead serious... not!

Near.....[wipes brow] -ly Finished....

noreply@blogger.com (Lou) — Thu, 02 Feb 2012 03:32:18 PST

Kitchen is almost finished, just some touching-up left to do on the painting front. It has taken the best part of a month, Hubby and I working at night and weekends, but we're proud of our results.

So, just 15 more similarly sized spaces to complete in the house then..............[blank stare]

Anyhoo putting the finishing touches to the kitchen is the fun bit: We're off to procure curtains and a big clock this weekend and if we have time we'll go to the best lighting shop in the whole wide world. Legacy Lighting near Ludlow is the most wonderful treasure trove ever.

To find Legacy Lighting one must drive through Ludlow's Race Track (horses of course,) while trying not to run over a golfer. This is the road to Much Wenlock, [the setting for the fantastic book Born out of Wenlock by Catherine Beale - about William Penny Brookes and the British Origins of the Modern Olympics. Amazon 2011]

After twists and turns, Legacy Lighting may be spied, (if you haven't already passed it,) in what can only be described as a green shed set back a meter or so from the road.

When Hubby and I first visited this workshop/show room one damp Sunday in December we were amazed. The owner was about to close up and her dog was patiently waiting for a walk, lying on a cushion in front of a stoked log burner....

'Come in, come in,' she urged.

Our mouths dropped open at the jewellery dropping from the ceiling. Chandelier after chandelier with gorgeous Italian glass and on every wall antique fittings and fixtures. There was every conceivable style and age of unique lights. (Although maybe that's not true, I didn't see anything similar to the stuff you see in B and Q.... hoo-ray!)

We were there almost 40 minutes (poor dog still waiting patiently,) and saw several pieces that could work for the kitchen. We can't go too bling, as the ceiling in the kitchen isn't that high and we might be done for manslaughter, but surely there might be a little chandelier that might suit.... surely?

I'll let you know how we get on this weekend.

Mad about cats.... or just plain mad..You decide

noreply@blogger.com (Lou) — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 05:10:23 PST

Fellas, I feel this gal needs a boyfriend, or at the very least, to get out more. Mind you, it sure brightened my day and I do LOVE cats.

[If you can't see the embedded video, click on the blue title of this post, you will be transported to the Internet where all will be revealed.... It's a great song to hum all day.... hmmmm.]

Lou
xx

On with the year.....

noreply@blogger.com (Lou) — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 10:41:00 PST

Was that it, winter I mean? There are snowdrops everywhere, the dafs are appearing and my indoor Hyacinth are dying back. Inside my greenhouse I've cut back the sweet pea yet again and I counted them.... lots!

I made Coq au Vin today. Never before had I considered jointing a bird for this purpose, normally I would just buy the specific pieces I needed. Now that I have a few birds in the freezer I decided to try to do it myself.

It was a doddle, I watched this clip on my laptop http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/techniques/jointing butchering my bird alongside the chef's. I paused the computer occasionally in order to catch up,..... such a shame you can't do that in real life!

Then I popped over to Delia Smith for my recipe, Chicken with onions, garlic, red wine, and salty streaky bacon. Delicious. Et voila, dinner was in the oven. I'll let you know how it tasted later this week....

The decorating continues, we're not finished yet but we are getting there. What do you think?

Before

During.... Terracotta for all cupboards.

SOB!

noreply@blogger.com (Lou) — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 05:40:38 PST

We are no further with the decorating, life has whizzed passed and we are living in upside down world where dishes, pots, pans etc are secreted in every place in the house, other than the place they ought to live - the kitchen. At least the dust has settled and I'm sure by the 15th wash-down, it will be safe enough to begin our painting.

The roosters have gone.... can't quite tell you where, for fear of exposing myself to recrimination from the sproglets. For now, let's just say they went to the poultry auction.....

The cold has finally arrived and I have been forced, on three nights, to light my paraffin heater in the green house. So far, the plants look fine and I ventilate the space well when I can. It's these chilly days when I sit in my office and write and edit and edit and write, that I want tea and hot buttered toast and stew and potatoes and very possibly Coq au Vin! I'll have to check my freezer for good ingredients!

A new cat has appeared on the site. He looks very like Tabby or Benny and from a distance we thought it was one of our boys. But this one is tubby. He's really friendly and I can't believe he doesn't belong to someone. For now he's content to sleep with the horses in the stables, though he has politely asked to come indoors and soon I feel sure he will suss the cat-flap. I'm not against him adopting us really, I just don't want Tabby or Benny to leave home because of him. We'll see what happens.

The 9yo has been petitioning for lambs and while there is a stable we can use to house some cades, (orphans we'll raise by bottle,) our fences are only good for corralling bigger beasts. What. To. Do? I suppose it electric fencing, but this is a whole new foray for us. The farmers around here have all raised cades and they tell me 'NO, DON'T DO IT!'

Then again, that means that they've done it and have had that experience. I'm pleading the Doubting Thomas card on this one, basically I've got to see how bad an experience it is for myself.

IF we do get 2 cades, one for the 9yo, one for the 7yo, they'll be long-term pets, raised as lawn mowers...... hmmmm, we'll see.

This morning I was reminding the sprogs about rehearsing guitar for their Thursday lesson. I've constructed quite a good rewards chart on a white-board in the kitchen (covered in dust!) and have displayed pretty decent prizes in the glass cabinet of the Welsh dresser. A friend remarked that this was like an elaborate arcade game and she's quite right. With 7 points the sprogs get to choose a prize. This morning the 9yo won a bottle of mouth wash. Don't mock! Whatever floats their boat is in that dresser.

