Collecting honey and splitting the colony

The thief leaving the scene with her swag.

Sorry, but you'll have to wait a while longer if you're tuning in to find out who comes second in the cuteness competition. I'll tell you one thing, it's not these girls!
For now, I've been working hard in the garden this morning but I've been driven inside while Sue upsets the bees!

One of our hives is an absolute monster. In fact, both hives went into the winter very strong, but one has, for some reason, lost its queen. When Sue inspected the hive a couple of weeks ago she found no eggs and no young brood. Furthermore, there were supercedure / emergency queen cells in the middle of the frame. I'm not the expert here, but Sue is rapidly becoming so.

Sue transferred some brood along with pollen and honey to the hive and is hoping that the bees get on with things and replace their queen.

Monster hive.
A tactical retreat to the house was in order.

As for the other hive, the rape pollen is coming in and, as we all know to our cost, leave that in the hive for too long and it sets like concrete. So today Sue took off a super of honey to extract. At the same time she has attempted to split some of the colony into a third hive. Otherwise a hive that full would be sure to swarm at some point. (They probably will anyway, but might as well make the best of things and increase our number of colonies. After all, these days it seems inevitable that there will be winter losses.)

Here's what it's all about.
Cells waiting to be uncapped. There's honey in there!

Third place for cuteness goes to ... ... ... the goslings

Yes, we have goslings! In the cuteness contest, they have however been severely let down by their parents.

Let's start with a brief resume of our attempts to breed geese. For the last two years our white geese have made a nest in the stables, dutifully laid their eggs and sat... and sat... and sat. They have viewed this as a team effort with all available females sitting on the nest. The males have been in charge of looking (and actually being) quite scary.
The problem is that nothing has hatched. When we have inspected the contents of the eggs way after they should have hatched, at least half have contained chicks rather than just yolk, so although fertility is not great, it should have been enough to hatch out a few goslings, which is all we really want.
I can only assume that all those girls shuffling around on the nest must have disturbed the eggs too much.

The grey geese, Giant Dewlap Toulouses to give them their proper title, made a much better attempt last year. One girl sat on a nest in their shed for the entire duration of the incubation. Then, two days before the hatch date, the other girl decided to sit too! The result was that all the eggs came tumbling out. I risked my life to put them back into the nest, but the damage had been done and our total hatch was a big fat zero...except...

Golly who was hatched in the incubator along with one other sibling who sadly died of unexplained causes at about 10 days old.
Golly was a boy but has this year started laying eggs, so we shall have to change our conceptions of him, sorry, her. (Sexing geese is not easy, though we had our suspicions).

Golly quickly imprinted on us and we would often hear his, sorry, her big feet flopping across the kitchen floor behind us, or her beak tapping determinedly at the patio  door to come in and be with us. She even went into school and met the children one day. But despite our best efforts, toilet training was not easy and Golly had to be consigned to life with the other geese. For a while she lived with the grey geese, but come the beginning of 2015 she had to be moved in with the white geese, who are clearly racist despite one of them having semi-adopted Golly when she was young.

A goose breeding plan for 2015 was hatched.
Firstly, I would keep the greys and the whites separate so that any greys born would not be inter-related (no comments about The Fens please!) and would not be cross-breeds either. Secondly, I would give the geese some old car tyres. This second decision may seem slightly surprising, but I had read about this on the interweb.
The geese were very late starting to lay this year (8th March for the Embdens and 20th for the Toulouses), but when they finally did they duly constructed their straw nests inside the tyres and deposited their eggs there. I let them roam in and out of the stables during their laying period, but only the pure-breed grey geese could get to their tyre. The white geese shared their tyres with Golly.

On 15th April, one of the white geese settled down onto a nest and a few days later the other girl settled down onto the other tyre. And there they stayed, apart from the occasional brief foray outside, which is okay as they leave their eggs deeply buried in an insulating layer of straw and feathers.
















But Golly was still laying, so I set up a tyre for her too.

