Where next?

If you have read earlier posts, you will have seen that my mother died last October in her cottage on the farm, after living here for 18 years, and contributing far more than her age - 80s, 90s - might warrant.

A month ago my husband died in his nursing home. We had bought the farm together in 1989, after 10 years of partnership, and ran it together for 14 years as the first registered organic farm in Gwent.  Michael suffered a series of strokes from high blood pressure after the Foot and Mouth outbreak of 2001, lost more and more of his mental capacity, and finally retired to a nursing home in 2009.  I have been effectively running the farm's 30 acres (11 hectares) single-handed since 2004, and expected to be able to go on doing more of the same now as a single woman, but I find that - at any rate to begin with! - it's quite different.

I am struggling with the responsibility and all the work involved.  No doubt many wwoofers will be a little put off by this.  But, if you aren't, I need strong arms and minds more than ever before!  I believe I am as sociable and talkative as before - but am finding it difficult to cope with the immense business of keeping the place on its feet.  If anyone feels like being a lifebelt - do, please, get in touch!

. . . . . And so spring springs, as ever

There's something about lambs  .....

No.2 ewe, on the left here, gave me some sleepless nights.  For weeks she was globular, with an udder like a football.  But she had just the one lamb, this morning, large and fit, and both are healthy.



 
This not-so-little mite was no.1, born three days ago, and is getting deeply curious about his human carers already.








And here are the first twins.  Their spotty knees are the genetic inheritance from their mum; her breed is mostly Ryeland, a medieval breed based locally, between Hereford, Ross on Wye and Monmouth, and developed to make the most of the local red soil which lacks some minerals.  We've always found they do well here; should I go back to that breed after my trial of primitive Hebridean sheep?  My major problem with the Hebs is their colour - black - impossible to find under a hedge on a dark night.  I hadn't thought of that.

But don't forget the veg garden! It's still claggy and water-bound, but now is time to start sowing - broad beans in the tunnel, and tomatoes, celeriac, chillis, and more in the greenhouse.  The ground would be warming now if it weren't so wet.

Wet

"Wet" doesn't do it justice  . . . . .  In the past 8 weeks the farm has had 500mm (20 inches, in old money) of rain.  To put ir into context, the hot dry year of 2003 gave us a total of 636mm in the whole 12 months. Most years we get around 900mm.

Not much can be done in these conditions!  The higher end of the farm is just very wet - but the bottom is completely sodden from the rain rushing off the lane and through the fields on its way to the stream.  The veg garden is in the middle.  There will be more slugs than soil come spring.  Thank goodness there are no pigs on site right now.

 
Wet sheep.  I've moved them uphill now; their new field will soon be a bog too.






Wet hens.  They spend the day sheltering by the back door.  No wind or rain there, but lots of mess for me to step through.




I'm still hibernating.  Roll on spring!  And the fun of tackling those slugs!  Wwoofers, you will be so welcome!

And So ... ... ...

What a long year.  Achievements seem in short supply.

It was a lovely autumn; much drier than usual; the leaves hung on the oaks till mid-December, and the ones that did fall were heaped in toasty piles round the trees and hedges.  Until last week, that is, when the rain started again  ...  oh lor'.  The sheep stand round with their heads down, waiting for it to stop; the hens cluster round the back door, tapping on the glass to be let in; the cats leave a line of muddy paw prints along the edges of my bed, before jumping up and drying themselves on me and my night-clothes.

Next year's aims; yes, let's be positive! :

1.  More pigs again.

2.  Try to sell the first year's (2012 and 2013) half-bred Hebridean lambs.

3.  Find the right tenants for my mother's little cottage.  (May be there already with that one.)

4.  Of course, get the veg garden in spick-and-span, top-class condition.  You wouldn't believe how hard that can actually be!

Happy Solstice / Yule / Christmas-if-you-must to you all!

The End of an Era

No doubt many wwoofers remember my mother, happily digging and weeding in the vegetable garden into her 93rd year.  She loved working in the sun, and sitting in the sun.  Between 2005 and 2009, when all my time and energy went into being sole 24-hour carer for my husband, she alone kept the veg garden alive; it's only thanks to her efforts that I have somewhere moderately clear to grow food today.  She was 85-89 during that time.

Over the last summer her health declined and she died in October of heart failure.  She was 93 and a half - she was always proud of reaching the half-way point to the next milestone.

Sustainability shouldn't end there.  The family wanted, as she would have wanted, the most green and natural burial possible.  With the support of a Natural Burial Ground near Monmouth, we buried her shrouded in her beloved cellular blankets (pure wool) with no coffin, straight into the grave in a dedicated and very beautiful field.

  She is lying in her pink blankets, by the grave.












And is being lowered into the ground by her son-in-law, grandsons, and eldest nephew.

And is settled gently into the comfort of her last resting place.









We'd all recommend this as a moving and very personal way to say goodbye.

Now back to work on the farm and garden and orchard  . . . . .  I may have laid hands on a pair of horses at last.  They are so tiny that I could almost pick the smallest one up in my arms.

A tough time . . . . comes to all hosts

 A better summer than last year, but the ill health that even wwoof hosts can't always avoid has slowed things up far too much.  As ever, wwoofers have been wonderful; reliable and hard-working and cheering.  Thank you all!

There have been other set-backs.  Our excellent local abattoir has ceased killing anything but cattle, so I have, at present, nowhere reliable to take my lambs from which I can be sure I will get my own back.  That's worrying.

Lack of energy has led to severe paperwork back-logs.  It's difficult to set to with a bit of paper at the best of times.

But the new hens have been very supportive; they chatter underfoot in the kitchen, and when no scraps are forthcoming, they settle down under the kitchen table and doze off until life gets more interesting again.

Four horses from the local rescue centre have been recuperating on my super grass.  I am angling to get my draught-horse from there; need to wait till a suitable one turns up; maybe little Storm and Cane (Kane?) on the left here.  They're small enough to be manageable by a complete novice like me!








And I now have super new compost bins (wwoofer-built), the original ones having fallen to bits.  Here's the late-summer's harvest of fertility.  There are two more bins to come, for the autumn and early spring collections.  My light steep soil needs constant boosting so I'm confident that this time, next year really will be better.

Phhhheeeww  . . . . .

Hot, or what? Too much for me. Amazingly, I had two wwoofers here who didn't mind the heat (they are from South America) and they spent days clearing the shoulder-high weeds that had grown a metre in three weeks. (Why won't the veg grow as well?) Wet followed by warmth is a good recipe for weeds. Nicolas and Nadia, I salute you!

The jackdaw overstayed his welcome, but in the end I taught him to pick up his own food, instead having it thrust down his throat. It took a while for the cats to accept him in the house without growling, but they did - here are me, my huge cat Fish, and Jack, having a cuddle together.

 The hay fields looked glorious before the cut. We haven't had July haymaking weather like this since 2006.

 

The hayfields are of course composed of plants that grow just as readily in the garden, where they are not supposed to be - and are therefore classed as weeds. No problem howking them out from the veg beds as the surrounding fields are full of them and will readily replace them.





You can see how beautifully green the bales are.  Good hay at last! The beauty of my meadows is that they are full of different flowers and grasses, giving the animals a varied and nourishing diet (unlike non-stop rye grass) and they are self-sustaining. The only thing I put on them to help them grow is sheep. They self-seed, the vetches and clovers provide all the nitrogen needed, and year by year they change with the weather and the grazing pattern. The helpers that I have to get in to do the carting (not being strong enough myself) are telling the whole town that my hay is the best they have ever seen.