Guitar practise is one of the steps in my incentive programme........ I'm sure I did something similar to car dealers when I worked for Nissan a zillion years ago!

'Don't forget guitar tonight,' said I. 'You've got to learn the new tune you've been given by Thursday, so's your teacher can test you.'

There were groans from the back seat as we drove to school this morning.

'We'll check out your tune on the Internet again,' I said to the boy. 'So that we can try to remember how it goes, as I just don't know it.'

It's easy for me when they get set a tune like Jingle Bells or Twinkle Twinkle, I know those tunes and can hum along, but this new one La Bergamasca, though sweet, is new to me and I can't quite fix it in my head. Therefore can't tell if they are playing the correct notes or not but it's great to see and hear it being played online.

'How old are you mummy?' Boy asked.

I smiled, clever ruse really, trying to change the subject.

'I'm 46 but I want you to tell everyone that I'm 43.' I replied.

'Why?'

'Because.'

'OK,' he said. 'But if you're 46 you should know the tune. Mr Burgess, [the guitar teacher,] said it was a really old tune and as you're really old, you should know it.'

'Good point,' said I. Sob..... that's not S.O.B....just sob! sniff.

Spring...

noreply@blogger.com (Lou) — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 06:02:38 PST

It's Spring, isn't it? Honest it's as calm as you like today and 12°. In the green house my sweet pea have gone bonkers and I've had to snip them back in an effort to curtail their leggyness.

The sprogs have finally gone back to school, I weigh the same as a sumo wrestler and 5 roosters' are heading to the processing plant in the sky.... Plus on Saturday I shall "celebrate" (humph!) my birthday. I shall be 40-something-or-other... mumble, mumble....

After a month of school holidays the babies are back to desk work. Can't moan really, (or can I?) The weather has been fab and we've managed walks and bike rides. The only snow we glimpsed was brief... hours, not days and even the fields aren't too muddy. The real torture has just been the guitar practise, not the moaning about doing it, that's been fine. The torture is that neither I nor the hubby know how to tune a guitar and the last week I hardly recognise Jingle Bells. Fortunately this morning a kind teacher took the offending instrument from me and I look forward to tuneful practise ce soir.

The holidays gave us time to tweak the gardens. We've seriously cut back the apple trees and have started on the pears. We'd already attacked the plums after picking the fruit in the summer. Next year may be a lean year, with the amount of pruning we've done,... but the year after that I expect a bumper crop.

The other project we've finally begun is indoors... After months of deliberation we decided to start on the decor in the kitchen. In July 2010.... So long ago, I wrote a post asking for suggestions as to what part of the house to tackle first. It's so funny now looking back at the pictures of the house devoid of our clutter. Click here to see naked pics of the house!! We'll, 18 months later and we have finally begun.

Hubby has sanded the woodwork; 3 oak internal doors, 1 external stable door, two windows comprising 33 framed panels of glass. Acres of tall skirting board and the delightfully coloured, (red and vomit green,) cupboards and dresser. The cupboards in particular have created a fine dust that has settled not just in the kitchen, but everywhere and I mean, everywhere in the house.

My job is next; I must wash down with sugar-soap before He-who-must-be-obeyed (no, not Voldemort silly,) begins to undercoat the wood.

After that I'm on duty again to paint the ceiling, walls and chimney feature. Thanks to previous misdemeanours I'm banned from painting any wood. EVER.

We've chosen a subtle terracotta for the walls, a warm glow in a tough wipe-over paint and a more punchy terracotta for the cupboards. The ceiling is the dreaded magnolia because this blends better with the warmth of the walls than stark white. The chimney feature will change from purple, (shame, I know..... ) to soft grey and charcoal. I painted a match pot of the grey in the picture above and I think it sets off the tiles nicely. I just need to find a piece of art for the space above the wooden beam.

Hopefully we'll be finished by close of January.

Sitting room next I think...... all opinion gratefully accepted.

Ruining Lives....

noreply@blogger.com (Lou) — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 09:14:05 PST

Have you ever ruined someone's life? Apparently I have. Fact is I'm doing it right now. Though I'd like to join the witness protection programme and rat on various friends and relatives who are equally responsible....

We're sitting in the kitchen, the 9yo, the 7yo and I. While the 9yo is resigned to her fate, embraces it really, the 7yo is huffing and puffing like the Hogwarts Express...

He is pained and beyond consolation. There is groaning, moaning and he repeatedly drops his head into his hands. Soon there will be tears.... Yes, you've guessed it; it's thank you letter writing time.

So distraught is he that he has strongly suggested that EVERYONE should desist from buying him gifts next year, so as to spare him this torture.

Dear Santa.... I soooo hope you subscribe to The Archers at The Larches....

Must off, got to get a box of tissues.... and maybe a lovely leftover pre-dinner Christmas Snowball (with double snow!).........

Battery Hens... safer

noreply@blogger.com (Lou) — Fri, 30 Dec 2011 00:57:04 PST

Happy New Year to the UK's ex-battery hen population ......

A chicken described as Britain's "last battery hen" has been given a new home, marking the end of an era for commercial laying hens, a charity said.

The hen, which has been named Liberty, will enjoy retirement at a farm in Chulmleigh, Devon, where it will join about 60 other ex-battery hens.

