Valentines-schmalentines

We're practical folk. Flowers are overpriced, and anyway I'm just as happy with a nice foliage display picked from the woods around here. Chocolate makes me fat, and I don't need any encouragement in that department. And I know Mike loves me. But, we did need a new vacuum cleaner. That strange 'burning plastic' smell I described in a post the other day? Apparently that's the first sign of the motor burning out. Which, in hindsight, makes perfect sense. So I had a brand new vacuum cleaner for Valentine's Day. And a little basket with my favorite yogurt, and some olives and biscuits, and a little tin with a chicken on it that I can keep pins in.

I did spend the day with loved ones. I took the dogs out for a run behind the quad bike this morning:

Check out Dulcie, the spaniel on the far left - that's her normal speed, all 4 feet off the ground

It's not great exercise for me but the dogs can run at their speed, and it helps to rid them of their spaniel energy. They're so fit from working that it's not fair to just retire them for the season, so I 'rough them off' like you would a fit horse. They always get their morning and evening walks regardless.

And I spent the afternoon with Mike in the woods, cutting and splitting logs for our wood pile. Actually, it was quite romantic. The snowdrops are in bloom -

The sun was out, and we went at a sedate pace. I cut while he split and in no time we had a full load.

No wonder my back hurts, I stand like a flid when I'm sawing

Miss February - "Saws & Paws" Calendar

So we sat on a log and watched the sun go down.

Dakota has always been my regular chainsawing companion but I think she's OK about sharing me with Mike. As long as she still gets to ride in the front of the ATV -

I hope everyone else had a happy Valentine's Day too.

OK- how about best two out of three...

Mike and I drove to Dever Springs to do some fishing yesterday. The lambs came too, so we could give them their 4-hourly feeds. We put them in a dog crate in the back seat. They were good little travellers, better than children (no whining 'Are we THERE yet?)

It's about 2 hours' drive to Dever. We got up early, and the sun came out for a change, but it was below zero with a serious wind chill. Dever is on Salibury Plain (not far from Stonehenge), and the winds howl across the flat land. We got there and headed right to the lodge to warm up with a cup of coffee, and catch up with Neil and Stuart, who run the fishery.

Warmed up and ready to face the fish!

Neil and Stu were in the middle of re-stocking the fishing lakes, moving the fully grown fish from the nursery ponds into the lakes, and putting the almost grown ones back in, to finish growing.  We agreed as payment for my fly-fishing lessons with Neil (teacher extrordinaire) that I would help them with the restocking process by running the almost-grown fish back to the nursery pond. It was fascinating (and tiring).

First the fish were rounded up in a seine net:

Then Stu scooped them up in a hand net and Neil sorted them by size.

Isn't it easier just to keep one, rather than put it in the lake and fish it back out? 

Neil throws the big ones in the tank - literally:

Good aim Neil!

And I run a netful of too-small fish back to the stock pond (the one farthest away!):

The worst idea for an olympic sport ever

And tip them in, making sure they were oxygenated and ready to swim away. Neil says "Give 'em a poke with the net - that wakes them up!":

Once the big fish were separated from the little fish, we drove the tank to the lake, backed it up and Stu fitted a fish waterslide to what looked like a catflap. The lever opened and it was like the log flume ride at a fun park:

If you listen closely you can hear the fish go 'WHEEEE!!'

At this point Mike came back with the first fish of the day:

Check out the manly beard!

Normally I would be competetive, but Mike snuck off to see if he could still cast a fly. His arm movements are restricted from his skin grafts post-accident. He had been a very keen fly-fisherman and was quietly fearful he wouldn't be able to cast the line anymore. When he came back with the fish, I hugged him and we both shed a little tear, but that quickly gave way to laughing, and the competition was back on.

Mike went back to fish. Neil and I took up a spot across the way and Neil gave me a great casting lesson. The trick is timing (let your line stretch out behind before you cast forward) and to relax and let the rod do all the work. My casting improved and Neil was full of kind (undeserved) praise.

Mike caught another fish while I was having my lesson. DAMN! By this time we were all succumbing to the bone-crushing cold winds, and took to the lodge for a quick coffee and defrost.

Once I'd thawed out enough, Neil sent me back out on my own with a rod and fly. Three hours' fishing, as the sun was starting to set, I caught my very first trout on the fly:

My 5lbs 4oz rainbow trout

Coincidentally, I took this trout in the exact same spot that Mike landed his first Dever trout. He claims his first trout was bigger, of course.

Mike decided to have 'one last cast' which lasted nearly another hour (he lost his fly to a good fish and was determined to get both the fish and his fly back). Not even a nibble. I told him the fish was full from the meal Mike had just provided.

