Free Water

Yesterday was cider making day. A small group of us spent the day cutting, bashing, squashing and squeezing a third of a ton of apples. The weather was threatening and our breaks were timed around the frequent showers. But a little bit of rain couldn't put a dampener on a fine day spent with like souls.
And of course there is the 30 litres of fresh apple juice I brought home, most to be turned into cider. A little will be reserved for pure apple juice and some will be turned into cider vinegar, a great all round panacea for the chickens.

The reason I talk about the cider day is by way of contrast with today's weather. For there was no escaping the wet this afternoon. I just bit the bullet and got wet. Very wet.


I decided to take advantage of the situation, experimenting with how far gravity would carry this surfeit of water from the various water butts I have.
I managed to fill all the baths and paddling pools as well as watering all the plants in the polytunnel with a healthy dose of fresh rainwater.

Baths and pools all full.



My bendy gutter,
formed with plastic bottles and string,
took the water round the corner
and into the waiting bath.

But still I watched more and more water just pour onto the land. Undoubtedly there will be a time this year when all that water would have come in useful. But at least I won't need to connect the hosepipe to the outdoor tap for quite some time now.








That's the positive spin on today's deluge. The ducks and geese go along with this.

However, the chickens, guineafowl and pigs are not quite so overjoyed. For today their homes were turned into a quagmire.

Luckily the pigs can choose somewhere a little less muddy.







Putting the chicken houses off the ground
seems like a very good idea right now.







A Secret Egg Stash

When I returned from India recently, there was a note waiting for me

John, check the big chicken house. I found 12 eggs in there yesterday!

Of course, since then there's not been an egg laid in the big chicken house.

But as I came back from the chickens this bitterly cold morning, I happened upon one of Elvis's hens clambering through the gate on her way out of the goose paddock. The thought crossed my mind to check the goose house (which they've never used) and lo and behold, there, nestled in a depression in the straw, lay eight perfectly uniform eggs.

This hen had obviously been keeping this little house to herself for quite some time.


Unfortunately, when I don't know how old the eggs are, I don't like to use them, but Daisy will appreciate the protein. She eats them whole, shell and all.

Walking the Plank

I keep thinking that living in a house while it is being renovated must eventualy get easier.
 
Well, here's how we now have to get across the kitchen.

until the tiles are set at least...

At least progress is visible elsewhere.

to this...

From bathroom...

to utility room

and out comes the kitchen...

Meanwhile, outside...

the solar panels are off temporarily to allow work to the roof and guttering

and the chimneys need rebuilding.

Three Woodcocks!!!

Slicing our own bacon with Sue yesterday evening felt good. This was what it was all about and went a long way to curing my post-holiday blues.

But today things got even better.

Building work progressed well. At one point we had four vans in the drive. (Not, of course, the evasive plumber though). I even managed to overcome my fear of heights enough to scale the scaffolding which went up for the chimneys to be rebuilt.

The view from up top

As I went out in the semi-dark to lead the geese into their stable, three birds flew low over the stables. They were clearly visible against the moonlit sky. My first thought was that some of the guinea fowl had got over-excited and had embarked on a most ambitious flight.

But it took just a couple of moments to realise that htese dumpy birds were smaller than the guinea fowl and had long, straight bills.

Three WOODCOCKS!!! Amazing.

Farm tick number 105.

To confirm my identificatin, they uttered their distinctive high-pitched squeaks before gaining height to cross the road. I think they went back down in amongst Don's trees.

Thanks Speckledy

Speckledy, how we will remember her.

Today I found a rather sorry sight when I went down to the chickens. For there was Speckledy perched in the shelter looking none too well, hunched up and listless.
I left her to see what developed, but when I returned later she was lying on her side in the dirt and the other chickens were beginning to pay her some most unwelcome attention- they can be so very merciless.

Speckledy was one of the original hens which came with the farm and has served us very well. But now it was clear that she was not long for this world. So I carried her down to the stables and laid her to pass away in peace.

Sue shed a tear for her. I have become more hardened, but of course I am still sad. Speckledy had her own character. She was always very gentle and would often take herself off to roost alone.

She will be missed by both of us.

Bringing home the bacon

Bacon!

When I first thought about keeping pigs, I dreamt of bacon, sausages, gammon and ham on tap. For these were the products which lured me away from veganism many years ago!

The sausages came, but the other products weren't so straightforward. So up till now we've been eating a lot more pork chops and joints than we ever used to. Not that they aren't totally tasty.

From our second litter, though, we kept two girls to the grand old age of almost one year. Their fate, to be salted and cured.

Unsuspecting

The morning they went away

Safely delivered to the abattoir

And on the afternoon before I jetted off, they came back from the butchers.


