Adapt and Overcome

Luckily I was able to finish moving house days before we were shut down with the Covid-19 virus. The kennels were finished enough to be habitable before my builders had to self-isolate.

The concrete pad had to fit kennels and a storage shed - it was tight!

This is what I gave the builders-

And they still manage to build it all to fit based on that scribble -

The builders are my neighbours who I supply with goat meat from time to time. They built the kennels in record time and wouldn't charge me for their labour! They will never be short of goat meat, that's for sure.

We swapped the shed and kennels around to give the dogs a bit more privacy and an extra windbreak.The dogs like to sunbathe now spring is here. The cleaning system needs to be refined - gravel and loose straw are not a good combo. We'll work on that.

While the inside of the new cottage was still under construction, I set about moving some farm equipment and my greenhouse. I took all the glass out of it and moved all the panes in multiple trips, as many as I could lift by myself in one armful.

Last time, Mike and Ian moved the frame by carrying it down the road on their shoulders. I had to get more creative - and a little scared - to move it by myself this time-

I balanced it on the loader's tines and drove it down the road, saying "Ohshitohshitohshit" to myself pretty much the whole way. I picked a time when the roads would be mostly clear, and prayed I wouldn't bump into anyone. I figured that people do dumber things with less planning than this. It worked out fine.

Buoyed by my greenhouse moving success, I went back and loaded the railroad sleepers I use for its base.

I wasn't so lucky with the old chicken house. Its structure was too weakened from age and the winter's floods to move. Now I had homeless turkeys. But I adapted -

I covered the greenhouse frame with a few sheep hurdles zip tied together, and covered it with a tarp to make it rain resistant. A temporary turkey refuge.

Yeah, they're not impressed either.

After a few days in the turkey prison (helps them locate where to go to bed at night) they were free to wander the gardens. They look much happier in the sunshine, in the corner of my garden.

And because moving house and a pandemic weren't enough, some of the sheep tried to get blood worm again. I caught it quicker, and wormed the worst cases. One ewe was so poorly I needed to move her close to me so I could tend her regularly, but I no longer have a sheep barn. I adapted-

I left my washing line in the picture because my life is not Instagram-worthy, but it's honest.

I have a little orchard so I penned her in there with sheep netting (no electricity but she was too poorly to wander much). I'm using my little trailer as a mobile shed, stuffed with straw to keep her warm as she's lost so much weight. Here I can feed her and treat her with meds and vitamins. It was touch and go for 4 or 5 days. I hated to get out of bed every morning as my first job was to walk outside and see if she made it though the night. Not a nice way to start your day.

She's still here, recovering nicely. In fact, she baaas at me when the dogs bark for their breakfast, demanding hers at the same time. The bit of fresh grass in the orchard has been a tonic for her too. 

The rest of the flock is desperate to move to their new grazing but there's timber extraction around and through the new field. I checked on progress this morning and it looks like we could move in the next 48 hours.

The horses didn't want to be left out. They have been busy pushing down fencing, probably while scratching their butts on the wood rails. The managed to take out a whole section, leading onto the main road of course-

They did this after the quarantine was in effect so I couldn't go to the farm store and get any fencing supplies. But, I adapted  -

Thank goodness for sheep hurdles and zip ties. I hate that it looks so messy, but keeping stock in is the main priority at the moment. 

And because moving house, a pandemic, sick sheep and escaping horses aren't enough, Pip decided it was time for her to cross the rainbow bridge. She enjoyed her last few days out in the sun, and many special breakfasts before we took our final trip to the vets.

Because of the health restrictions, I wasn't able to hold her paw while she went to sleep, but her favourite vet and nurse were there with her the whole journey. Dr Ralph said she was wagging her tail right up to the end.

Pip in her retrieving days. She was a good dog in every way.

And because moving house, a pandemic, sick sheep, escaping horses, and losing a dog aren't enough, I also quit my job at the pub. Which was prescient as within a week all the wait staff were laid off anyway due to the quarantine. 