Meanwhile, over in the other stable, the grey geese had started laying later and so it was a couple of weeks before one of the girls started sitting. After last year's experience I decided to fence her off with sheep hurdles and to feed and water her within the stable. I set up another tyre for the other girl, but she decided to build a nest next to it instead!


Fast forward a couple of weeks and the two white Embdens were still dutifully sitting on their nests. Hatching time was approaching. I considered fencing them off from each other, but since they clearly had their own nests this year, I decided against it. BIG MISTAKE. One evening the behaviour of the geese had clearly changed. One of the girls was all clucky (not sure that's the right word for geese, but honky sounds even wronger!) and the boys were loitering around the stables making menacing sounds and their body language was none too friendly either. I knew that hatching was not far off.
The next morning I peered over the stable door to find... two white girls sitting on one nest! Presumably, desperate for motherhood, one of the girls had been tempted off her own nest at the last minute by the pipping of goslings from inside the shells in the other nest! Not only did this mean that one nest had been abandoned, but it meant that the other eggs would be knocked around at this crucial time.
There was little I could do now without risking all the eggs, so I decided to leave things be and to separate the nests next year. Things were clearly coming to a head. All four white geese now spent their entire time in the stable and close approach was highly inadvisable.

Then came the time. Early in the morning I went out to open the stable doors and I could clearly hear goslings! Our first ever non-incubator hatch! I peered over the door and could clearly see movement in amongst the girl's feathers. Then I saw two tiny balls of yellow feathers appear briefly before disappearing into the clouds of white feathers again. Then two heads appeared.

I ran to the house to let Sue know and we both spent a while peering over the stable door before we had to depart for work. At times like this going to work is not easy and I spend most of the day wondering what I will find when I get back to the farm.
What I found was two very healthy goslings off out of the nest. A third ball of yellow feathers was unfortunately still in the nest and not moving. How sad to have come all this far and not made it.
The rest of the eggs remained unhatched.

What with the abandoned nest too, this meant that the white geese had managed to hatch two healthy goslings from a total of 18 eggs! Not the highest productivity rate going, but a huge improvement on previous years. Not only that, but the goslings are showing suspicious signs (grey wings) of belonging at least partially to Golly! They could well have hatched from eggs laid by her in the then communal nest.

If this is so, then I can only assume that our female Embdens are not particularly fertile, though some of their previously failed eggs certainly had almost fully developed chicks inside. Anyway, it doesn't really matter. Their offspring are for the pot (sorry if this seems harsh, but we are not a pet farm) and it will be easier to identify them if they are patchy grey and white. A couple will be enough for us and any spares would have been sold off.

So, back to the Giant Dewlap Toulouse stable. Their offspring, if we got any, would be more valuable as their parents are fine specimens. A few days ago, their behaviour changed too. The sitting female began giving even deeper grunts than normal and the male stood alongside her. In amongst the cacophony they were creating, I thought I could hear the cheeping of babies, but I could not be sure. What with the other goslings, the noisy parents and the constant chattering and cheeping of the swallows in the rafters overhead, it was hard to tell.
Sure enough, next morning there appeared two grey goslings! Followed by another two! One didn't look too healthy. Maybe it was just a later hatched bird, but it had wandered into the straw away from the nest. It would need to get back to the warmth of mum's feathers pretty soon. I tried to get to it, but it quickly became obvious that this would cause too much disturbance to the rest of the family. I did manage to move the sheep hurdles so that mum could get out and the other girl was sectioned off and then I let things be and left the geese in peace for the rest of the day.
Next morning I found SEVEN tiny goslings being tended by two very proud parents and when I returned from work there, splashing about in a rainy yard, were EIGHT goslings inquisitively pecking at everything they saw and generally trying to balance exploring with staying safely with mum and dad.

Sue ventured into the stable to find another two smaller goslings, one in the straw, but still alive, and one which had managed to find its way to its aunt, the other sitting goose.

