Dun February

I always used to call it Februaryitis.  Everything is grey; the brown soil is grey, the green grass is grey, the sky of course is nothing but grey.  So depressing.  Winter has gone on too long already.  No doubt, climate change has ensured that things move faster and winter lasts less long - doesn't feel like it!

The sea of hay in the middle distance was once a crisp, tidy, plastic-protected cube of 330 bales.  The sheep crept under the plastic and ate the lower bales - the gales arrived - the plastic blew off.  After tying the plastic back down four times, we gave up, and the sheep have the pleasure of climbing all over their dinner.  It does at least save me the chore of barrowing two bales a day from the barn out to the hay rack. 
You can see the mud that 41 sheep and one shepherd have churned up.

The horses have done even better.  The camera has exaggerated - nonetheless, here is Hope at her pink bucket, her hay heap beyond.  She and Bob are so fed up with this.  They have been very good really, but the 8-weekly visit of the farrier to trim their hooves in the barn is getting more and more of a trial of strength as they "arm-wrestle" to get some attention and activity more exciting than their field (bare grey grass) and their feeding-lot (grey mud).
Hope will have to move on.  The farm isn't big enough for two full-size horses, and she will take more work to bring into full activity than we expected (this is me and her owner, Jane, my most useful friend!).  Bob will stay and, as a loving and willing but wholly untrained 3-year-old, take all the attention we can give him.

It hasn't been a bad winter, all in all, but as ever, I'll be glad when it's over.  The snowdrops are fresh and clear and sweet as ever.  The veg garden is in the middle of its biggest re-design for nearly 20 years - lots to get the teeth into!  Mine certainly - yours, I hope.  There's always hope.