Wrong Again!

A couple of weeks back I thought we'd witnessed the last of the swallows leaving their nest and flying off. But just a few days later, when I was mucking out the stables, I heard a familiar "chirrup, chirrrrup" and, sure enough, there in the beams above Ritz's stable was another nest of just-hatched little ones!

And then, walking into the old stalls to muck out the quarantined pigs just a short while later - lo and behold - the same noise and yet another just-hatched nest! The parents have been busily flying to and fro, feeding them up, for the past 10 days or so and both families are just about ready to leave their nests - which will be a relief for Ritz, who has been snowed on increasingly as the chicks have been growing - for a nearby beam from which, in another couple of days or so, they will start flying lessons.

That means it's going to be well into the first week in September before they are confident on the wing: another week or so of roosting at night on their safe beam before they'll be grown up enough to completely leave home. Which in turn means they will probably be flying back to Africa for the winter before they are much more than a month or two old.

If that doesn't qualify as one of nature's wonders, I don't know what does.

Meanwhile, one of nature's other little wonders - the duck we fondly know as Jemima - has just been for another week's holiday in the Poultry Palace whilst her 'family' have been sojourning at a delightful camping Platz over the other side of the country. It seems that, at just over two years old, she is beginning to grow up. Although she did boss all the others about for a little while, and comandeered the pond - for a little while - she was really quite quiet all week (for Jemima) and seemed content to snooze in the the dappled shade for much of the day. On the other hand, maybe she's just been here often enough now to feel almost 'at home' so doesn't need to make such a noise and fuss? Whichever - when Jack and Carrie turned up to collect her on Sunday she was in no great hurry to leave and had to be picked up an carried to her travelling box!

Plum crazy!

Two very wet summers and the unusual amount of cold weather during the last winter were followed by an uncommonly pleasant spring, particularly around blossom time. Consequently, we are now waging war on wasps! The orchard is heaving with fruit and the little buggers are having a real carnival.

The plum trees, for probably only the second time in the last decade, are drooping with fruit from every branch; the real challenge isn't finding time to pick but avoiding the time when the wasps are feasting! That means either the early hours of the morning - not the best of times to be climbing up and down a ladder - or just before the fruit is truly ripe......................... So for the past week dodging wasps has become my new 'hobby'..... that, and deciding what to do with all the fruit.

Unfortunately, (or maybe not) the heaviest crops seem to hang in the highest branches which are unreachable.... Nonetheless we have more than enough to deal with.

So its been "Making jam today" and "making more jam today" and "How about plum crumble?" or "Maybe I'll make a plum tart" and "I've just stewed a load of plums to freeze for the winter!" until, with only two trees so far having been picked (out of about half a dozen) , we were getting just a little plummed out!

And then I remembered rhubarb. I hate rhubarb but last year a friend gave me some so I had to do something with it. Suddenly I hit on the idea of a rhubarb and banana smoothie (in my book bananas make just about anything bearable....).

So I made a plum smoothie - just stew the plums till soft then whizz through the liquidiser, add a little demerara sugar and 'hey presto' ...... unbelievably delicious!

Addiction is not far off! And the war on wasps has escalated to new heights.....................

Myrtle

My father had the greenest fingers - everything he touched grew and flourished (including, I recall, some very hot chilli peppers which, when, as a young child, I merrily accepted his bidding to "go on, try, very nice" sent me puffing and steaming and hopping up and down to the kitchen tap!!!! --- he merely chuckled happily at his little joke!). I have always cherished the notion that I might one day become a 'gardener' --- but the older I grow, the less likely that is to be!

Nonetheless, I am frequently beguiled by 'things that grow' and, sadly, more frequently depressed by 'things that just won't grow'. Increasingly, the plants that give most pleasure are those that I 'plonk in the ground' which then go on to flourish and blossom almost behind my back until one day I look and they have suddenly become a feature with a life far stronger than any nurturing from me could have provided.

One such plant is this common Myrtle. Purchased many years before we moved to RectoryReserve, in the belief that it was a Juniper and would one day provide valuable berries for the kitchen, it grew slowly and quietly in a pot in the corner of our patio. It moved here with us as a -maybe - 2 ft high pot plant. A year later it had grown a further 6 inches or so and was too big for its pot so, having a vacant space at the edge of the orchard, we transplanted it --- and thought no more about it.