By now the two white goslings had grown alarmingly and were confidently spending most of their day with three of the adults out in the garden. The other girl Embden had returned to the previously abandoned nest! She clearly doesn't realise that you just cannot abandon your nest for four days and then go back to it. I'll wait until she goes for a wander outside and then clear the eggs from it, otherwise she will sit for ever.
But the two Toulouse parents had a lot more on their hands keeping their eyes on eight little youngsters which weren't particularly good at staying close to their parents. Not only that, but they kept ducking under various fences and gates leaving mum and dad on the other side.

Two days ago the inevitable happened. One of them succumbed to the dangers of the big wide world. I found it badly injured on the ground. The wound may well have been sustained from one of the white geese, though until now they had shown no signs of aggression. Anyhow, I decided that the best course of action was to place the injured gosling close to the rest of its family and then leave things be. It would struggle to keep up, but if they stayed with it there was a small chance it would make a recovery. I wandered off to tend the veg plot and when I returned about half an hour later there was just a scattering of down where the chick had been. Presumably the crows had found it and picked it off.
Reluctantly I decided that for a week or so the goose family would have to return to the stable and stay there. This would mean having to risk the wrath of George to feed and water them every day, but I am hoping that they will grow big enough to be safe from the crows and other dangers outside.

Well, that's nearly the end of the goose tale so far. But things nearly took one final twist yesterday morning when I found one of the older goslings inside the water bucket.

Goodness knows how it had got there, but it certainly couldn't get out again. Fortunately I found it before it became too waterlogged and managed to get past the sitting goose and remove it. The poor thing was bedraggled. I had to get to work soon, so decided to put it back with its family. But it was so bedraggled that it struggled to waddle, it's back end so heavily soaked. The dewy grass was not helping either and the morning sun wasn't warm enough to help it dry. I went off to let the chickens out and when I returned there was a dark, menacing figure prowling around the scene like a hyena. The ever vigilant crows were onto the situation!

There was only one thing for it. I had about 5 minutes before I needed to leave for work and if I left things as they were then this gosling had a fair chance of meeting a grizzly end. I needed to return it to the stables. But this meant risking a severe mauling from the gander. I got close but he was coming closer and closer, with one of the girls as backup, their hissing, waving necks like an irate Medusa. I quickly came up with a plan. I would let him go for me, grab his neck with one hand and grab the gosling with the other hand. I would hope that the second goose would not go for me too and I would do my best not to get a whack form the gander's flapping wings.

I took a deep breath and went for it. There was a minor scuffle and then, seconds later, I was fleeing the scene clutching onto a bedraggled gosling. I placed it back in the stables, next to the sitting goose, then I really did have to go to work. I just hoped that the gosling would be okay till I got home. To lose it now after it had come so far would be a huge shame.

I returned from work in the afternoon and headed straight for the stables. No sign of the gosling. I kicked the straw, half expected to uncover a sad ball of feathers, but nothing. I went out into the garden and there were two very healthy, very fluffy goslings! I couldn't even tell which one had been in so much trouble this morning.
Meanwhile, in the other stable, things may be a little cramped, like a large family squeezed into a one bedroom flat, but at least everyone is safe. Seven goslings remain and I have high hopes that we won't lose any more. They spend more time under the goose which is sitting than they do with their own parents, but everyone seems happy.

There are two more active nests, so come June we could have quite a lot of geese helping us cut the grass. Intruders beware!

Tomorrow... Second place for cuteness goes to...?

An Amazing Three Weeks

No blog posts for 3 weeks! Where have I been?

Well I've been on an incredible adventure. An adventure right here.


Our first ever lambs
Mutton and Geoff

My 500th bird species in Britain. A massive landmark.
Hudsonian Godwit

Our first goose-reared goslings



Boris - our first puppy



Test week at school, but I manage to fit in my 501st bird in Britain
...and my 502nd the next day!

I learn the dark art of welding

Lots more goslings!

And May has given us some rain at last.