My neighbour who farms milking goats is very short staffed, with plowing and seeding jobs to do as well as milking. He and his staff helped me move the bulk of my house, all the furniture and heavy things I couldn't do on my own. They were busy themselves and still offered to come over to help me. It was a huge kindness. Now I get to return the favour, and be gainfully employed at the same time: I am a trainee goat milker!

I shadow staff during the evening milking to learn the routine. The stockmanship is easy enough, it's the milking parlour and complex vacuums, bulk tanks, and hoses that worry me. Press the wrong button and I've contaminated all the milk and it has to be thrown away, and the farm loses money. 

I'm told it's pretty hard to do anything that catastrophic. Again, people do dumber things with less planning and get by. I'm sure I can be taught.

We're only milking about 83 at the moment, but the next lot of goats are starting to kid, so milking will increase. On my last shift, we spotted an early kidder who managed to pop out FIVE babies -

I've secretly named her Pez.

I bumped into Kate, one of the farm staff, just as she was about start her long evening sitting in a tractor plowing the fields. Kate made herself a coffee but couldn't find a spoon. So, she reached in her jeans pocket, pulled out a knife, wiped in on her jeans, and used it to stir her coffee. Yes it was the knife she uses to trim animal feet. Yes we all do it. Adapt and overcome, even if it's a bit gross.

Of all that's happened in my life over the last eight months, the stay at home quarantine order has been the easiest problem to manage. I'm part of a good community, we swap and share, There's enough in my larder that I've not been to a grocery store and anything can be toilet paper if you're creative enough. But I've taken the isolation very seriously because I cannot afford to get sick without a Mike in my life.

The estate planted a tree in Mike's honour, replacing an oak that blew down in last year's storms. It's a sweet chestnut tree, grown from seed from a tree on the estate that, every year, produces the biggest fattest most delicious chestnuts. Grown this way from seed, the chestnut will take 20 years to produce nuts. I hope I'm still around to gather them.

Molly sits on the stump with Mike's tree in the background. We like to go and visit it together sometimes.

The woodmen will carve a bench from the stump of the fallen tree eventually, and the view looks out across a pheasant drive, though fields and into the woods. The underkeepers dug the hole for the tree. Sitting on the stump afterwards they said "Great! This will be a perfect rifle rest for shooting foxes!"

Mike would be so proud.

Stay safe and well. Adapt and overcome.

Weathering Storms

Shooting season is over. It was a bittersweet ending. I put on Mike's slippers one last time to greet the guns in the morning and outline the day's shoot. The slippers were a practical joke given to Mike by the guns. They all have matching slippers except Mike who just took off his boots at the door and wore his socks to greet them. Mike accepted the slippers with good humour though he confided in me later that they cost more than his day's wages. He never took them home and always left them tucked away under a chest for shoot days.

The slippers were huge on me and I slopped about in them, curling my toes inside them to hold them on. I couldn't fill them literally or figuratively. But, like wearing his yellow shoot socks, I wore his slippers and hoped that, like talismans, they would help me do his job.

I have left the slippers in the same spot for the new head keeper.

I was relieved when the formal days were finished. I think I held it together to see the season through, but they were some of the hardest days for me emotionally. I had to muster up all my reserves to face each one. Grieving is a personal tragedy; clients do not want to see it or deal with it. Nor should they. But it's hard to put grief on hold. Like I said, I think I managed OK but only just.

I have since heard that three local head keepers have been made redundant at the end of their seasons. They will now have their own grief to attend to, and my heart goes out to them.

Gamekeeping is a precarious life built on the capriciousness of sporting guns and estates. A perfectly run season can still end in shoot closures and job losses for any number of valid reasons. So the gamekeeper has to find new work, move his home, family (including kids in school) and learn new ground and what his new bosses want, and care for pheasants, all within a few months' time frame, before he's expected to deliver good shooting days. All this, with the Sword of Damocles in the form of shoot closure, always hanging over his head.

