Not like September

This was Monday evening just before 7pm.
The picture doesn't do it justice but the sky was glowing with pink and purple hues.

Not really like September.

Not September in England.

This was Tuesday around 7pm.
Misty pinks and greys with gold and orange.

Oriental not Lincolnshire.

Not September. Not late September anyway.

This was Tuesday too but just a longer shot.
The mist is hanging heavy over the Trent Valley. The water masses in the lower left hand corner are recent additions to our landscape.
In time they will attract birdlife; already this week ducks have moved in. First one family - then more.
Lapwings should follow in the spring. They like moist land I'm told. These ponds were excavated particularly with them in mind.
They are welcome attractions and will keep us entertained throughout the long winter months as the life around them changes and grows.

Wednesday saw temperatures of 29'C. I was at Market - there was a Carnival air about the town. Shorts and summer dresses everywhere. Not a day for selling pork products really. We sat out on the terrace later, sipped a cooling drink and watched the sun sink lower. After dinner I took this shot through the dining room window. Not like September. Not September in England at all.       Thursday evening was too misty and murky for photos - the heat of the day going down. This evening was golden too - but fleetingly; the sun sank suddenly with little warning. Tonight the sky is crystal clear; each star sharp against the darkness. Tomorrow is another market day: the heat is forecast to be greater still.

Not like September in Lincolnshire. Not like September in England at all.

Relief!

"Well, that's a relief" said Tony after we'd finished successfully weaning Precious's piglets on Friday afternoon. "I only had to carry three of them into the trailer!" and off we all went feeling jolly pleased with ourselves that the whole task (from hitching up the trailer to catching piglets in their pen, handing them over the fence to willing hands who then put them in the trailer and then unloading all the piglets into their pen in the barn and unhitching trailer again) had been completed within such a short time. Linda happily went off to feed Tea and we three retired to the house for a congratulatory drink.
The horses were relieved not to have to share their field with the piglets, Gunner was relieved not to have to round them up anymore and Precious was totally nonplussed by the whole thing, tucking into her food with hardly a glance to see what was going on around her.
Relief sow style.

Some things are just that simple.
Sometimes.
It being Sunday, I was a little late going out to feed breakfast this morning. "Piglets are nice and quiet in the barn" I thought to myself as I made the horses' breakfast.
"Probably enjoying a bit of a lie in too" I mused as I filled a bucket with their food. Took it out to them, calling "Wakey, Wakey piglets, breakfast time" and poured it into their bowls outside their pen. "Strange" I thought to the hollow nothingness coming from the barn. Peered into their straw. Nothing. Had a harder look, willing them to be hiding (for why? I can't imagine) under their straw.

Then it dawned. I know - but the mind was just wanting them to be 'There'.
Soon as I noticed The Dog wasn't with me I knew. He'd found them. I went slowly in the direction of the field. Sure enough: there they all were. All neatly tucked into the corner of Precious's pen - innocently looking up at me as they waited for breakfast. "I thought you were my friend: How could you do this to me?" Precious's look seemed to say to me. I went back to the house and told The Boss the good news. He gave me a knowing look (it had been a warm night and I'd left barn doors open wide never thinking the little fat piggies could squiggle under the one hurdle that wasn't doubly secured with a reinforcing pallet.)
By the time I returned to feed breakfast they were everywhere again - in the other pens, in the hen house, around the field. Everyone yelling - "Where'd these little blighters come from again???"
"You said it was too easy" I said to Tony when he came round later in the afternoon to help us re-wean the weaners "So we decided to let them all out and again and have another go!" Linda, unusually, wasn't amused.
I had given everyone short rations in the morning in the hope they'd be a bit more amenable at tea time. We quickly caught the first two piglets  - tucking into their food they weren't expecting to be picked up.  The remaining 7 became increasingly illusive and really tested our ingenuity, expecially when they ran in with the young boars. "I must have a rest" gasped Tony as he rushed, red-faced to collect another piglet from over yet another different fence and take it to the trailer.... (Well - we didn't want to make it easy for him again!). The last little gilt ran so fast at a hurdle that she got her head stuck in it and gave us all a few nasty moments until we managed to release her. Precious meanwhile just carried on eating her tea.
The remainder of the herd were well and truly noisy and excited. As an exercise in quietly catching piglets it was not our finest hour.
When they were finally all safely (and securely) esconced back in the barn we breathed a communal sigh of relief.
Then we went back out to the field to round up three girls who are leaving us tomorrow. It didn't go as smoothly as we'd have liked, the boss of the three giving us a few nasty moments when she decided not to load into the trailer with the other two but instead had a little run around. With a deft move from Tony at a critical moment though she got the message and joined her mates and tucked greedily into a good helping of tea.
More sighs of relief.
Three of us retired to the house for a refreshing drink while Linda carried on with the Tea ceremony.  Peace gradually returned;  everyone settled down.
Relief.