In the next few days I hope to be able to write a little bit about each of these.
For now I'm off to play with Boris!

Our first ever lambs.

It's been a tiring couple of days.

I would like to announce the birth, at 2:49 on Tuesday morning, of our first ever lamb!

And, half an hour later, the birth of our second ever lamb!

Before I carry on, I'd just like to say a massive thank you to the vets at Vets One Ltd in Crimplesham, West Norfolk. You'll understand when you read on.
Also, despite the angst, this is one of the most special things Sue and I have ever experienced. On our mantelpiece stands the motto "Have the courage to pursue your dreams". Moments like this are what that is all about.

But now a warning. This post contains images of birthing, so if you don't want to see the reality, scroll right down to the end. For, not unlike the current imminent royal birth, this has been an overly protracted affair.
This is also a long post with lots of detail for those who might find themselves in the same position as us. If you just want to see cute pictures, scroll right down to the end.

Rambo
When we got him, he was supposed to have been castrated!!!

I'll take you back to last November, when we let Rambo in with the ewes. We weren't as methodical as we perhaps should have been about this. Most put a saddle of dye onto the ram so they know when the ewes have been covered. Most take the ram back out again so they can be fairly precise about expected lambing dates. Many have their sheep scanned so they know how many to expect (though there can be surprises). We did none of this but took a more laissez-faire attitude.

By late March it was clear that two of the 3 ewes were expecting. The earliest they could give birth, by my rough and ready calculations, was the beginning of April, going by an average of 145 days gestation. With any luck it would happen during our Easter holidays, one reason for leaving things a little later than many. Another reason is that I would prefer the lambs born when the grass is truly growing well. There's no hurry to get these lambs fattened, as Shetlands are a small native breed which really need to go into a second year.

We knew the signs of imminent labour - stargazing, separation from the flock, restlessness, pawing at the ground, lip curling. As soon as we observed these, we would bring the ewe down to the stables where we had a lambing block prepared.
So imagine Sue's surprise two weeks ago (while I had zoomed down overnight to the Scilly Isles) to find a lamb down in the sheep field. Unfortunately it was dead. Not nice, but part of real life smallholding. It would have been a very big lamb too.

Sue, with a little help from friends, brought the two pregnant ewes up to the stables and there they stayed, the still pregnant one and the bereaved. They would be happy with company and we wanted to be able to check on their health regularly.
Now, last weekend I began to think that the ewe which had given birth should be losing a bit of weight by now. If anything, she appeared to be getting bigger! The other one is so woolly that it's difficult to tell. It was then that Sue informed me that it was, in fact, the darker of the two which had already given birth! I was surprised to say the least. She had never looked as large as the other one and had certainly shown no signs of early labour whatsoever.


The bereaved ewe.
She took great interest in proceedings and clearly wants to be an aunt.

Onto Sunday morning. At 10:30 the paler ewe was flumped on the ground breathing very deeply. She was regularly licking her lips, getting up and turning round and pawing the straw. She was clearly going into labour.
We got the lambing kit out and read up on what to do. Timings in our literature were vague but this first stage of labour should, we reckoned, last anything between 4 and 24 hours. At the end of it, she would pass a mucus plug which would mark the start of going into labour proper, the delivery.
Up to two hours later a water bag would emerge, fairly quickly followed by, hopefully, the appearance of a nose and two front feet.
Note the timings.

From here we get down to the nitty gritty, including images. Just a warning...

By Sunday evening, not much more had happened. She was spending most of her time just standing and breathing very deeply. I stayed up till 1 in the morning, with frequent visits to the stables. I then set up camp on the sofa and set the alarm for 2:30. And for 4:00. And finally for 5:30. Still nothing. It was now 19 hours since she showed signs of first stage labour, but she still hadn't really stretched, yawned or bleated, all things which she should start to do as labour proper approached.
Sue went off to work but I decided I should swap my days and stay at home. It got to 2pm, now 28 hours since first signs, and I decided I should call our friendly farm vets for some advice. She (the ewe, not the vet) was showing no signs whatsoever of pushing and I was getting very worried. At the very least, I suspected we may be dealing with another dead lamb.