There is the Gamekeepers Welfare Trust set up to help guide keepers though the rough parts of the job, but suicides are still too common. Wet winters like the one we've just had (and are still having) increase the pressure.

Man, I'm a Debbie Downer, aren't I? Here's some nice farm photos to cheer you up-

Seven dogs loaded up and ready for a woodland walk - on a rare sunny day! 

The Welsh black x Duroc piggies enjoying a trough full of goats milk - a real treat!

Normally Mike and I would look forward to the end of the shoot season and our two week holiday, which only ever lasted a few days as Mike got bored quickly. I have embraced the whole fortnight and thrown myself into therapeutic (slightly compulsive) jigsaw puzzling and reading. I love reading about Arctic and Antarctic exploration, though the closest I get to adventure is tasting the whiskey allegedly drunk by the 1907 British Antarctic Expedition.

Farm chores still demand attention. The wet winter means hay is at a premium. Again. I made my own hay this year but with Mike's illness I didn't find time to move it indoors and half of the hay has spoiled from the rain. My neighbours kindly sold and delivered some large bales on their tractor and that's helped me through the worst of the hungry months. Now I'm back to picking through and salvaging the best small bales to feed to the sheep and goats.

The goats are ravenous and eat most of the hay. I made a decision to cull the oldest nanny, and the two goatlings from last year: the boy and the girl with the withered leg. The old nanny and the boy went to market together and made a good price (which will be spent on animal feed!). The female with the withered leg couldn't go to market. For welfare reasons, the rule is that any animal going to market must be able to put all four feet on the ground. Not easy when you only have three and a half legs to start with!

Our deer stalker kindly offered to shoot her in the field for me. If I tried to do it, she would have come too close looking for food and brought the rest of the herd with her. And, I would have kept putting off the job if it was left to me.

Ready to hang in the chiller for a few days

I butchered her today. There is enough to share with my Jamaican neighbour, and I minced a lot of the meat to make burgers this time. There's also a big pot of  bones stewing on the Rayburn for the dogs in the morning. It makes their kibble a bit more interesting. Plus, you know, waste not want not and all that.

I also sent Horned Ram and the last entire ram lamb to market. Horned ram recovered from an infected scrotum but the vets couldn't guarantee that he would be fertile again, so I couldn't sell him on in good faith as a breeding ram. Thankfully I have his genetics in my flock, but it was sad to let such a handsome, quiet lad go. I only have two rams now: Aled the new Dorset ram I bought and Bertram the Friesian ram.

The sheep trade is so good and the grazing is so tight that I've decided to sell nearly half my flock, including all the hybrid Bertram lambs. I will keep 25 or so of my core breeders (and yes Grumpy's lamb is definitely staying!) and build up the numbers again when I feel able. Turning this commodity into money when the market is high is sensible, especially when you can literally make more stock and build up your future reserves again.

There is no way I am conceding the farm or my future farming plans.

I will start back on gamekeeping duties next week. I will trod Mike's well worn February path: taking stock of inventory, making repairs, having the incubators and hatchers serviced. The boys are feeding the catchers, ready to set in a couple weeks' time. We are all trying to make the transition for the new head keeper as seamless as possible.

All of us can only embrace hope that the weather will improve, spring will come and grass will grow. Lambs will be born (eventually!) and pheasant chicks will hatch. Even when so much is against us now.

The back of my whiskey bottle has a quote from Ernest Shakleton: "I believe it is in our nature to explore, to reach out into the unknown." I'm not trekking 1700 miles to the South Pole or even climbing an active Antarctic volcano. But I climb out of bed every morning and face the unknown. That is a start for me.

The End of The Season

Thank you to everyone for your kind messages after my last post.

The farm is still here. I am still here. I have good days and bad days. It's to be expected.

Mike's funeral was cathartic. So many people came that the church and a marquee outside were full, standing room only.

The family who employ Mike took care of everything for me. Mrs C even did the flower arranging using greenery from the woods and beautiful Narcissus from Cornwall, Mike's home county. 