The last days of summer

 Weatherwise, it's been a bit of an odd week really: the remnants of American hurricanes have rampaged through the orchard causing one of the heaviest 'windfalls' in years. Net result: larder now full of chutneys, jams, jellys and masses of apples to keep us going through the winter and well beyond. And there's still all the picking to do! Despite, or maybe because of, the winds we've also been enjoying some late summer sunshine - not wall to wall and really hot so you have to hide in the shade but glorious gusty playing hide-and-seek behind billowing clouds type sunshine. The odd heavy downpour has been very odd indeed: for the most part it's been really dry. It'll not last so we're making the most of it. In a bid to fitten Gunner up for the soon-to-be-with-us season we've been upping the exercise: he loves it - young birds here, there and everywhere. In typical spaniel fashion, he never stops unless I tell him to. And then he admits he could do with a bit of a breather. Before he's off again.

Precious's  Little Fruits will be weaned at the end of this week - to her relief and ours! They are everywhere - in the (rather overgrown section of the) vegetable garden - certainly not the usual haunt of pigs and piglets - in the Poultry Palace, all over the other pigs' pens. It's impossible to leave anything alone for a minute - they're there with their snoutlets tipping over buckets, snuffling in feedbowls, chewing hosepipes, scrumping apples in the feedroom..... Everywhere we look, there's either a bunch of piglets or evidence that a bunch has recently passed through! It's comical and even their most annoying tricks bring smiles to our faces. Memories of summer that we'll treasure in the depths of deepest winter......

Gunner's been doing his best to keep them in check: as this photo shows, he's taken to not sitting down too securely when he's 'on duty': he also pretends to ignore them; they're very quick to scamper off without a moment's notice so he hovers, alert while appearing not to be and as soon as they're off, he's right there with them! The red one at the back of the pack will be leaving here soon after weaning. Moses, as his new owners have called him, is off to be a real Boar: he's a handsome lad and certainly the best of the boys in the litter so he's sure to be a great success with his new ladies.

The final confirmation that summer will soon be over comes from the feedroom. The last clutch of swallows has suddenly disappeared. I assume they've flown off but I'm having difficulty actually believing how they can have done in such a short time. This photo was taken on last Thursday evening. It's not easy to see the hatchlings because they are still so small and snuggling deep down in their nest. Usually when they grow too big for the nest they spend a few days in the barn eating and growing stronger before practising their flying. They then spend a few more days sleeping in the barn but spending increasing periods of time on the wing. This lot, however, have just suddenly gone. There's no evidence of them at all. I can't believe they learned to fly and then disappeared in so few days with my not even noticing them. It's a mystery. There's no way rodents or cats could have got to them up in the eaves of the barn so I must assume they have flown away.
Is it an omen that the summer will disappear  equally suddenly  ...............................

Can't a chap get a minute's peace round here?

"There I was just trying to have a bit of a doze on the kitchen sofa while The Boss and She who Must be Obeyed were having their dinner when up comes the pesky cat. All I was thinking about was my empty belly and what tasty morsels I'd find in my bowl when They were finished and all cat could talk about was how wonderful it might be if we went hunting outside together. Well I don't know what she calls hunting. Most of what she brings in is tiny stuff - OK I know, there is the odd small rabbit - hardly worthy of a Spaniel of the Real Working variety.Try telling her that though. The little thing she brought in tonight even bit SwMbO when I gave it to her. And that's not a good start. Won't do my prospects any good at all if She gets an infection from some pesky vermine. That'll be the end of  Real Hunting for us both.
"Speaking of which I overheard her telling The Boss just now that a large number of young pheasants on our beat round here got cut up by the farmer combining his wheat one night late last week. Now, that really would upset things. She said the Main Man (Gamekeeper that is) was more than just a little upset. And I've heard him when he's just a little upset. In fact, everybody hears him when he's a little bit upset. Not good for young ears, or even old ones come to that. Not a pretty sight either. Ooohh, quite makes me tremble to think about it.
"He yelled at me, through her you know- not directly, one early day last season. I was only trying to stop a young pheasant running out from a cover crop; the men were shooting partridge and this young bird was trying to run off instead of flying up like a proper one - more like it was wounded, so I thought I'd just go fetch it back. I was halfway to it when his voice boomed out and all but stopped me dead in my tracks. But I don't listen to anybody else. I gathered my senses and applied myself again. By the time She blew her whistle I all but had it in my mouth to take back to her. I quickly turned back to her but I could tell she was not best pleased. Difficult to know the right thing to do sometimes. I do try but occasionally she doesn't seem to be totally pleased. I've been practising over the past months - trying to be sharp on the whistle and finding all  the things she asks me to, and a few that she doesn't. Trouble is when a chap's out hunting and the blood's up and all the other dogs are running about and doing all sorts of things that I've never been asked to - well, some lessons just get forgotten or the wind makes the whistle hard to hear. And there are times when I know I'm right so I just have to go and do what I think.