An EU directive abolishing the barren (battery) cage system comes into effect on 1 January, when egg producers will have to provide hens with larger cages enabling them to spread their wings and move around.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/2011/dec/29/last-battery-hen-home-liberty

In the past two years we Archers at The Larches have re-homed almost 20 battery hens. They came to us looking ratty, pale and sickly. After getting them home, placing them in their new coop for three days, (with good food and water of course,) there is nothing better than opening the coop door one morning to watch them taste their first freedom.

Obviously they start out nervous, they hover near their new home and sometimes it's a bloody nightmare trying to get them back into the coop as night falls, but it's a great feeling to give a creature a lovely home.

I still value the eggs the girls give us and always say 'Thank you.' Just good manners really.

Such good news that conditions for UK hens are set to improve. Though hens from laying chicken farms will still only have a two year life before being slaughtered so if you live near one of these (reputable) farms, why not give them a call they'll often happily sell you their older hens for £1 each. These hens will reward you with eggs for a considerable time, happy in their retirement.

Our favourite hen is called Happy. She was rescued and came to us looking dreadful. As we gently took our new hens out of the cardboard box we'd transported them in from the egg farm, I'd noticed her; she was disabled. One of her feet was curled and useless for scratching and her hip and leg were so badly deformed she could hardly walk.

Uncharitably I felt slightly irritated that we'd taken suck a poorly hen, how the hell would she manage to roam over our acres? .... Then I checked myself and remembered that this was a rescue mission and this hen needed rescuing more than most.

Happy is now our most loved hen. She wobbles about, scratching about in the dirt in her precarious fashion and her temperament is that of Margaret Thatcher... tough and yet vulnerable.

Recently she went through a serious molt and we thought her time was up but we were wrong. Her new feathers are fluffy and a shade lighter than before and she looks beautiful. Even Rooster seems to favour her over the others.

So life is improving for UK hens... why not get a few of your own, or at the very least ensure you are buying eggs from UK producers to ensure you are getting eggs from reputable sources?

Blimey! Look at the time.....

noreply@blogger.com (Lou) — Tue, 27 Dec 2011 07:43:07 PST

Dear Readers/Fellow Bloggers,

It has been 32 days since my last ~~confession~~ blog post and I am heartily sorry. As penance I will recite three Twas The Night Before Christmases and watch The Grinch, Towering Inferno and Home Alone without sobbing.

The reason for the inactivity has mainly been due to my trying to finish editing my novel.... still not finished! That, combined with the speed of the close of year, caught me off-guard: Within days, or so it seemed, we'd had Halloween, then two of our sash windows were replaced, then there was the Bonfire Party.... two seconds later the sprogs seemed to be performing in Christmas plays. The 7yo's was on the 30th November! Then there was the Wedding Anniversary (he REMEMBERED I forgot! But he still kindly gifted me a Kindle - Super pressie.) And by the 9th of December they'd broken up for Christmas and the 9yo, the 7yo and I were on the world tour of the south of England, doling out gifts and visiting those we wouldn't see during Christmas week. Added to that mix, a grandma going slightly wobbly and my usual [fake] veneer of organisation-woman was close to crumbling.

All through this period the HUGE Bonfire, first lit on the 5th November, has been periodically igniting.... it's still smoking today, 8 weeks after we lit it! Very bizarre.

However, we have clearly survived. Deep breath. Christmas for adults was best described as passable but for the sprogs I think it was still magical... Once again Santa was bang out of order; this year he managed to find a ball of wool in the craft box and while we slept he created an intricate trail of pink fluffy stuff all around the house from door knobs to gifts..... I guess I should be grateful, last year he used my best silky ribbon and stomped huge boots around the place leaving great footprints of glitter on the sitting room carpet. This year winding up the web of wool from the far reaches of the house took some considerable time but at least we may be glitter free for the year.

Before the babes broke up from school I did managed to snatch a couple of evenings with girlfriends. First there was a delightful book club supper to discuss Mr Chartwell by Rebecca Hunt. Personally I loved it but it didn't suit all members so a fab discussion ensued. It's always so gratifying when the book is not universally loved.

Then there was a trip to the cinema in Ludlow's Assembly Rooms... a quaint theatre style cinema with plush red velvet seats. It was like stepping back into the 1960s, fitting really, as we went to see The Help set in a similar era and we weren't disappointed. See it if you can. The oppression and racism in the southern states of America in the decade I was born is depicted in Kathryn Stockett's story. It's a shocker to think such nonsense occurred during my lifetime but then again I guess it's probably still happening now....

***

I think the best fun I had recently was at The Winter Agricultural Fair in Builth Wells, Wales. I was with two farming wives and a New Zealand gal. Laugh?!! Yes we did, plus we ate and sipped our way through the day. One of our party, who shall remain nameless to protect the innocent, proved she hadn't lost her va-va-voom! With pretty twinkly eyes she bantered with stall-holders and was soon rewarded with beaucoup de freebies.... The power of a woman beef farmer, oh yeah!

While we four were out for a giggle, there was more professional interest from the thousands of farmers attending the fair, they were eyeing up the baby beef cattle in advance of the auction. We watched, as the sale began, pinned to railings by large bellied farmers behind us. I'm giving them the benefit of the doubt that they were actually eager to spot the buyers nodding to the auctioneers in the sale ring below!! Young animals were fetching up to £4000. N.B. Being squashed by farmers is not especially good but it did bring on a fit of the giggles again: The exquisite type of giggling that brings tears to your eyes and snot out your nose......Brilliant.