Mr C drove the coffin in the back of the gun bus, a old Land Rover 101. Mike's old underkeepers, all now head keepers on their own shoots, rode in the back with Mike and me. They reminded me of all the happy, irritating, crazy Mike stories we'd been a part of together. 

There was a lot of laughter in the back of the old gun bus and Mike was at the centre of it as usual. The boys carried the coffin into the crematorium reminding me that Mike always said he should get a discount if he was ever cremated as he'd done half the job himself already in the gas explosion.

Apologies for the gallows humour but it is a good coping mechanism.

The family that employed and knew Mike for many years threw him a wonderful wake in the old barn where we meet for shoot days. No black was allowed, only tweeds and comfortable clothes.

I wish I could remember more of the day. The most I could manage was to hold it together and speak to people. So many kind words, cards, and flowers were sent to us. More importantly over £2000 was raised for Macmillan Cancer Support by everyone who attended. That would make Mike very happy.

His legacy, besides being a good husband, is all the young people he trained to become game keepers with respect for the countryside. There's 9 of us here, if you include me. Mike used to say that I was his longest serving apprentice.

He was so very proud of "his boys" as he called them.

My sister and my father took it in turns to stay here and keep me company during this time, over Christmas and into the new year. I'm lucky to have such a great family.

And to add more sadness to this post, I had to have Mike's old spaniel Dulcie put to sleep this morning. She was 16 and enjoying retirement but suffered a stroke last night. I like to think Mike and Dulcie are together now. I have 3 sleeping dogs around me cosying up to the Rayburn while I write, and the wind and rain howl outside. The dogs are by far the most comforting thing in my life.

OK, no more talk of death for now, I promise.

It's a shoot day tomorrow so I'm cooking stew for the beaters. The underkeepers are in the butchery readying some birds for orders this week. I'll go and join them in a while. I have six more shoot days to run as acting head keeper. I will keep working on the shoot until a permanent head keeper is found.

I have to move from this house but the estate has offered me a lovely little cottage just down the road, with a garden and lots of dog walking paths. I've happily accepted this stop gap for at least a year while I find the strength to go forward again. I'll keep you posted.

A Long Winter Ahead

It's taken two glasses of wine to get this far.

I haven't posted for awhile because Mike was diagnosed with cancer in August and we've been working hard to fight it with chemotherapy and a positive attitude.

Sadly, the cancer advanced quickly. My husband passed away in the early hours of Monday morning. He went peacefully in his sleep with family around him, which was a blessing.

I'm lost and broken and I miss him terribly.

The shoot season has to go on. I began filling in as Head Keeper when Mike got too poorly to come out. But I had his guidance and experience to help me. Now I'm on my own with two inexperienced young lads, who themselves need guidance. I put Mike's tweeds on and do my best to run the day, manage the clients. and support the underkeepers. Mike always joked that I was his longest serving apprentice, but it feels almost impossible to go on without him.

This winter is going to be the longest and the hardest to endure.

The livestock and the dogs give me a reason to get off the couch, and I'm comforted being around them. Even that damn goat who still keeps getting his head stuck in the fence.

Mike and I were in the process of buying a farm together. I don't know exactly what the future holds but we will still have our farm together, me in practice and him in spirit.

There's a lot of grieving ahead. Those of us left behind have to figure out how to go on. I will write more when I can, when the grief allows me to see a way out of this.

Keep us all in your thoughts.

A Beginner's Guide to the Cow

Our neighbour is a cattle farmer, but he's in hospital with back spasms. For sure an occupational hazard in farming, made worse by the ageing process that affects us all. He will be fine, but not in time for today's vet visit to PD (pregnancy diagnose) his herd of 85 cows. He has a very capable farmhand called Ed to do the technical cow type stuff, but today they needed a scribe, someone to write down 1) the cow's ID number and 2) their pregnancy status, shouted out by the vet as he scanned each cow.

Fact number one: Cows are unbelievably noisy when you separate them from their calves.

