chicken and beetroot!

What a two weeks since I last posted. Grey mist has hung over us like a thick soggy blanket only allowing the sun through on occasions to brighten up the gloom. Yep - me as well! What with the fox calling one lunchtime and reducing my happy little flock of feathered friends from 16 to four in one fell swoop, the head cold from hell and lets face it -its November good old Christmas on the horizon and everybody know how much I love that!

Even a street party failed to get me bouncing off four walls as it usually does but I enjoyed Toby watching the fireworks and giggling as we shouted 'bang' together. He held his first sparkler under grandad's tuition.

We took the decision immediately that our chicken keeping at this house was indeed well and truly over. The bonfire at the party was built up with our chicken pens, fencing and run. In the middle were the headless carcasses of Mr Phillpott our pet duck and his chicken wife Martha, along with the rest that were left for Mr Fox to call back for when he needed another meal. Sorry mate - we over cooked them. I well remember all the evenings we had sat outside and shared tit bits with Mr Phillpot - he loved a party night it seemed fitting he should be there at the end.

As we dismantled the runs in the daytime we had found some survivors, one even came out of the bonfire. We collected them together caught them up and put them in the shed out of harms way until we could decide what to do.

So today found us on the road South to Leominster to meet another blogger Woozle 1967 with four chickens on board. We had an assignation in a carpark by a fire station for 3:30pm. We found the place and decided to have a walk round because we were early. As we walked between the cars the shepherd pointed to something on the ground 'somebody has lost their beetroot' he remarked - and there it was, a big bag of beautiful beetroot, all on its own, by itself with nobody with it. Now having walked out of a shop this morning leaving the most stunted beetroot tied in bunches of five with a price tag of £1 this was indeed a find. We looked round the car park, we noted some had been kicked over to the grass and abandoned so with no more ado we scrabbled around on the ground and collected them all up and before you could say 'pickle' they were all in the back of the truck up and by the end of tomorrow they will be reformed into beetroot chutney.

The chickens were soon on their way further South to a new home where I know they will be well cared for - thank you Woozle. (and if you think 'purple' women can talk - you should see what happens when 'purple' men get together......)!

We drove back home in silence just a stop at The Ludlow Food Centre at Bromfield to find something 'different' for this evening's meal. This infernal virus has left me without any taste buds and most food is like eating chaff.....and so back home ....no chickens to shut in.....no duck on the doorstep.....end of an era...well just for now anyway.

I shall just have to say it ....its nice to be home!

We set out for the Welsh Coast last Thursday with some objectives loosely in mind, one being a day at Aberystwyth University with youngest son having a good old mosey round at The Open Day, another was to meet friends in Dollgellau on Friday. We chose to stay at a cottage we stayed in many years ago quite frequently but have not been back for a number of years and the ownership may have changed a few times in that period. I shall not hanker to return again.

The journey up to the coast started promisingly enough but finished in a howling gale and torrential rain in a prematurely dark afternoon. I had driven the whole way in the truck and by the time we parked I was clenching the wheel so tightly I thought I was welded to it. Scary stuff believe me - so scary the shepherd was travel sick - well there's a first and my goodness did I gloat! He is always so unsympathetic when it's me or the boys suffering - ha - revenge and all that ......

He recovered quickly enough on terra firma and a with a strong cuppa. Later we made our way down to the pub for an evening meal. We sat looking out at the stormy waves throwing the boats about that were anchored in the harbour feeling more queasy as the evening passed.

Friday dawned quite early - well the bed was that hard I just had to get up and go for a walk. The storm had abated, all was well with the world and Aberdovey looked as beautiful as I had remembered it, with the views out to the sea and across to Ynyslas and Borth on the other side of the Dyfi estuary. We were soon on our travels towards Dollgellau along the coast road to Tywyn and then along the Mawddach estuary through Fairbourne. Dollgellau is not somewhere I remember very well but with the sun shining from a bright blue sky it did not seem so dismal as I expected. We found the livestock market which was huge with sheep in pens as far as the eye could see. Shepherd heaven! We found our friends and sat nattering over coffee in the ramshackle cafe. I could not understand a word that was being spoken as dozens of old shepherdy men down for the day exchanged greetings and probably insults over their steaming mugs in broad Welsh.

Eventually we left the market but not before I snapped the lorry owned by the ram dealer!

We wandered around the little town, quirky and narrow. The stone used in the little buildings looks big and awkward and gives the whole town a strange look, almost as if children built it in a hurry.