The day’s leading price of £4700 was paid for a British Blue-sired baby heifer out of a Limousin x dam, bred locally...... No, I’m not sure what I just said either.... More concerning than the cost of a cow, bull, heifer or whatever they're called... was the fact that my pal’s hubby, (who was working the show as a stockman,) was in charge of graffiti-ing the rumps of cows. He and his companion, terribly important looking in white starched coats, were found in the sheds gluing numbers to bottoms... hmmmmm.

The strange behaviour didn't stop there, the breeders had selectively shaved their beasts, parring down their back coats to accentuate the animal's ..... well, how can I put it..... arses. One's eyes were literally drawn to the puffy oversized cheeky rumps. It was then that I realised that the pre-roast contestants were also wearing make up. Not mascara of course, [actually I couldn’t swear to that,] but they were covered in sparkly glitter. Sexy cows... would you adam and eve it?

This year’s supreme champion was a heifer, an 18 month-old Limousin-sired contender. He was bought by the judge, Alan Davies, butcher, of Welshpool, for £4500. Presumably he ended up as several people’s Christmas dinner....

In the sheep section the supreme championship went to a father and son team from Cumbria, for a pair of Beltex ewe lambs which sold for £520 each. They also exhibited the reserve champions which sold at £480 a piece to the same buyer. Just for your information, I saw no glitter on sheep....

***

The World Tour of Southern England went well. We bombed off to London to see the sights and the lights and caught up with ‘Cross The Pond and family before they escaped to the Bahamas! Grrrrr! It was the first time my 7yo had been on the Tube. I, once again, failed to meet up with FancyPants from I'm So Fancy. It's getting to be rather fun this non-meeting adventure, I left her a jar of chutney as a consolation prize!

After that we toddled off to South London to stay and catch up with my bestest pal and all round fab Godmother. Then the next morning we zoomed to Ikea Croydon and stuffed ourselves with deliciousness from their cafe.

Next we visited my parents on the South coast and took in a brilliant musical in Southampton at The Mayflower Theatre - Peter Pan. It was really, really good. The children loved it - it doffed its cap to Pantomime but was sophisticated enough to be in the West End as a true musical. Super fun.

We even had enough time to visit our old manor in Oxfordshire, visit our old farm shop for some stunning beef rib with Tom the butcher at Q Gardens and have a playdate with pals from the previous school in an indoor adventure playground. All fab, if a bit of a rush.

Our last visit was with WYLYE GIRL AT River Cottage Diaries. She is wonderful and was the reason I finished NaNoWriMo as a winner last year, we gently bullied each other along. She was as great in real life as she is in blog land and if you've never experienced her writing take the time to check her out.

Well time has come to stretch, yawn and for the twentieth time this morning, attempt to get the log burner to roar!!! I'm cold, I'm hungry and I need to open up and clean out the chickens (their Christmas treat!) So adieu for now and I'll see you on the other side....... roll on 2012 our Olympic Year.

Damp Tassels...

noreply@blogger.com (Lou) — Fri, 25 Nov 2011 07:48:56 PST

I was wearing an oft' admired grey poncho this morning. It wasn't exactly like Clint's, for starters I wash mine! Clint's, I understand, was never washed, urghhh! Anyhoo mine has tassels. Get me, fashion goddess!

I was feeling rather swish for 7:30am, poncho, boots with a heel rather than my trademark wellingtons, AND I had lipstick on, albeit that it was on my lips and my cheeks [face] as I couldn't find a blusher. I was lookin' good. I even managed to carry a porcelain teacup (it's my favourite,) filled with thick black sugary coffee, to the car. Coffee in one hand, bright orange Halloween bucket of mixed corn in the other hand [WHAT?....OK, OK, image ruined!]

I loaded the sprogs into the car for school and placed the gorgeous steaming cup of coffee on the roof of said vehicle while I went to open up and feed the chooks.

I know what you're thinking....... and you're wrong, I did not sashay back to the car forgetting that the coffee was on the roof, thus smashing my lovely tea cup to smithereens when I drove off, .... No, that was last week.... and the week before! No, I remembered it was there and placed the precious vessel in the cup holder that tolerates my cup but that would prefer a diet coke shaped drink.

There is a certain amount of off-roading to be done after we leave the comfort of our drive. There is a short strip of concrete from the front door to the stables and this is where our equine guests get washed, but out on the bridle path, the track that leads to the cross country tarmac road, we have to navigate Michigan lake-like potholes. I'm always nervous in case one turns out to be Vicar of Dibley size and the car is swallowed whole!

Along this stretch the trick is to pick the cup up out of the holder and balance it in your hand, trying to absorb the worst of the seismic activity. There must be some scientific explanation to this shock absorption but I read Art at Uni with a side order of 'dying one's hair,' so I couldn't hope to impart anything serious regarding this phenomenon.

All was well, we made it to the road; I wasn't wearing my coffee and the sprogs, unpeturbed by the usual gait of the car, were busy learning spellings and French vocab. I took a welcome gulp of nectar and placed the cup back in its holder.

Who'd have thought that poncho tassels made of a wool mix could be so thirsty. By the time I went for another slurp, the coffee had been filched by my cape. A damp patch on the material looked like Australia, plus I smelled like Starbucks! Sucking the coffee out doesn't work, all the wool bits get stuck in your teeth.

Poncho wash day here I come... Oh if anyone has Clint's number tell him I'm putting a wash on, he might want me to do his too.....

..

Good Morning...

noreply@blogger.com (Lou) — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 04:32:22 PST

This was our view on the school run this morning. The sun was the colour of a log fire that has burned all day... melty orange. A sun as Turner might paint it.....