Five years later it had suddenly become so much bigger that it occurred to us we needed to cut back the cherry tree behind it. And it continued to grow. And I continued to think of it as a very unusual Juniper.

Last Harvest Festival several branches were incorporated into my Church window decoration. "What is that beautiful and dainty plant?" asked Carrie (Jemima's Mum) "Juniper" said I. "It's one of my absolute favourites and smells delicious".

"I think" said Peggy, a genuine plantswoman and friend, sadly, recently departed to happier gardens "it may be Myrtle".

"Oh" said I "that's why the berries don't really add anything to the cooking....." And she was right. It is Myrtle. It is also glorious and beguiling with the daintiest flowers, mildly but evocatively scented like incense or eucalyptus (apparently also a symbol of love and peace in some mediterranean countries)- and our little plant is now over 6 foot high and already in flower - about a month ahead of itself........ without any help from me whatsoever.... so maybe I should finally relinquish the notion of ever developing those green fingers and just sit back and enjoy nature's wonders.........

Last of the swallows

Rocco witnessed the hatching of our last (as far as I can tell) nest of swallows last week.

Since then there has been a great deal of chittering and swooping and diving and feeding of the little ones. Eventually on Monday they left the comfort of the nest for the first time and settled down on one of the beams above his haynet.

Result: every day the Boy was liberally spattered with bird poo. He didn't really mind - much. We just brushed it off and waited for the next lot to appear.....and mornings when I went in to the stable it was easy to see where the little ones had roosted for the night..... a snowstorm of little poos on the floor beneath that place........

It's fascinating to watch how they develop from the time they leave the nest till they finally 'leave home'.

For the first day or so they just sit; then they get more adventurous and turn round on the beam; then a day or two later they hop along the beam a little; then they flap their wings a lot; then they muster up enough courage to fly from beam to beam --- and the most difficult bit is the landing on the other end....... for the first few occasions they miss and have to hover around in front of where they expected to land until they manage to get there with a little more flapping and twittering.....

Then by the end of about a week they fly happily from beam to beam until, all of a sudden - it seems - they are out and gone and away under the trees and across the fields. For the first few nights they still come home to roost.
But soon they are confident enough to stay out - and they are gone: indistinguishable from all the other swallows about the place.

Mothers!

Wonderful things - Mothers! Either they're 'too much' and a chap never gets a rest or they're not around at all and then "what's to do?"

Take this bunch of Bantams (I often wish someone would): you can just see a little yellow chick.... and all the big birds around it - 4 or 5 of them - are its mothers! It took 5 of them 21 days and about 30 eggs to hatch just one little chick .... for the second time this summer.

Worse still, having hatched that one little chick they spent the next few days pretending they were going to hatch another (or others) so the poor little thing didn't get out into daylight for about 5 days! I kept having a look in their house to make sure it hadn't been squashed (as has been the fate with some of their other attempts) but it's clearly got a guardian Chickel looking out for it! Now that it is out it is chaperoned everywhere by all five hens. Daft or what?

Meanwhile, the bantam which hatched a couple of months back, under a similar scenario, is growing big and strong and has almost deserted its two mothers. This morning it was bold enough to climb through a gap under the fence and go out into the hedgerow all on its own...... returning somewhat reluctantly when the mothers set up a frantic warning chant of clucks..... beyond the hedge is the bridleway and there (often) be strangers so the mothers were probably justified in their concern..... but they do make a frightful racket. Enough to drive any enterprising young bird away from home!

Then down on the pond there's a poor little duckling whose mother has deserted it. But it seems not to be in the least perturbed. Alternates its time by swimming merrily around the pond or tucking itself into a quiet corner alone for a sleep. Doesn't appear to have any trouble from any of the grown ups - hens or ducks - and when night comes it waddles confidently into the hen house and finds a quiet place to go to sleep. In the morning it lines up with the rest of the ducks for the quick-march to the pond.

In contrast, there's the (only) other surviving duckling who is a real wimp and never leaves its mother's side: to the extent that, if she inadvertently waddles off out of the hen house in the morning assuming he is right behind her - and he isn't - he simply stands and emits the loudest and most plaintive squeaking I've ever heard from a bird - continuously until she gives up quacking for him outside and comes back in to fetch him.