The views of the hills on the way back were beautiful and we stopped off in Tywyn for a wander along the sea front virtually deserted in bright warm sunshine.

Saturday found me up pacing the floor again just in time to catch the dawn breaking over the Dyfi - one moment pink the next minute gold. I knew we were in for trouble - Red sky at night shepherd's delight, red sky in the morning shepherd's warning. We were on the road to Aberystwth by 8:30 and it was raining steadily by the time we reached the University Campus. We spent the day milling aound with numerous other worried parents with their 17 year old sons and daughters all trying to look so cool and failing miserably. I sighed a big sigh - if only I could have my time again I'd be banging the door down to get in -

Down on the seafront huge waves roared along the harbour wall and exploded over the parked cars. The sky just opened - emptying rain and hailstones on us as we ran for the cover of the truck. The drive back to Aberdovey was a nightmare I would rather forget!

Sunday morning I was almost too scared to peep through the curtains in case the storm was still raging. Just grey and quiet - phew! We had to be on our way by 10am, by 9:30 we were packed and the little cottage polished and swept. We gingerly made our way along the estuary road flooded in places with leaves in the drains. Waterfalls cascaded down the hillside onto the road. Everything looked very well washed in the golden autumn sun.

When we reached the Pont Dyfi bridge just outside Machynlleth we were amazed. The floodwaters were filling the arches of the bridge and at any moment were about to erupt into the road. The bridge was closed and we were diverted through parts of the Dyfi valley I had never seen before. Farmers with trailers and lorries darted everywhere hurrriedly moving livestock to higher ground, a very busy Sunday in Wales.....

We passed a group of traditional gypsy caravans, the happy goat in the little trailer on the back munching away, sadly everybody else looked pretty wet and bedraggled.

It was just so nice to trundle up the hill, see our sheep quietly grazing in the sun, the cats met us at the gate and the dogs set up a chorus of welcome.....home sweet home!

Off I go again......

Ludlow in the autumn on a glorious sumnny day has to be seen to be appreciated. The sun warms the old stone of the castle and the rows of trees around the base fringe it with gold. As we stood on the steps of Dinham House and looked up at the castle walls someone had removed the Virginia creeper in a tidy up but strands of the blood red leaves still stuck in the masonry high above us looking like streaks of blood on an old grey elephant, battle wounds, honour scars. Dinham House, once the home of Lucien Bonaparte, Nelson's brother, has had a history that is chronicled in glass cases and story boards in a quiet room on the first floor, the rest of it is beautifully laid out as a walk round exhibtion of Clearview woodburning stoves. Each room is decorated and furnished to perfection and each room has a woodburning stove lit and oozing warmth. We sat on the enormous dark red sofa in the first room and just gazed around at the lovely wooden arm chairs, the fireplace, the mirrors, the baskets and stored up ideas for the future. Such a clever way to sell their product - warm you through well, relax you in beautiful surroundings and grab your cheque book on the way out - no they didn't - honest. But should you be in Ludlow it is a lovely way to spend an hour or so as we did yesterday- then just wander out into the Castle Square, call at Price's the bakers for something for tea, the Castle Bookshop and down the alley to De Greys where the atmosphere is warm and tea cups tinkle amongst murmered conversations and young ladies in black and white deliver white china and tea strainers to the table with deft elegance.

The cellar rooms in Dinham House with terracotta plant pots along the windowsills

Then I could add some details of the visit to the dentist but I won't spoil it.....

On the way home I decided to take the hill route it was such a gorgeous day and found a wily old fox drinking from a puddle - I thought he would run off but he stayed on the verge playing with something, like a cat with a mouse. Camera out and ready I just left the car in the middle of the road and tried to creep back - me and 'creep' just do not go together really - and my heels clipped on the tarmac in places - he was just so engrossed in his game or stone deaf he let me get so close. His tail was old and manky more like a well worn bottle brush. I had a moment of 'yikes what if he goes for me? - bet he is rabid!' Another wild life photographer was born in that moment but I guess I may only ever have one picture in my portfolio....

Holiday time....