At least the ewe did not seem to be in any trouble, or tired, so it was agreed that I would just wait and see. The vets have a 24hour phone line so I could always call later in the evening.

Sue returned from work but things were still the same. It got dark. Things were still the same. I decided that I would just have to wait with her and watch. If nothing had changed by early morning, I would call out the vet, but she really did not seem to be in any great discomfort (the ewe again).

Then, at quarter past ten, 36 hours after the first signs, her water bag emerged. Before I could get a picture, she laid down and burst it. It was just like a dark red balloon hanging from her back end, about the size of a grapefruit. The bag, or another, then filled up with a watery substance and hung from her back.

I consulted the literature again, just to check, which was fairly vague but basically said that nose and feet should appear any time from now. An experienced ewe should give birth within an hour, a first timer within 2 hours. If it reached this time, "intervention" (going in to examine) should be considered.
Note the timings.

I settled down, huddled up for warmth on a straw bale. Sue napped on the straw. At half past midnight Sue went off to bed. She can not swap her work days and needed to sleep. I waited...and waited...

At 2 o'clock, almost 4 hours after the water bag had emerged, I reluctantly woke Sue and we decided we would have to call the vet again. The ewe was showing no sign of stretching or straining and a dead lamb inside her would lead to big problems for the ewe.
Katharine, who was on night duty, put our minds at rest telling us that it wasn't too unusual for things to take this long. She did advise that Sue (who has the smaller hands) roll up her sleeves and apply the lube though!
We had been on courses and practised for this. They use a dead lamb in a box and you have to feel for head, legs and feet to work out which way round it is. On the course we had been quite good at this. However, the box wasn't alive!!

I held the ewe, trying to balance being gentle with keeping her still, while Sue went in. Sue was only able to get her hand in. The cervix felt tight and hard. The results were inconclusive.

Another call to the vet and the possibility of ring womb was discussed - a condition where the cervix does not dilate, requiring a vet to intervene. We decided to give it another 2 hours before calling the vet back. Sue went back to bed and I settled in for a long night. It was cold. The sky was clear.

Not ten minutes later I was running up the stairs to get Sue out of bed. I don't know if it was her intervention which prompted action, but a hoof had appeared!
By the time we got to the stable, the ewe had actually started to strain for the first time. There still seemed to be just the one hoof showing and, if anything, it looked like a back hoof. It may be time for the lube again!
But then another big push by the ewe and all became clearer. It was a nose!

The rest happened quickly. The hooves. Half way out. And then out popped a tiny lamb. The umbilical cord broke. If the lamb was alive, we needed to be ready to break its bag and clear the mucus from its mouth and nostrils, as its air supply would be gone now.
Then it moved and wriggled and started breathing for itself. Mum turned round and straight away started licking her newborn lamb clean.

It tottered to its legs shakily before falling down again. Mum carried on licking it. Again it tottered to its legs and headed straight toward mum's udders before toppling into the straw. It bleated pathetically and mum answered in a much deeper voice. This continued for a while.

The anxious first time parents, Sue and I, knew that the lamb needed to suckle, ideally within 30 minutes of birth. The first milk produced by the mum is actually known as colostrum, a thick yellowish liquid which has twice as much protein as milk and importantly passes mum's antibodies on to the newborn. A lamb only has brown fat, enough to keep it warm for 2 hours. If it does not suckle by then, it will rapidly develop hypothermia and become weak.
In our time as smallholders we have learned just how very susceptible very young creatures are to becoming weak and dying. Nature is very harsh.

The baby was trying to reach mum's teats, but mum just kept moving around. For she was going back into labour with a second lamb. I wasn't surprised for she had been very fat and that first lamb was tiny. As she lay on her side straining, she was still licking the first lamb clean. Now there's a devoted mother!