"Anyway, I was trying to explain a few of these finer points of hunting to the Pesky Cat but you know what? She just scoffed. Said that sounded like there were a load of rules and there are no rules to the way she hunts and with that she said she was off to eat the dinner that was in her bowl. And that's another strange thing about Cat: she always has dinner in her bowl. Why is that? We real hunters only get to eat once a day.  Don't think I'll take up her suggestion if she mentions it again. I'm sure we'll be off on the Real Thing soon. It's always around this time of year - when the weather turns cool and the evenings seem so short. I'm sure we'll soon be going again. Maybe I'll have a little doze now Cat's going and dream of proper hunting....... and then it'll be dinner time.......zzzzz"

Glorious Mud

 Darbie and Joan were 8 weeks old last Friday. It was high time therefore that they were weaned. Latterly Aster had become very protective of them, even going so far as to nip Linda when she entered her pen. It could have been difficult to take her piglets away.
As it turned out though it was the easiest weaning ever.
Having been born inside and, therefore, used from the outset to people going in and out, Darbie and Joan have grown to have no fear of us. Like all piglets they are more than happy to run around away from their mother and visit with all their extended family. Contrary to the other piglets though, whenever they see Linda, The Big Boss or me, they run straight towards, rather than away from, us! In order to wean them we simply opened up one of the outside pens and made it a nice place to go - food, clean straw, lots of tummy tickles whenever they went in. They were free to come and go. We shut the gate a couple of times but opened it again after a little while so as not to fret them. On the second day we shut the barn door up so they couldn't run straight back to Ma.  They didn't worry. She did a bit. But not for long. So in the evening we simply shut their gate and that was it. Easy weaning.

 The following day we separated the most handsome one of the Clarences from his brothers - actually he was chosen for the size of his ears so let's hope he turns out to be a good boar as well! We put Aster next door to him thinking that she would probably bully him mercilessly if we put them together straightaway. Her mind was totally elsewhere. She totally ignored him.
Instread she trotted around and sussed out her surroundings. Then ploughed into the dirtiest muddy patch for all she was worth! No hesitation. No apology. No doubt that she had really missed being able to do that.  If she had been pining for her piglets before then, it was clear that the glorious mud drove everything else from her mind.
The next day when we allowed her and Clarence to get together she was even nice to him (which may or may not prove to be a good thing?). She's been a sweety with us too.
That's how much pigs love the glorious mud.
What of Darbie and Joan? Well Linda and I spend quite a bit of time rubbing their backs and their ears, which makes them roll over so that we can then tickle their tummies! They even seem to prefer attention to food - I don't suppose that'll last! I suspect if we opened their gate they'd happily follow us around and then go back home for tea; maybe we'll try that later in the week..... maybe....

RIP Solo 4.2002 - 9.2011

Solo was the first chick born here after we moved up from the South. His history is detailed in the blog of 24 June 2007. It was a rainy day in May when he decided to leave the nest. He was too small to climb back into the nest box of the broody coop. Daffodil being a caring sort of bird gave up sitting on the rest of her eggs in order to shelter him from the rain.  He grew into a very handsome cockerel and, more importantly, he had the nicest termperament. Unlike some that tried to challenge him over the years, he never raised his talons in anger. He ruled the Poultry Palace with a velvet claw for the best part of 7 years. Even in the last two when a younger bird took over he maintained his dignity.

He was an ideal cockerel I suppose.

Daffodil passed away in the spring. With Solo gone it seems like the end of an era in the Poultry Palace.

The art of vegetable collection

 Regular followers will know that we have been keeping an eye on our curly coats' waistlines by substituting up to 50% o their proprietary diet with organic vegetables.
It's taken a while and given us a few head and muscle aches but I think we have finally perfected the collection method. We started a few months back using the pig trailer which proved not to be big enough (not to mention people kept hitting their head on its roof when loading trugs of veg into it).
So we progressed to using the horse trailer.
That was OK for a while but it became increasingly arduous to manhandle the veg. trugs into and out of the trailer. Added to which, in order to optimise the collection, we were in danger of overloading the trailer and it was in danger of over-stretching the gear box on the 4X4. So The Boss set about finding a more suitable method of transport.

And in his inimitable fashion he quickly found just what we needed in Sheffield.,
Willie, the Transit tipper truck, (named after his registration plate?!) has been with us for a few weeks and certainly solved one or two of the problems straightaway, but it was only this week that it all came together.
Today for the first time we managed to load up with about a tonne and a half of loose veg. (baby cauliflower and broccoli, for the record) - in no time at all (once we found the man who could operate the forklift which could up-end the giant containers and tip the contents into the truck). And it was all held firmly on board by the rather smart tailor-made tarpaulin cover which The Boss ordered from a local firm a couple of weeks back and collected at the beginning of this week. All very smart and all very efficient. It'll be an even quicker process next week now that we know how many bins of veg. Willie can carry and how to fix the tarp.! (it took us about 15 minutes to work it out today - as with most things, it's not quite as simple as it looks).
However, now that we have mastered the art of vegetable collection we are happy people ......and that makes for happy piggies.