..well it is for me for a week and a bit! Trying to catch up on a million jobs that need doing before the dreaded dark nights close in like a big black sack. From the end of October until the beginning of March I only see the house and garden in daylight at weekends. A pale creature batting pink rimmed eyes creeps out now and again to make sure no charmer has repainted the house bright yellow in my absence, you never know what could happen down this lane I kid you not.
The season for sheep and farm sales is now past, what shall I do on a Saturday? - I am bereft!
The garden needs 'putting to bed' the roses need cutting back to 'knee high November' but they are still flowering as if it is midsummer. The hanging basket needs changing into a pansy basket and I had better get the windchime in before it drives everybody crazy in the wind. I WILL polish it Bodran - promise.

Last Wednesday evening after a meeting we started discussing The Arvon Foundation, The Hurst at Clun and John Osborne, I knew practically nothing about him until one lovely October day last year we happened upon his tombstone in Clun churchyard. Now I am so intrigued and am looking forward to reading his biography.

Then it was Thursday and what can I add to what has already been said elsewhere? What a lovely day, from the setting out on a gorgeous day, to the wander around Mountainear's beautiful garden, catching the little train to the coast, being waited on as we sat and nattered, the Highland cow at Borth. -Do not even ask the question as to why exactly is there a Highland cow complete with horns grazing near the railway line at Borth? Not a clue. Borth - every time I see it reminds me of a run down western town without injuns - they probably caught the train back - sharpish. Sorry all you Borth lovers it just doesn't do a thing for me, never has done, never will, but I know people that just love it to bits and even move there.

The wind blew in Aberystwyth, it was one of those cruel winds that goes straight though a body instead of round it. We were buffeted around the promenade which was virtually empty until Operation Aberystwyth came to fruition amid much shrieking and giggling. Then as a troupe we were to be found drinking cappuccino coffees in a Greek Taverna overlooking Aberystwyth sea front - beat that! Sounds like the Eurovision song contest!

It so strange to meet people for the first time that you already know so well in print. Within minutes the conversations are on a normal footing chatting away as though over the garden wall. We wandered about the town and then up Constitution Hill on the little train that has seen better days. At the top there was a sheltered spot overlooking the bay - more nattering required before it was back down into the town and a need for more coffee to warm us up.

As we made our way back home on the little train full of students going home for a long weekend we marvelled at the technology that had forged our friendships and agreed we could see ourselves heading off again on the little train to Wales ...next spring perhaps?

As for me I shall be back there next weekend, as one prospective student and two anxious parents wander round the campus on Open Day. Meanwhile there are things to do, places to go people to see....

PS We wont be staying in Borth - Highland Cattle or no Highland Cattle!

Busy busy busy......

I look down at those pictures in the post below and can still remember that searing heat and the desperation to get in the shade. It was the last really hot day for this year I should think. The following Saturday found us off again on the sheep trail. Following an advert in the local paper we wound our way down into Herefordshire, which strangely enough is not a county I have visited very often, other than getting lost in fog in Leominster once, and I think I had better gloss over that.

We found Kington but didn't have time to explore, so it is on my list to return for a closer look in the near future, but it looked very unspoiled, very quirky and quaint.

On we went into the hills following signs for various religious denominations - United Reformed Chapel one way, Anglican Church the other. We found the address and met some lovely people and admired their flock of Badger Faced sheep so much we bought six young ladies and were soon on our way home with them in the truck. This is the shepherdess that decreed NO MORE! But they are just so beautiful, we bought two last year and they have proved to be lovely mothers, need no intervention with lambing and just grow into such lovely unusually marked ewes.

Today it was off to AE Housman country -' Clunton, Clungunford, Clunbury and Clun the quietest places under the sun...' not when there is a farm sale they're not! Landrovers clattering past with trailers heading off in search of a bargain. We followed the signs and found the field for parking and were soon in amongst the throng following the auctioneers along the rows of sheep hurdles, old machinery, troughs and fence poles. We veered off and went to look at the sheep, lined up in their age groups, marked and coloured accordingly. I was soon back to people watching....an old lady with wispy hair fascinated me, she was at the last farm sale we were at. She smiled secretlyas she passed a knowledgeable hand over the backs of the sheep yet she looks too frail to wrawl many about, and she was soon off to the machinery .....oh well! Wonder if that will be me in years to come? The shepherd came to find me with that eager look of a shepherd who has spotted the possibility of a bargain except I had left the cheque book at home --oops! (on purpose but dont tell him will you?)

Clungunford was on my list to have a closer look at, so we parked by the village hall and despite the faint drizzle a closer look I intended to have! Off we went down tracks, up alleys, across footpaths - nowhere was sacred - this was a shepherdess in action ...'plain nosey' he says! Yes I agree, but how is one supposed to get to the heart of a place without being inquisitive? 'Now if there is a burglary here tonight we will get the blame!' he mutters.