The second lamb was larger. This one was black and a boy. Again, it came out the right way which was a relief to Sue and I. It was slower to move though so Sue wiped it's face with an old towel to clear the mucus away. Mum turned to lick it, but she had a balancing act now, for she was still tending to the firstborn. The second lamb slowly tottered to its feet before flumping headfirst into the straw. It didn't seem so lively as the first and was making no effort to reach mum's udders.

Meanwhile, the firstborn had found the milk! This was good news, but mum seemed to be spending more time with that one, even though the second born needed her right now. I was rubbing the second with a towel to dry it off. Mum helped, but kept returning to the first. She was besotted with it.

After 20 minutes the black lamb still had not gone anywhere near mum's udders. Every time it got underneath her, she would move or it would just nuzzle in completely the wrong place. Besides, the firstborn was already on the teat and it did not seem to know to look on the other side.

We decided to snip their umbilical cords now, so that it was done. One had snapped off quite short, but the other's was virtually dragging on the ground - a sure route for infection to enter the lamb. This operation was easily accomplished with a pair of sterilised scissors. We dipped the ends of the cords into iodine and rocked the lambs backwards so that the iodine did the job really well.
We mixed up some powdered colostrum. It doesn't contain mum's antibodies, but would at least keep the lamb nourished and alive for a while longer. We fed it from a bottle, which it accepted readily. In theory it's better to feed through a stomach tube so that liquid cannot enter the lamb's lungs, but we are not trained to do that and right now the most important thing seemed to be to get some nourishment into this vulnerable little creature.

The black lamb responded well and seemed to gain in strength. But still it could not find mum's teats. It was so tall that when it crouched under mum it did not seem to think to look up! The firstborn was showing the way, but it did not follow. Mum certainly wasn't rejecting the lamb, but she was still more preoccupied with the first. The second was going to have to show some initiative. I kept trying to put it underneath mum but it just wasn't getting the hang of it. Meanwhile every time I handled the lamb I was getting iodine all over myself.
Sue went back to bed and I stayed up.
There was still one stage of the labour to go, the passing of the placenta. If this doesn't come out it can spell trouble for the ewe. However, this stage actually went by the book. Not only that, but mum had the good grace to eat it too. If they don't, you're actually supposed to dispose of it by calling the knacker man. Ridiculous. I wonder how many people actually do. In fact all through the labour mum was very careful to get rid of any liquids or other substances which fell to the floor. I guess that in nature they would need to do this to avoid attracting predators. But it's handy for the smallholder too. It's also vital extra nutrition for the ewe.
Once the placenta was gone, I moved the trio to a mothering pen which had been carefully disinfected and had plenty of fresh straw.
By the time Sue had got up again and gone to work, both lambs were much drier and looking healthier. The black lamb had enjoyed quite a large feed and I felt safe enough to go to bed for an hour.
When I got up, both lambs were still looking healthy but the black lamb still had not found its food source. I mixed up more colostrum and it fed hungrily.

But I was concerned that mum's colostrum would be a much better alternative. Also, if it did not suckle then we would be lumbered with a lamb (however cute) to bottle feed day and night. Of course we would do it, but it wouldn't be ideal. I mean, imagine if I had to take it on a twitch!
I tried to get some milk from mum's teat to let the baby lick, but she really wasn't keen on this. But the baby seemed perked up by its latest feed. I left it alone and went to pottering in the polytunnel - always a good way to take my mind off things and a very comfortable place to be.
I returned about 40 minutes later and the black lamb was at least going through the motions of looking for milk, nuzzling underneath mum, even if it was at the front end!
I managed to reach under mum and hold her teat. With my other hand I held the lamb's mouth up to her teat. I don't know whether it thought it was the bottle or not, but eventually it latched on and started suckling. At last!

Of course, I didn't go back to sleep all day and I didn't get much work done, for I returned to the lambs every half hour or so just to check that they were still strong and healthy and feeding.