And look-ee here, my DIY air fresheners (Hyacinths in water jars) are growing beautifully - I hope they'll be ready for Christmas, but if not maybe my Birthday in January. I love looking at the roots through the hyacinth jars, so alien looking.

Shropshire Safari...

noreply@blogger.com (Lou) — Tue, 22 Nov 2011 07:48:55 PST

It's been foggy.. nothing you don't know I'm sure, but up here on what's reputed to be the highest point in Shropshire, it has been dense. This morning was therefore a pleasant surprise, bright, clear, still.

We drove through the common land that stretches up high into the bleak Clee Hills and falls away down into the valley. This jaw-dropping landscape links our outpost with the bigger road, the terrain wild with gorse and fern, where farmstead owners graze their various beasts. Their creatures are hemmed into the 1000 acre wildlife reserve thanks to strategic cattle grids and farm hedging. I always drive slowly here, certainly no more than thirty, with an eye on the sides of the road where the live versions of roast dinners can suddenly appear.

The 7yo polices my speed too. He reads well for his age and last Spring he read a hand painted sign that commanded 'Slow DOWN! 10 lambs killed here this year.'

The light was soft at 7:30 this morning but a long way ahead I could still make out a nomadic herd of cows on the road, maybe six or eight mothers plus their woolly calves. Almost 400 yards away, (yes I still do yards, though I'm very, very young!) the closest cow, a brown and white, reflected well in my dipped headlights, though it's calf was more difficult to spot being jet black, he or she resembling a little Dexter.

Even from way back, I could see that the the Dexter's mother was leaning over the perimeter wall to a dwelling, happily eating any flowers that her long tongue could reach. The children thought this to be hilarious.

The rest of the herd made do with the grasslands or the hedgerows.

So peaceful here.

'Tis the Season for....Mistletoe...

noreply@blogger.com (Lou) — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 03:13:11 PST

Dinosaur Cake... Raaaaahhhhhhh!

noreply@blogger.com (Lou) — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 03:13:43 PST

Shouldn't have asked I thought, as the 7yo pondered the question; What cake do you want for your Birthday Party?

'I'd like a Dinosaur Cake.' He announced.

***

Well, in the end it was quite easy. I baked two standard chocolate cakes. Then, having checked the Internet and a kid's cookery book, made myself a template of a dinosaur.

Cut cake, smeared it with green butter icing (unsalted butter, icing sugar and green colour creamed together, slightly loosened with drops of lemon juice.) Then adorned with Toblerone and Revels and a [craft - non edible] eye.

To be honest the real success seemed to be the dinosaur's Toblerone scales... but hey ho, son was chuffed to bits.

A Poem Salvador Dali would be proud of...

noreply@blogger.com (Lou) — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 03:12:37 PST

The 9yo wrote me a Love Poem...

We can be thankful for a few things in life; one's health, the love of a daughter and spellcheck...

Love Poems!

Lovers! are very kind

But lovers are pipel hou

love you

Oranges! are very sweet like

pipel. I lov oranges

Vioulet! is a coular. I love

vioulet it is very light

Eleffhunts! are fany, they have very

long noses

Remembrance Day

noreply@blogger.com (Lou) — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 03:18:32 PST

In Flanders Fields....... http://www.greatwar.co.uk/poems/john-mccrae-in-flanders-fields.htm

Bountiful Land...

noreply@blogger.com (Lou) — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 03:13:15 PST

Just now there was a knock at the window and I jumped. I had been engrossed in settling my chilli plants on a windowsill, they are all more than 2ft tall and heavy with long Ferrari-red fruits. I hadn't heard our farmer neighbour park as he arrived bearing gifts.

He was proudly delivering a bowl of creamy field mushrooms, just picked from a 6 acre, south facing slope opposite our land.

'The whole field is white with them,' he said.

So the 9yo and I are set for dinner, although the other two family members are not so keen. She and I will share the feast and I may make a garlic and mushroom tart for my book club guests tonight when we discuss Mr Chartwell by Rebecca Hunt.

Fresh Picked Field Mushrooms

The rest of the garden also continues to inspire for dinner; the leeks are good and the celeriac a decent size, the parsnips obscene. Spinach continues to thrive.

Planning ahead, the broad beans are emerging from their seed trays and will go in the ground next week. The kale and other spring brassica are almost ready for planting out.

Broad Beans

In the greenhouse I'm ahead for spring colour and scent, my sweet peas bullied daily as I pinch out growing tips to ensure bushy plants for next year. I'll do the same with the Cosmos babies, a find (and a financial saving) as they'd all self-seeded in the flower beds. I decided to dig some of them up in order to try and protect a few plants from the worst of the weather. The Lupins are doing well too.

Sweet Pea

Cosmos

Lupin

Fortunately the weather hasn't turned here yet, as the mushrooms will testify, so I've still got time to insulate my greenhouse this weekend. I'm determined to experiment this winter, to see how many seedlings survive out in the greenhouse and in hand-made cold frames, I need to see how they do without constant heat. Mind you, if temperatures dip dramatically I may use my paraffin heater, but at approximately £6 per 5 litres, this really isn't viable for very long periods.

I've managed to plant two long beds of 160 strawberry plants in the allotment in the field, these plants were runners from my original 12 plants that I received as a gift from our neighbours in 2009. Having planted these 160 plants I still had another 400 plants to rehouse in order to free up three of my seven raised beds. These runners had virtually taken over the walled garden.

I've potted up most of them in well rotted manure, thus ensuring another crop for next year. Being rather more portable, these pots can be dotted around the allotment or I might even sell some to friends and family.