I managed to get the 150 or so packs of sausages into the fridge and freezer, but I had to leave poor old Sue to deal with the rest of the two pigs. T
here were four whole sides, which she cut along the length to separate the loin from the belly. These were destined to become back bacon and streaky bacon. Pork belly has proved very popular with our customers, so some of that went into the fridge ready for collection. This was fortunate as all four of our freezers are bulging at the seams!

There were also four gigantic legs to be turned into smaller gammons.

That's a lot of meat to sort out.

Sue spent the rest of the evening cutting the meat into manageable chunks and she then set about the ancient art of curing the meat.

We had ordered two prepared dry-cure mixes from Surfy's Homecuring Supplies - one traditional curing mix and one smoked. We thought that for our first effort it would be safest to rely on a ready-mixed cure.
Essentially a cure is a careful mix of salt and sodium nitrite. The latter gives the cured product its pinkness. To this are added the ingredients which give the distinctive flavours and characters to be found in the vast range of hams, bacons and gammons.
The drycure mixes are carefully weighed out and rubbed all into the meat. We chose to do this in tupperware boxes, but zip-lock bags supposedly work very well, if you can find big enough bags. A vacuum packer is the professional's choice.
Each day the meat is turned and rubbed again. How long this is done for depends on the thickness of the slab of meat.
The instructions that came with the Surfy's cures were excesslent, as was the e-mail support Sue received when she asked them about wet-cure procedures.

We decided to take off the skin on this occasion. Not only does the cure take longer to penetrate the skin, but the rind is a real obstacle when it comes to slicing the bacon. We have plenty of crackling from our pork and can't really see the point of rind on bacon.

For the gammons, Sue followed a Hugh F-W wet-cure recipe - curing salts plus lots of sugar, juniper berries, spices...

And now, on my return from India, the bacon was ready.

And so began the job of bacon slicing. I borrowed a slicer from a friend and we proceeded to massacre the meat!
Well, it didn't take long to get used to it. The first lump of cured loin came out a bit ragged, but we ended up with some rather rustic slices of back bacon plus a good quantity of bacon scraps - they'll be delicious in omelettes - and a couple of wedges we've called bacon steaks.

But by the end Team Bacon was running like a well-oiled machine and we now have a mountain of fine bacon in the freezer, enough for us for the next year. We ended up with a much wider range of bacon slices than you find in the shops.

And for a late dinner, of course, bacon sandwiches. DELICIOUS!

From The Himalayas to The Fens

I've been away from the farm for a week or so, indulging myself in some birdwatching in Northern India.


Sunset in the Himalayan foothills

I am in awe every time I see the Himalayas

I never realised they were only an inch high!

A White-breasted Kingfisher tries to swallow a baby turtle

Back-seat driver.

I had a thoroughly relaxing and enjoyable time in the company of two good old friends. However, Sue was left to look after the farm on her own so the break was a relatively short one.

Returning to frost wasn't too much of a shock, as nights in the Himalayan foothills can get rather chilly too.
A day and a half's journey home had taken it's toll on me though. As I drove through the farm gates, it struck me what Sue and I have built for ourselves. There's just one final push to be made with the house renovations.
But building work hadn't progressed as much as I had hoped. The very expensive limestone tiles we spent ages choosing for the upstairs shower had turned brown. The plumber was being a complete arse
It didn't take long for a spot of post-holiday blues to set in.

I have now visited India five times and every time I visit I am fascinated by the people. For much of the place is noisy, dirty and overpopulated. Most people have very little, though it's not as poor as it used to be. Yet most people seem totally accepting of whatever goes on around them.

Every time I visit it acts as a remedy to the pressures of our society.  It reminds me that it is far better to be happy with what you've got instead of unhappy about what you don't have.
Not to say that hard work and ambition don't have a place. But so many never take the opportunity to sit back and enjoy where they've got to.

Gerald. In Memory.

R.I.P. Gerald

Gerald was the boar who several times came to visit Daisy. He often overstayed his welcome, but he really was a very gentle giant.
It's been a while since he's come to stay on the farm, but yesterday I heard the sad news that he passed away a few days ago. He was still at a pretty young age.
Apparently he had been off his food for a while and the vet had called, but quite out of the blue he was found dead the next morning.

We will have fond memories of him.

Little Owl's cover blown

There were not very many winter birds on the farm this year. We have fared very well for fieldfares and the lawns and hedges have been dripping with blackbirds, but that's been about it. We have been particularly thin on the ground on the raptor front. Our first winter here saw regular hen harrier sightings, two even taking up temporary residence in the field next door. Yet last year I saw just one, and all too briefly. Then last year was the year of the Short-eared Owls. This year, none. No merlin this year either, and even Peregrines have been hard to find.