His form's changed a bit, but he can still get that line out there!

The final score was Mike's 2 trout to my 1. And he had the biggest fish at 7 1/2 lbs. Most importantly, he can get back to a hobby he really enjoys. And I've got the feeling back in my fingers, so it's win-win. I will practice my cast in the back field, and be back for a rematch. When the weather warms up.

When we got back home it was snowing.

We left them in the back of the truck last night and they're frozen solid!

Mike's got one more post-accident hurdle - using a shotgun. We worried the recoil might be too much for his shoulder, but after yesterday's success, he wants to pop up to the clay pigeon ground with my 20 bore today. I'm happy to endure the cold weather for that.

Real Farmers Don't Cry

I took big lamb and little lamb to the abattoir yesterday. I was stoic all through the hitching of the trailer, backing it up to the field, leading them in and driving to the destination. I unloaded them into their holding pen, signed the paperwork, put the ramp up on the trailer, drove out of the yard (out of sight of the workers) and just started sobbing my heart out. I kept driving but couldn't stop crying.

Mike said "Jen, let's just turn around and go get them. They can live in the field with the others." I wanted to, but I didn't. I knew what they were for when I raised them, I knew it would be hard, and I knew that they had a good (and longer than normal) life. But I didn't like it. Mike offered to go back 3 or 4 times on the way home (he was sad too). But we didn't.

We're picking up our first home reared, grass-fed lamb for the freezer on Thursday.

Between sobs, I said to Mike "I bet real farmers don't cry". Mike said "I'll tell you something. As you were backing up the trailer for unloading I said to the guy 'Go easy on her mate, these are her first lambs and she might get upset.' And do you know what he said? He said 'Trust me, she wouldn't be the first.'"

I guess you have to love animals to want to raise them and care for them in the first place.

Our two new orphans seem to be managing their first week of life. Temperatures have plummeted and there's a fierce wind about, so I've kept the heat lamp in their shed on permanently so they can convert their food into growth rather than just keeping warm. I open the door to the run for a few hours a day, for fresh air and some extra space. Some of  the chickens perch on their run, and the lambs come over to investigate. So far so good. We're calling around to see if any more orphan ewes need a home, as we'd like to have at least 3 lambs around the same age.

We're on holiday this week but pretty tied to the house with animal commitments. But Mike promised to take me fly fishing at Dever Springs tomorrow. It's a world renowned trout lake, about 2 hours from here, and our friend Neil is the head keeper. Neil has promised me a fly fishing lesson and I'd hate to miss the opportunity. The lambs still need a feed every 4 hours so they're coming with us in a dog crate in the back seat of the car. A bit of fishing, a quick lunch for us and the lambs, a bit more fishing, then home for evening chores.

I bet real farmers don't take their lambs fishing either. I won't tell them if you don't.

New Arrivals

We got the call yesterday to come and collect some orphan ewe lambs from our neighbours. They keep a prize-winning flock of Polled Dorsets so I was excited to be starting with such pedigreed stock. Over-excited really, as I got the call at noon but had to wait til 5pm to pick them up. Mike rolled his eyes at me while I did a little dance and busied myself with getting their new home ready - the whelping kennel behind the house. By the time we were ready to go I composed myself and put on an aloof, pragmatic air so our farmer neighbours knew they were dealing with a serious stockman here.

That working for about a millisecond, until we walked past the pens of newborn calves. I resisted petting the livestock but couldn't help making girly comments about how cute they were, all fluffy and clean. More eye rolling from Mike, joined by the farmer. Then we entered the lambing barn. Oh. My. God. I think I said something like "How freakin' CUTE are THEY?!?! And proceeded to manhandle as many lambs as I could reach.

I'm pretty sure my serious stockman credibility is blown.

If that didn't do it, this probably did:

The farmer looked amused when I said they could ride home in my lap (I didn't want them to get cold and lonely riding in the back). On the way home I named them Pearl and Ivy.

They needed a feed when we got home. Especially Ivy who had been rejected by her foster mother and hadn't been allowed to feed properly. I put them on the kitchen floor while I mixed their milk.

They are so tiny. And they have a sort of 'new baby smell' which, combined with the sweet smell of the lamb milk powder, is intoxicating and primitive.

Ivy is the eater, and hit her bottle with reckless abandon. Pearl was resistant to the bottle and probably preferred her milk direct from the source. But she'll learn.

Close-up of Pearl. Seriously, how cute is that face?