We found the Church dedicated to St Cuthbert - the same St Cuthbert as in The Farne Islands no less, famed for his ability to tame wild birds he is usually depicted with birds at his feet. A lane alongside the church led us to the mystery of the Clungunford Motte. A wonderful carved wooden story board in the hedgerow tells the story of how the Rector went out one night with a pick and shovel to search for treaure and pots of gold and changed the shape of the motte forever 'now known to the local folk as 'Bum Hill' and yes that's what it does look like! Did we laugh!

Home again and for shepherds and shepherdesses there is still work to be done, the little ladies have to be injected with Heptavac seven in one to protect them from 7 of the miserable sheepy ills thay can fall foul of. I jabbed myself one year and a few days later was unable to move my neck so thought I had better own up to the Dr. He said I would be OK for braxy, pulpy kidney and all the other ailments but had probably OD'd on the tetanus which was why I had a stiff neck! He laughed ! No sympathy there then!

All jabbed and tagged as the rain set in, just one more job to do, and that meant moving a tup lamb out of the range of ewes all about to come into season - he has come to live with a neighbour's goat until he becomes minted chops and lamb shank in the freezer. Bonnie the goat took one haughty look at her new friend and carried on eating as he sniffed round her rear end- the words coming out between chomping grass sounded very like 'dont even think about it you stupid liitle boy sheep!'

Another busy day draws to a close with the log burner lit and the shepherd snoozing away with two of the cats aboard as usual ....zzzzzzzzzz Tatty cat and Charley Stripe trying to stare each other out but falling asleep in the process.

Pen 56!

Saturday morning, the alarm went off and with a quick squint out of the window to see what the weather held in store we were on the starting blocks and away with the front runners. Straight down the A488 through Bishops Castle, Clun and Knighton heading for a farm on the hillside above Llandrindod Wells to a farm sale. As we drove along, the mist that lay in the valleys was rising under the warmth of the sun; already tractors were out ploughing silhouetted against the bright light. As we clattered around the narrow streets in the little towns, an empty livestock trailer clatters like the very devil on a quiet morning, old men were walking back from newsagents shops with the daily papers neatly folded, neatly folded white paper bags hiding delectable treats for later and the obligatory old dogs on leads tottering along with resigned expressions on their grey faces.

We followed the signs up into the mist after leaving Penybont and climbed into the hills, we couldn't actually see them but just knew that they were out there somewhere. We parked in amongst a whole field of Landrovers and Ifor Williams trailers, 4x4's of every size and breed and cattle lorries. Well you dont go to a farm sale without the means to bring something home do you? The mist was really cold and heavy as we walked up to the farm, it was collars up and where's my gloves as I pushed young Toby in his pushchair across the bumpy grassy ruts and wished desperately I had worn wellies.

Within minutes the sun had disposed of the mist and I was amazed at the glorious view of the hills which make up the Radnor forest. Red kites swirled overhead, such majestic birds. I was able to watch a family of them for most of the day which was indeed a treat. They mewed to each other as they rose and drifted on the thermals - the youngsters definitely shouting 'quick look at me, look at me, look what I can do' just as youngsters do.

While the shepherd wandered with shepherd's little helper around the machinery and piles of rusty iron and useless bits of tat that always get lugged into a farm sale I sat on a draw bar of an imposing blue trailer in the sun and people watched. By this time all the fleeces were tied round middles, it just got hotter and hotter. Fresh faced girls with bouncy pony tails went by following the farm lads in their best boiler suits. Those that had come for the social occasion found friends and dutifully discussed the weather and other friends with intense expresssions and a lot of 'ooooo's' and 'ahhhhhhhh's', 'he never' and 'oh but he did'...new babies were peeped at and the growth rate of toddlers admired.

We ate our picnic on a flat trailer in the sun, Toby was totally confused because he hadn't got a plate to eat his sandwiches off - how remiss a grandma can be on a Saturday? He could not put the sandwiches down so had to hold them all squashed in chubby hands and manage as best he could while grandma laughed her socks off at his efforts! Thank goodness for wet wipes.

The shepherd had spotted some sheep he fancied and so we trailed up the field after him in the midday sun. Toby was in and out of all the pens outstretched hands to each and every one of the thousand sheep trying to make friends with just one. We plonked him in an empty pen - no 56 - just to keep him under control for five minutes but he soon worked out the escape route.