I say that not very many winter birds were on the farm this year. I use the word were as I am now looking forward to Spring. And is if to confirm this, I heard this morning the first singing skylark of the year.

Late winter is the time of year when some of our native birds begin their breeding. They've toughed out a whole winter and their reward is to be back on their territories way ahead of the more migratory species.
One family known for breeding early in the year are the owls. Indeed, Barn Owls have been very noticeable of late. Sue and I had a fantastic sighting of one perched in the roadside hedge just the other day and its not at all unusual for one to float along the dykes, stalling every now and then to check out something below in the long grass.

But it's been the Little Owl which I have taken great delight in seeing this last couple of days. Probably because our particular Little Owls hardly ever show themselves during the day.
This is unfortunate, as in the world of owls, Little Owls are known as the species perhaps most likely to be active during the day, or at the very least long enough before the sun goes down that the human eye can still watch them.
But not ours. Oh no! Our Little Owls, for I think we have a pair, are virtually never seen. Though at this time of year a stroll outside when the stars are above will often be accompanied by their soft calls.

But yesterday, for just the second time in the last year, I saw one of them. And I have the Blue Tits and Great Tits to thank for that. For they were making a right kerfuffle in the Ash trees, buzzing and chiding. And the reason for all this commotion. Yes. There was one of the Little Owls sat bolt upright on a branch. It didn't stay for long though, clearly not enjoying having its cover blown.
Then this afternoon the Little Owl was back in the same Ash tree. This is the old one with the hollow stump. I have had high hopes of it being used by owls, either Little or Barn, in the past. And today this owl was clearly calling to another which replied from the other side of the garden.
Maybe one day there'll be a whole family sat along a branch. I live in hope.

Strange lights in the night

Remember this?

Well this bullock has obviously gotten a taste for the open range. Last week I spotted him happily munching away at the edge of the pond in the field opposite our house. He was behaving pretty much as a deer would.

Keeping a couple of sheep this year reminded me of the wild origins of these farm animals. They were remarkably nimble when they wanted to be.

I have put the number of the cows' owner in my phone, so gave him a courtesy call to let him know his bullock was on the loose. The biggest worry is that it strays onto the road - it wouldn't be the first time that cattle from the Settlement Field have played havoc with the traffic.
I don't know how country folk spot anything that happens, but the hapless owner of the cows was already on his way. Having said that, I saw a 4x4 driving up and down a track far away, but I don't think they ever worked out quite where their bullock was hiding.

The next day, there were two bullocks out!

All that was last week and I thought nothing much more of it. That is, until last night I was somewhat concerned to see what appeared to be a torchlight flicker and flash outside. My first thought was that we had an unwanted inquisitive intruder in the dark. But surely the outside light would have come on. And the front gate was closed - it would take quite an effort to get to our farm without a vehicle.

Then I realised from where the flashlight was emanating. For in the field opposite was quite a light show as three or more beams of white swept to and fro over the field.

I guess those cows were out again.

Hamming it up.

Two girls survive from Daisy's last-but-one litter. One has a distinctive eye patch. She was always the friendliest of the litter.
These girls were born on 12th March last year, so they are nearly a year old. They were not sent off at seven months old with their sisters, when they would have weighed just about 50kg.
No, for these girls there was to be a different outcome. For they were destined to become what is known as baconers - our first attempt at curing meat, the art of turning pork into bacon and gammon.

So we have let them grow, until they reached quite some size.

Daisy and her daughters having a snooze.

But tonight the livestock trailer came out. And that's probably not good news if you're a pig!

We had a very long day sourcing materials for the ongoing house renovation, so did not get home until just gone 5. Fortunately it's now still light, just, at that time so Sue rushed down to lock up the chickens while I got the trailer ready.

It took some effort to get the two young girls out of the stable and to keep Daisy in, but eventually they were in the small yard, within about 10 foot of where we wanted them to be.

But these pigs are now BIG and take no bossing. Time marched on, light faded, tempers frayed and the pigs steadfastly refused to go near the trailer ramp.
Efforts to hurry the process involved sections of metal fencing gradually closing down their space, but as the walls closed in  they became clasustrophobic. One of them just lifted the fence, with me standing on it, with her snout and they muscled their way through.

To cut a long story short, off course we won in the end!
I would like to say that patience was the victor, but mine was a bit pushed this evening.

Guess who's inside!

When a pig has an ear-ring, it's curtains!

After tomorrow morning, the next time we see them they will be neatly packaged up for us. Thirty packs of sausages are already sold. And the curing mixes are on their way from Mr Internet.

Doubtless there'll be a post on this alchemaic process in the near future.

Meanwhile, anyone like a seepstake bet on how much they weigh? I'm going for 86kg, but I could be way out!