As I write, the lambs are now over a day old. They are, of course, the cutest lambs anybody has ever had. They have already had visitors and a steady stream of people are booked in for the next few days to come and admire them.
I will keep the pictures coming.

Sowing, growing and mowing...and just a little birding...and lambing...and no showers

I couldn't decide what to call this post. It could have been 'Sowing, Growing and Mowing' or 'My 500th Bird' or 'What No April Showers' or 'HELP! I've got to deliver a lamb'.

In the end I went for a mash up!

There's always something to be done here on the smallholding and April is no exception. There's sowing, growing and mowing to be done, and when that's done then there's more sowing, growing and mowing.
But yesterday was one of those rare days when there was actually nothing particularly urgent that I could be getting on with. The reason for this was the woefully dry April we've had - not one shower all month so far! Because of this, the sowing has ground to a halt. As so often seems to happen, forecasts of heavy rain have slowly changed to occasional light rain showers which have, in the end, never actually materialised.
So the plan for Saturday was to potter around in the polytunnel and possibly get the mower out later in the day.
That was until, just about to let the chickens out early morning, stunning news came through of a Hudsonian Godwit on the Somerset Levels.
So that was Saturday taken care of.

Hudsonain Godwit (3rd from left)
My 500th species in Britain

It was a big twitch.

I rolled back into the farm at 8 in the evening having driven a total of 461 miles and successfully twitched a very rare bird (the last gettable one was over 30 years ago!) This bird was for me more significant than most, as it was my 500th species in Britain, a goal which has taken me 17 years to achieve.

April is not supposed to be like this. I don't mean the complete lack of showers. I mean two trips to the Scilly Isles and a mad dash to Somerset in the space of less than two weeks. Anyway, I'm not complaining and I'm still relatively up with things on the farm.

Then last night we finally had some rain. Not enough to soak the ground, but enough to tempt me into sowing some seeds. Unfortunately I was due at the Green Backyard in Peterborough to further hone my skills at lime rendering the straw bale wall which we built a while ago. Sue was off to the Fenland Smallholders Meeting which was all about bees.
I say 'unfortunately' as it would otherwise have been a very good day to catch up with some of that seed sowing and potato planting which has been waiting for a little moisture in the soil.

I spent the morning sowing beetroots, carrots, turnips, mangel wurzels and fennel before reluctantly packing up ready to head off. It's not that I didn't want to go to the Green Backyard, far from it, just that sometimes the breaks in the weather happen at just the wrong time.

But all my plans changed as I popped in on the two ewes in the stables before leaving. The paler of the two was huffing and puffing and clearly going into the early stages of labour. (This was truly a great surprise to me, for reasons which will be apparent in hopefully my next post about the birth)Now I have delivered piglets and hatched all sorts of poultry (well, actually most of it was the pigs, chickens, ducks etc), but lambing is new territory for Sue and I.
All plans were cancelled so that we could be on hand if needed. This did at least mean that I could make the most of the opportunity and catch right up in the veg plot.

But I'm sure you'll want me to tell you about our first ever lambing experience. Well, it's now half past midnight and I am still on lambing duty. Our ewe is just sitting and huffing and puffing. I shall be checking on her throughout the night and if I think that the birth is imminent I have permission to wake Sue up!
I've a feeling it's going to be a long night.

Finally, as a contrast to zooming around the country in my quest to see new species of bird, I am delighted to report that the two tree sparrows continue to visit the feeders and to collect nest material. They are in very steep decline so it is a privilege that they they have come back onto the farm. The same goes for Grey Partridges. I was fortunate enough to get a glimpse of the two which currently seem to spend much of their time down near the empty pig enclosure. And this afternoon a Lapwing, yet another bird in steep decline as a breeding species, was displaying at the bottom of my land. Then tonight at least two Barn Owls were flying around calling. I managed to see one quite high up against the stars and another flutter into the hollow stem of one of the old ash trees.
I don't quite know what I'm doing, but I must be doing something right. Maybe, just maybe, it's small scale, integrated farming which is doing the trick.