As the shepherd waited for the pen of his choice to go under the hammer I took the tiring Toby up onto the road in his chariot to get some respite from the searing heat and we wandered backwards and forwards under the shady trees, Toby dozed and I got myself chatted up by a couple of gnarled old famers who were also taking advantage of the trees to get some shade. One old farmer smiled winningly showing his two teeth and was indeed quite open with his conversation, ' You aren't from round here are you?' 'Is that yorn babby?' (not bad really in the same week as I was charged OAP rates to go into the cinema) 'Is yer husband alive?' (he wont be if he bids more than £40 for those sheep!) Whilst the other one did have a bit more finesse and a few more teeth......

He bought the sheep. We loaded them up and were back on our way to Shropshire with a sleeping Toby before I was whisked away by a two toothed Wesh farmer looking for a wife/housekeeper/shepherdess. We delivered the sheep to the fields, duly wormed, marked and tagged and then it was off to deliver Toby back home- filthy and clutching an eccles cake with grim determination desperate to find a plate - civilisation -plates- what a relief, bless him! I bet he slept well last night, I know I did!

Just a quiet, ordinary sort of weekend.........

You mean that not everybody is woken by the sound of deep breathing coming from OUTSIDE the bedroom window at about 2am on a Saturday morning? A retching scrawking sound seems to relieve it for a while and then it starts again, wheeze, wheeze, wheeze. 'Oh for goodness sake cough properly or sod off!' I shout from under my duvet. No good, I am too awake, so I pad across to look down onto the top of the bay window below and there he is - my asthmatic owl!

We have noticed owl pellets on the top of the bay window a number of times and he is often there on fine nights wheezing away, but Friday night had been a night of disharmony in the owl population in the woods around us, the noise was unbelievable, meanwhile he sat there gasping away as though he had been a forty woodbine a day kinda owl!

By 6am I was up again to chase sheep round a field, as you do first thing on a beautiful Saturday morning. The lambs were sold and heading off to Wales by 10:30am. The Nationwide shareholders can sleep easy in their beds for a couple of days knowing that our sheep account looks a lot healthier than it has done for a long time.

I left the shepherds repairing fences in the sunshine and went off for another walk around Attingham Park. I collected a friend and grandson Toby on the way. Needless to say when I picked Toby up he was immaculate. Ha! we can soon alter that... as he fell headlong on the soft soil along the woodland path ....about six times! Then add an ice cream on a stick...yesssssssssss! Then hand him back to his dad, 'All yours to scrub clean...byeeeeeeee!' I am indeed a very naughty nanny ....tee hee!

The walled garden was bakingly hot in the sunshine and the colours of the cutting garden so vivid.

Home, to actually eat outside as dusk fell, the birds sang in the trees, especially a very voluble robin and big furry moths crashed around in the buddleia as though they were lager louts on a foreign holiday. I wonder what happens to them in all this bad weather we have had?...(moths not lager louts!)

Sunday - misty morning, cobwebs on all the hedges, heck this really IS Autumn. After a quick dash to Church to read the lesson on Holy Cross Day I came back down the lane to meet our neighbour who was setting out to an airfield in North Shropshire for a plane ride. Back at a street party in June he had one of those birthday's with noughts on and we had all clubbed together to buy him something to remember as a treat. He assured me that at 12:45 he would indeed be looking down to see what we get up to.

Cue mischief! Right... so between naughty neighbour and naughty nanny we gather towels, rugs, dog beds, kids dogs and husbands with binoculars into the field. We lay out a huge cross and wait for a plane to emerge from the North East. We waved at the big silver ones leaving vapour trails on their way South but they were a bit high really. Then out of the cloud drones this little white plane. Hysteria broke out. We waved sheets, we danced around the cross, the kids all screamed themselves hoarse. It disappeared heading South but by then we were all totally hyper. So we went and tarted up his garden for his return. The final touch being filling up an old hip bath he is renovating with water and floating some bath toys in it. The notice on the tied up gate read - 'sorry we missed you but we had a great party....'

We could hear the shriek when he returned but the laugh was on us...the flight had been cancelled due to low cloud at airfield! So who the hell had we been waving at? Goodness knows but out there somewhere is a very bemused pilot who could not have failed to notice a little band of hysterical savages on a wooded hillside in South Shropshire....oooooops!

Just a normal sort of weekend in the country...............it was the sun wot did it!