I was up at 6 this morning to give them their first feed, and check on them after their first night in the shed. They were dry and warm, and bleating softly when I opened the door. It was so dark I was feeding them by flashlight, holding it in my mouth so I had two hands free to wrestle lambs and bottles. Again, Ivy was keen to drink. Pearl needed persuading but she managed to feed.

The sun's not quite up yet, but the fire's going and the dogs have had their breakfast and I've got my first cup of coffee. I might go have a read though the guide for new moms, Practical Sheep Keeping and dream of first place ribbons at the county show.

Proud mom

Let there be light

I woke up yesterday with an eye infection. This is a nuisance because I had planned to go deer stalking this morning but I can't wear my contact lenses, and I can't see through the rifle scope wearing my glasses. And Mike had arranged for me to stalk a muntjac deer on our vacation next week (one of the species I need to make up my ' Big 6') So both are on hold until this clears up.

Mike came in yesterday from work and said "I have another repair job for you." I looked at his coat and saw a large tear and down filling leaking out.

"No problem, I'm sewing up your tweeds, so just put it in the pile".

He twisted around to see where I was pointing. "Oh, I didn't see that." he said. "Actually I meant this fence tester need re-wiring"

I love that my husband sees me as a competent bodger of minor tools. "Sure, glad to do it." I probably had a little pride in my voice. And nonchalance. Like 'Of course, it is so simple for me'. I was still coming off my high of repairing the ram raddle harness with a leather repair kit I bought over the internet. (A great investment of £14 by the way)

Raddle harness - another quality bodge by yours truly

I looked at the tester. "Have we got any electrical tape?"

"Yeah, in the back shed somewhere" he said " But the light bulb's gone again"

"OK, I'll change the bulb in the morning and look for the tape" I said

"And I think we need a new starter for the strip light in the kitchen. It's slow to turn on. I finished pouring a cup of tea last night in the dark by the time it came on".

Slow is not broken. I'm not fixing it until the light won't come on. But I made a mental note to pick up a starter when I'm in town. And possibly electrical tape.

"Use the light over the stove for now" I said.

"That bulb's gone too." Mike said

Of course it is. OK - starter, tape, bulb..."I'd better make a list or I'll forget. Can you hand me a pen?" I was still trying to thread a needle to start fixing his tweeds.

I heard shuffle, shuffle, clatter..."Jen...none of these pens work..."

If anyone's coming to visit us soon, we're easy to find. Just look for the house with no lights on. And if you could bring some candles and a pen I'd be really grateful

Nature Abhors My Vacuum

It's raining again. Lots. The ground is squishy already; I don't walk to the car so much as slide towards it. I'm using a walking stick to get from the back door to the kennels without falling over.

It's not enough to endure the mud and slop outside, Mike and the dogs bring at least half of it in the house with them. Mike sits in the chair without taking his coat and wellies off. The dogs creep onto the furniture when they think I'm not looking, which is convenient for Mike who blames all the mess on them, even the Mike-shaped mud angel in his chair.

When it finally dries, it leaves a silty deposit that covers everything. I only regularly clean it off the TV screen so I can watch 'Columbo' on Sunday.

Phyllis Diller said that cleaning your house when your kids are still living there is like shoveling the drive when it's still snowing. This same applies to dogs and spouses. But it's got so bad in here and it was raining so I couldn't ignore it by going outside. I plugged in my iPod and my vacuum and started in our front room.

Our cottage is small. The front room is only about 9' x 14' and it's only got a wooden floor. The carpeted rooms are rarely used because of our perpetual fithiness. We save those rooms for when we have guests, and shut the door to hide the front room from view.

I vacuumed the tiny front room, under the sofa and behind the furniture, and completely filled the canister on the Dyson. Yikes! I emptied it and started on the even smaller kitchen and porch area. I was happily listening to week's episode of Car Talk when I started to smell something like burning plastic. The vacuum was full again and the poor machine was overheating. I'd barely started. I guess my vacuum's not too fond of nature either.

I wondered if Click and Clack gave advice on home appliances. Does a vacuum have a head gasket?

Mike was due home and would be letting the house dogs in for their dinner. So I locked the door.

I thought "I cleaned it, I'm going to enjoy it even if only for a few minutes, even if it's only two rooms."

It was a small victory but I earned it.

I've done the deed...

The lambs are booked in for "processing" next Tuesday morning. We've chosen an abbattoir nearby, with an excellent reputation for animal welfare. I still feel like a heel. A farmer friend told me "Just don't look them in the eye when you drop them off."

I wonder if I can convince myself they're just going away for summer camp? Camp Cutlet? Camp Deepfreeze? Leggamutton?

I hope this gets easier.