And for the rest of the day he is never more than a few inches from her side - waking or sleeping.........

Then there's the other Buff Orpington which we moved - together with 16 eggs - to private quarters a few weeks back.

She promptly deserted half that number and over the following days kicked all but two out of the nest. And then proudly produced just one chick - which is now her pride and joy!

It's at this time of year that I realise why I don't produce eggs for commercial gain!

However, I do have very high hopes of the Little Corn Dolly. She's my favourite Bantam (not difficult) and the only one sensible enough not to cackle in terror whenever I open up their house in the morning. She's so called because she always greets me with an insistent demand for corn, which she then proceeds to peck at as if her life depended on it...... Anyway, she is currently sitting - Alone (a first for a bantam) - on a nest of about 6 eggs. We shall see what transpires.........

The boy done good!

It's all very well taking piggies to the Show but there are other chaps at RectoryReseve who deserve a little fun too!

The local Hunt organises a country fair, not very far away from here, every year on the first Sunday in August. Apart from (or maybe because of) being their chief fund-raiser, it's a very popular event with all the usual fairground activities, clay pigeon shooting, loads of stalls selling everything from home-made jam to Conservatories, a large horticultural element, a poultry show and competition, numerous canine classes and, of course, a variety of equine events. And this year, for the first time, it had been decided to enhance these with the addition of dressage classes.

As a hunter (all the time if he had his way) turned dressage (though not exclusively) horse, Rocco just had to be entered! Especially since my hunting colleagues know that one of the main reasons we don't hunt as much as we once did is because it messes with the boy's brains for dressage!

So Sunday morning saw us bright and early transforming Rocco the Hunter into his alter ego - AKA Madonna's Child: he just loves being plaited and polished, oiled (hooves) and chalked (white socks)! And he really does scrub up well.... Obviously he knows the routine by now but, knowing what's at the other end, he doesn't get too excited!

He was pretty excited when he got to the other end this time though! All the noise and bustle, the fairground rides and the fancy dress, guns going off in the background and little ponies whizzing hither and thither....... quite on his toes, as if he expected Hounds to appear any moment. He was quite lit up in the warm up area too...... not surprising with children waving balloons almost under his nose and people picnic-ing just beside the arena..... I don't think he could really fathom what was going on. He was certainly a lot brighter and perkier than he usually is at dressage events........ But then, he didn't realise it was a dressage event ----- until we entered the Arena proper and started the 'Test'. Even that didn't subdue him though: "Don't mind doing this here" he seemed to be saying. And it is more interesting doing dressage outdoors with the attendant scenery and things going on rather than indoors with no views and just a few sober, serious and quiet people about!

So the horse was on his toes and all attention and actually quite happy to do everything he was asked without hesitation or deviation! Which thrilled his rider and quite impressed the judge! If it had not been for the former making a few really stupid pilot errors the latter would have given us even better marks. As it was though the boy done good and won the red rosette anyway! And an extra rosette for being so well Turned Out. And --- for the first time ever - some money...... real hard cash! Well, even I got excited then!

"Perhaps we should do this outdoor thing more often" I said to Madonna's Child as I told him what a star he had been. He just gave me a sidelong look and carried on eating his prize ---- a whole banana (it was supposed to be my lunch but I thought he'd earned it!)

Ducking the issue

So many phrases we take for granted emanate from the old country ways: hen-pecked, mother hen, pig-headed, hog tied etc etc.

Now another common phrase has been explained.

I've said before that ducks are bad parents: this week, we've had two clear examples of what that means: firstly a little duckling was cast aside by its mother, was then picked on by another duck and its mother totally ignored it. In the end I took it indoors to try to strengthen it up but it sadly died anyway. Then there's this little yellow job: all the time on its own out in the pond and, today, even in the pen on its own. Mother? What mother. She's apparently totally given up on it.

Her offspring. Her issue. Ignored. She's about her business in the pre-broody fashion. So, clearly, in years gone by ducks were known for ignoring their little ones (issue, to use the biblical term) ---- hence "ducking the issue"..