Next season strawberries

This weekend in the allotment I spied a new red strawberry - extraordinary weather we're having for November.

Archie's chicks (Roosters centre stage?)

Archie's chicks are enormous and I still strongly suspect that 5 of the 8 are boys. Having experienced the financial disaster of the Poultry Auction when selling roosters, I am determined to lean how to humanely dispatch (polite word) and dress my own birds. After all, I regularly buy free range birds for the family to eat, at a cost of £8+.

Bearing in mind these birds roam or grounds, are fed on corn and quality pellets as well as selected scraps, I know they will be quality meat, so I'm afraid their days are numbered. I just cannot afford to keep them and, believe me, no one wants to take in additional roosters.

To that end, another farmer has promised to teach me how to to responsibly kill. It's not a decision I came to lightly, after all I know these birds personally, however, it is interesting to note that we, [and I mean all family members,] have only named one of Archie's chicks, that being the little white one; Moon. Maybe we are seeing them less as pets and more as egg producers or livestock.

Are we becoming more countrified I wonder?

Fire and a Party.... improvisation.

noreply@blogger.com (Lou) — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 03:16:21 PST

Bonfire night (this past Saturday - the 5th) went with a bang as usual. For the third year running our pals from far and wide packed up their families, fireworks and fantastic desserts and wheedled their way to Shropshire and The Larches. We were expecting almost sixty guests, more than twenty of them staying the night.

It was a miracle I made it to the Saturday, for starters my head cold seemed to have turned into a brain tumor, so magnificent was my headache. I can only assume this was a combination of stress and sinus strain. It also wasn't great that, on the Friday, we seemed to be experiencing the worst weather for months, with a ton of rain creating flooded roads further down in the valley towards school.

The rain was also turning our driveway into a quagmire and I worried that the farmer's low loader would sink low in the field, as he endeavoured to push the huge bonfire into a compact shape. We build the bonfire over a year and therefore it is generally monumental, but we regularly disturb it to ensure no creatures consider it home. This final shake of the bonfire is invaluable to ensure no animals remain before we light it.

Apart from the weather, all seemed well; the house was cleaned, bedrooms made ready, drinks chilling, the only thing that niggled me is that my caterers - a couple I've employed for the past two years who run a mobile burger van serving local sausages, burgers and hot crispy chips, hadn't returned my last two calls. We had agreed the date almost a month ago and had discussed the menu several times since then but now I needed to clarify numbers, always difficult to judge till the final few days when guests finally confirm or decline the invitation. I also needed to ensure timings for feeding everyone before the firework display.

At 3pm I tried the mobile number yet again, just before I had to leave for school pick up.

The caterer answered and I sighed with relief.

'Gosh,' I said. 'You're going to give me a heart attack, I've been trying and trying to contact you.'

'Oh yes, sorry about that I meant to call you back. We can't do your party now as we're booked somewhere else. I forgot to look in the diary and we were already booked to do this big thing in Ludlow. Sorry, should have told you.'

Bombshell.

***

Do you know what? It was fine. I phoned the local butcher Bowkett's of Tenbury and he made me 100 of the fattest and best tasting sausages ever.

On Saturday I awoke to bright sunshine which continued all through the weekend and there was not a murmur of a breeze.

We set up our barbecue, (previously packed away for the winter,) in the log shed and even employed Grandma's 1970's hostess trolley to keep the food warm.

We offered sausages in finger rolls and burgers in soft buns and our guests did us proud by bringing some truly stunning desserts (even though I'd specifically asked them to bring deserts in the invitation...... good lord, cardinal error!)

The children marauded in the dark, loving the wild freedom of our fields while the adults drank wine or sipped at hot cups of my home-made tomato soup, many did both. The fireworks were awesome - very professionally managed by Hubby. So all in all it was a great night, especially great to see old pals of course and local people who have become good friends.

We've cleaned up now - probably need to go and empty the cans and bottles tomorrow at the recycling bank and I definitely need to wash the floors, but other than that the house looks fine.

It was a super party again and a late'ish night but I think we'll have a year off next year. Catch our breath a bit and go to someone else's display..... look out Oxfordshire were coming to visit!!

Coming Home.... The Kodak Big App Challenge.

noreply@blogger.com (Lou) — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 03:16:57 PST

We have rather a long school run each day. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. The morning run is a real delight, we catch up on homework; spellings, times tables and we sing, (particularly requested is Cee Lo Green's Forget You, the clean version!)

On the way home it's a little more demur. Some days John Humphrys, Jim Naughtie, Evan Davis, Justin Webb or Sarah Montague accompany me home and I catch up on world events rather than my lyrics.

Other days I take the time to look out and see the seasons change.

The picture above was taken last October. It's the last stretch of open road before I'm home over the hill in the far distance. Sometimes there are cows grazing, crossing the road at minimal speed, sometimes there are sheep but always present are the tarty male pheasants and the little partridges with their pretty red eye makeup. It's a busy road therefore, but not with cars, so you need to take it easy and stick to 30mph.

I like this picture and the calm it brings me.

This is the picture I'd like to enter for the Kodak Big App Challenge. Hope you agree.

There's a hole in my house....

noreply@blogger.com (Lou) — Thu, 03 Nov 2011 03:30:07 PDT

...dear Liza, dear Liza... The new sash windows, made by hand by a local carpenter, are going in. Looking good so far..... and no rain... she said in hushed tones.