Before the vet arrived, I helped (or tried to help) Ed separate the cows from the calves. It saves time for the vet, and it saves space in the handling yard. I was on gate duty (open / close as needed) and as a sort of cow speedbump, to stop them running through the gaps. But then I had to leave a gap to let their calves out. But not the cows. Cows in, calves out. While preventing the cows you put in from coming out again.  I could hear the Benny Hill theme song playing in my head as I moved back and forth, waving hands, being still, and waving hands again.

We got there in the end. Ed was almost impossibly patient with me and with the cows.

Fact number two: Cows can be as idiotic as sheep.

This calf ran the opposite way and got stuck between the feed bars. Ed and I tried to move her in, then out, but she was stuck fast.

Ed never said a word but walked calmly off, and came back a few minutes later with an angle grinder.

He cut the bar and tried to push it open. It still wouldn't budge. He walked off calmly in the other direction and came back with a big hammer. A couple of hits shifted the bar to widen the gap. I pushed the calf's butt, he pulled the front end. Freed calf.

Ed never once swore, or lost his temper. He's as calm as his bovine charges. Mike and I can't even move sheep together without nearly starting divorce proceedings. Ed simply picked up where he left off, moving calves one way and cows the other.

I might have to hire Ed as my part time shepherd. It's cheaper than a divorce.

Due to some confusion, the vet was 2 hours late but the farmer's wife plied us with tea and cake so we were content to wait.

The vet arrived and kitted himself out in a neck-to-ankle plastic gown and two sets of armpit-length gloves, ready to insert the scanner and read the finding though his super-neato computer glasses.

Fact number three: Cows poop A LOT.

The vet inserts the scanner into the cow's rectum and reads the findings from above the uterus. He shouts out (above the din of blaring calves and bellowing cows) his findings, i.e. how pregnant is this cow, from empty (no calf), to  25 days pregnant, to 2 1/2 months, 4 months, etc. I write his findings next to the ID number, on paper with a pencil, in the rain, to be tallied by the farmer later. The tested cow leaves the "crush", which is a big crate that immobilises the head so the vet can do his work. A lever opens the crush, but I can only push the level high enough if I stand on my tiptoes. Ed did smile at this. My shortness amuses him.

Did I mention that cows poop a lot? It's also nearly liquid grass and after a few hours in the yard testing cattle, they pooped enough that a literal lake of poop was up to my ankles. And I got off easy. The vet, being right-handed, was covered in poop all along his right side from the neck down, after inserting his scanner into 85 cow butts.

And, when cows poop liquid grass, they poop right onto their tail. Which they flick about. I had a few cow poop beauty marks on my face before we finished.

It was only a few hours' work and I loved every minute of it. Maybe some sunshine and less poop would make it better, but it was fascinating work. And Monty the collie - my favourite farm dog - kept me company throughout.

Monty in action - he's quicker on the cows and more help than me!

I'm wearing a rubber suit so it's fine that Monty comes in for full-body cuddles, covered in....you guessed it...cow poops.

I was happy to be able to help my neighbour as he has so often helped me when I have been short of winter grass or when I needed somewhere to put my horses temporarily. He can peruse my notes on his pregnant cows when he gets home, although the paper is pretty damp and there are some suspicious stains on the paper. I bet you can guess what that's from.

The County Fair and Autumn's coming

In August it was our estate's turn to host the County Fair. It's a lot of work for the staff - estate owners want everything to look its best for the public so fences are repaired, fields are mowed, potholes in stone tracks are patched. It's an added expense for the owners, but a chance for an estate to effect repairs and rejuvenation projects mostly ignored for the rest of the agricultural year.  After two years, another estate takes over the responsibility of hosting the show and the burden is shared out.

Walking to the County Fair

County fairs are traditional events. They're usually quite small compared to the Royal (national) shows. Still, there are showjumping competitions, arts and crafts tents, artisan gin and ciders makers, local food served from the back of converted horse trailers, falconry demonstrations and gun dog competitions. Essentially the county fair exists to showcase all the craft and talent available in the community. I don't class myself as talented but I did make some training toys to sell, made from my felted sheep's fleece, and my dogs are big fans of my work.