Low in Iron.... high on life..

noreply@blogger.com (Lou) — Wed, 02 Nov 2011 23:00:28 PDT

Although I'm FULL of cold and my head feels like a brick, we went trick or treating last night. This is no mean feat when you live a fair way from your neighbours and there's no street lighting. The owls helped tremendously with the atmosphere as the sproglets, (one small witch and one small rat in a vampire cape!) and I (Mummy witch; complete with geisha-white face and mean red painted-on lips,) trudged along the bridle path holding our begging-bucket. With very little breeze and a balmy temperature of 12°, our pointy hats were undisturbed, cape unruffled.

We scored some good sweeties, a ton of hand-me-down books and a barely used box of Cluedo. Being that my two are just that bit older now, they were most impressed by the Cluedo and the thought of solving a murder.

We thought our tree-farm neighbours were out for the evening so we didn't call on them, fearing their guard dog might eat us. It turns out they were in, waiting for us with goody bags.... so, I'm delighted to announce that we will be continuing the dress-up and make up adventure again tonight.... sheeesh -it appears we're trapped in groundhog day with e-numbers.

Walking back home we came across our cow farmer friend, his pickup parked outside our nearest neighbour.

'What you up to now?' He said chuckling. I thought it was obvious but sadly, having checked his cab, he was bereft of sweeties. I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm bonkers, last week I asked if he could deliver me a load of big cardboard tubes, the type the polythene wrapping comes on for hay bales.

'What you want those for?' He asked, incredulous that I wanted his rubbish.

'I'm going to grow long show-carrots in them,' said I.

His eyebrows have a personality of their own, they weren't convinced by this gardening technique but a few hours later my tubes arrived.

***

This morning the boy turned 7. Henceforth my sproglets are to be named the 9yo and the 7yo rather than the 8yo and the 6yo..... obviously, Doh! Struggling with the complexity of Ninjago Lego at 6am Hubby tried valiantly to put together an ice dragon.... eventually he made a weak excuse about having to be at work on time..... a likely story.

I had forgotten to bake wee cupcakes for the boy to distribute at school, instead I sent him to school with 20 mini Haribo packets. (NB. Now I need to replenish Hubby's secret stash!)

With children delivered to school I was happy to meet my vitamin dealer in the school car park: My dealer is another school mummy, a woman convinced that I'm low in iron. (I agree with her.) She delivered me a packet of big bulk iron tablets and I obediently took one. This was the first random act of kindness today. I felt pretty good, in control and it was a lovely sunny day. I was just on my way home, ready to accept my shopping delivery, bake my Birthday boy a cake and generally clean the house, when I felt the car judder.

Parking in a little supermarket car park in Ludlow my fears were confirmed - a flat tyre. Grrrr.

To cut a long story short I was saved by TNT in Ludlow. They came to me immediately, blew up my tyre and took me to the workshop. I managed to postpone my home shopping order - thanks to a lovely chap in Tesco Kidderminster. I contemplated cancelling the order completely when I was informed that two other tyres needed replacing too. To make matters worse this was 9:30am and the new tyres weren't due to arrive at the garage till 1:30pm. Arghhhhh! I had so much to do. I felt myself welling up, my bottom lip quivered and that lump appeared in my throat.....

Random Acts of kindness shouldn't be allowed, they usually occur when your at your most vulnerable and can leave you breathless with awe that nice people and good customer service still does exist. The boss of the garage, a huge older man, concerned I might flood the garage with my tears, gave me his car. The second random act of kindness for the day.

'We'll call you when everything's done.' He said as I left the premises in a massive Mitsubishi.

Finally home, the Tesco driver - alerted to my plight, had waited on the driveway for me. Surely this was the third random act of kindness..... So brilliant. I couldn't stop thanking him.

***

Utterly fleeced of money...... seriously...... I was forced back down the mountain to collect my car and return boss's car at 2:00pm...... 3 hours and 10 minutes before I could pick the sprogs up. Sigh. Thank god for libraries. I'm behind on my reading and had omitted to pack my book into my bag before leaving the house, so I enquired of the librarian,

'Do you have Mr Chartwell by Rebecca Hunt?'

She checked. 'No sorry, it was missing at the last shelf check.'

'OK.'

I said OK in that sort of resigned-to-my-life sort of way. It was then that I remembered the book in my bag: The book the 9yo had been reading, a library book I was unable to renew recently because the library system didn't know I had checked out the book.....The 9yo had finished with it now so I was honest and returned it. The librarian was very grateful.

In the library I drifted around.... I read a few pages of a couple of new novels... didn't like them... perused the cooking and gardening section...but found nothing of interest. Then I drifted to adult fiction and thought I'd look for something to take my interest. Can you believe it? I found it; Mr Chartwell was there on the shelf, exactly where it was supposed to be!

Seriously, do a good deed - get a goodness in return. It's Pay it Forward... I love it. Silver lining and all that shit.

Those iron tablets are definitely working.

Lou 1 - Sod's Law 0

noreply@blogger.com (Lou) — Tue, 18 Oct 2011 03:13:25 PDT

Good day today, so far: Good weather, hot and blustery with rain all last night, (night rain is sooo convenient,) watering in my 300 or so strawberry plants.

Discovery that parent's evening is not tonight, is also wonderful news - must amend diary.

Also discovery that an evening social was postponed from this Wednesday, (OMG totally forgot that it WAS this Wednesday!!) to the Wednesday after half term, is wonderful news.

6yo's meltdown about getting 7 x 2 wrong in test may be unfounded according to teacher. Phew!

Daughter's school coat found - thank god for labels. BTW, super service from these guys http://www.nameitlabels.co.uk/

My Blackberry and Plum jam complimented (and several pots requested) by school mum.

8yo's Birthday pressie arrived by courier, (for Thursday,) henceforth she shall be named the 9yo! Yikes!

Lovely thank you from a friend.

Tesco arrived at 9:05 in a 9am - 11am slot.... wow! Shopping put away by 9:45am, wow-wee.

All the above was completed before 10am. Seriously, you may not be interested in my achievement today but I HAD TO WRITE IT ALL DOWN FOR POSTERITY, [indoor voice please] I'm sure it's unlikely to happen again!

How to conduct oneself at a Poultry Auction....

noreply@blogger.com (Lou) — Tue, 18 Oct 2011 03:10:48 PDT

A POULTRY AUCTION
Pre-Auction (Selling) Things to do...

Identify birds for sale
Segregate the blighters
Find suitable box(es) for transportation
Pack food and water for them....gin for you
Wear nothing you care about

At Auction (Selling) Things to do...

Get there stupidly early to bagsy an early lot/cage
Beg everyone for help
Take birds out of the box(es) and place into the selling cages without losing them...sheesh!
Listen and act on all free advice offered, (if the veterans sense you are a virgin seller they will offer tons of advice) NB If the person looks like a complete numpty, consider the advice carefully...
When your birds sell, don't cry, interview the new prospective parents or ask if you can visit.

This morning just after 6:30am I packed up the Bantam roosters and three of the girls, decided against the gin, and drove off into the sunrise towards Hereford.

It was a beautiful morning, cool not cold with not a whisper of a breeze, and I could hardly hear the pitiful cries of the chickens over the audio book, (Philip Pullman's The Amber Spyglass - brilliantly read by the author and actors.)

By the time I pulled into the livestock market, some twenty-five miles away from home, the sun was up and it was more like a summer morning than an autumn one. The market looked like a huge unfinished metal shed, unfinished because one side is open to the elements displaying the containment rails to keep cattle, pigs or sheep from escaping. It looks like an empty DIY or Wall-Mart superstore.

I wore old jeans, wellingtons and a baggy jumper together with my usual smile, the smile is invaluable for seeking out new friends in unfamiliar situations. While I unpacked my chickens, the transit van next to me in the car park was disgorging its colourful characters and their birds, (just for clarity by birds I mean birds, not street slang birds, though I strongly suspect these chaps were intimately acquainted with quite a few birds, if you know what I mean, nudge-nudge!)

By their voices I knew these chaps were Welsh and I would have described them as farmers, except that their earrings made me think they were more traders than farmers. As I got out of the car they toned down their banter, which had sounded very, very bawdy till they clocked me, and we all exchanged pleasantries about the weather, the fact that they'd driven from mid-Wales to come to the sale and the forthcoming rugby game on Saturday. (Cumoooonnnnn Wales!)

Their chief and ringleader was a stocky chap about my age, (... young, OK?!) He was twinkly-eyed and bar-room confident, a lovable rogue, - you know the type.

After the auction-porter and I had loaded my lots into three sales cages; 2 pairs comprising a cock and hen and a trio made of two cocks and one hen. The chief Welsh trader from the transit sidled up beside me to enquire about my chooks. Soon I had my very own personal advisor and he stood very close, whispering poultry secrets.

'You makin' a mistake there luv, you needs to make a trio, rather than leave that hen with the two cocks.' He said in his lovely Welsh accent. I, being blonde and tired, looked blank.

'I've made a trio,' I said, wondering if trio meant something different in Welsh and wishing I didn't have to discuss trios or cocks with a man I hardly knew.

'No luv, a trio's two hens and a cock, not two cocks and a hen!'

'Ah.'

'I'll grab the cocks out and you can put the hen in with the pair if you like? You'll not make any money see, as the cocks'll cancel out the worth of the hen.'

Dear Lord why is everything so sodding complicated!

Anyhoo cocks grabbed (dear Lord!) and girls moved, all was happy in camp Archer. Bearing in mind that the sale didn't start for another 2 hours I decided not to stay chatting to my new best friend, as our vocab was worrying me, so instead I zoomed off to Asda, (big shop wow-wee) to get provisions for the mountain.

By ten, the metal shed was pretty full of cock-a-doodle-doos and lots of breeds of people. I wandered about, briefly on my own, observing the characters - a great place for the writing.

Soon I was joined by my buddy who chatted about chickens and horses and sheep until he enquired whether I had much land and livestock. I'm not sure it was a proposal of marriage, he sussing whether he and I could join poultry forces, but I found myself constantly mentioning my husband and the sprogs but not where we actually lived.

'Have you got raaabbits on the land?' He enquired kindly. I was glad we were moving away from the in-depth analysis of me and of the double entendre language he seemed to enjoy.

'God yes, loads. I can see them from my bedroom window every morning.' [Screech! Why did I mention the bedroom!!!]

'I'll do you a bit of ferretting up your way if you like, pop over like, [from mid-Wales!!!] bring me ferrets and the dogs for a bit of a session?' He said eyes a-twinkling.

I came over all Margo from The Good Life [clip below] after that...

'No thank you!' I said indignantly. 'My neighbour does all my ferreting!' ... Oh! sob! He just grinned.

All in all it was an education. The money was appalling; the trio and pair fetched £11.50... I may have just covered the petrol... and the two cocks fetched a whopping .10p... purchased by my new best friend, a pity-purchase I fear but he did promise faithfully not to murder them.

Hey ho!