Prototype. Molly claimed this one as her own.

I also got the opportunity to cross something off my bucket list: racing a camel. 

No, camel racing is not a common sight in the Hereford countryside but it was a special attraction at this year's show. A team of professional camel handlers allowed a few volunteers to race alongside them. I couldn't believe that they were struggling for volunteers to race ride a camel. I begged for a chance. It seemed people willingly gave up their spaces for me, relieved to be off the hook and camel-free. 

I borrowed a traditional Arab dishdasha (like a long tunic) from the big house as, unsurprisingly, I don't personally own any camel riding clothing. Apparently the estate does. I used my scarf as a belt, and tucked in the spare material to keep from tripping over the hem. I put my comfy training jodphurs on underneath, so no one had to see my underpants. Plus, you know, chafing.

And I won a race!

Bertram the camel 

OK, I lost two other races, but honestly it was the highlight of my year.

Anyhoo, back to daily life.

All our pheasants are now in their woodland pens. The birds like to come off roost and wander in the morning, especially now the wheat fields are cut and they can glean wheat berries as they go. Our first job of the day is taking dogs to round them up, move them off the lanes and back towards home. As jobs go it's a pretty good one. The dogs love it. Mike takes Cheyenne and Biscuit, I take Gertie. Gertie seems to understand the difference between "shoo" the birds and picking up season, and performs both jobs well. She especially loves cooling down in a puddle when we're done.

All the other dogs are fine. Dulcie continues to have mini-strokes (AKA Old Dog Vestibular Syndrome)  but still enjoys life, she just falls over every now and then. We have Oldies Afternoons in the garden with Dulcie, Podge, and Pip. They can mooch, chew bones, and sniff about without getting knocked over or bumped by rambunctious play from the youngsters. Molly is on cage rest as she pulled a muscle, but she's on the mend. Miss Betty had an emergency hysterectomy (early signs of pyometra)  but she's recovered too. 

The sheep are not doing so well. The flock contracted haemonchus worm shortly after lambing. I lost four ewes in total, even after calling the vets to post-mortem the first dead ewe and starting immediate treatment. 

I lost Grumpy ewe. 

I was upset at her passing, even though I can recall numerous times I would have throttled her with my bare hands (if I could have caught her!). Grumpy's one and only ewe lamb is still doing well which is a small consolation. 

Losing ewes meant I had to bottle feed some of the orphans, just to keep them topped up while they grew into eating grass and hard feed (what I call "sheep chow"). My neighbour James who farms dairy goats came though for me as usual. After he sent his milk away for cheesemaking, he let me have what was left in the tank. I filled up a 20 litres water can with goat's milk. It kept us going, and the goat's milk is much better for the lambs than powdered formula.

Each lamb's daily allowance 

The last poorly lamb not responding to treatment died this morning. This year, the vet bills will outweigh the cheques from the livestock market. With the vet's help I've since adapted my flock management program for next season and I hope this will prevent such a poor post-partum lambing result next year.

But there's no time to worry about the past season. I have to look forward with hope toward next season's lambs. It's tupping time again. I've put the rams and ewes on good fresh grass, to "flush" the ewes and make sure the rams are in top condition for tupping. The rams will go in with the ewes at the end of September. Lambs will be born the end of February through early March..

Mike is taking the boys to Dorset tomorrow as it's underkeeper Ian's first day running his own shoot. They are there to shake a stick at pheasants and lend moral support. I'm staying behind to chase the wandering pheasants here and make sure my butchery records are up to date. We're being audited for the British Game Alliance Assurance Scheme on Tuesday. The audit ensures we're producing game birds to the highest welfare standards and that the meat has traceable provenance. The BGA purports to help find new markets for our game meat, including China.

I cut the laying and rearing fields with the tractor over the past few days, so our fields will look tidy for the audit. It also gets rid of old grass and encourages new shoots, which will give me more winter grazing for my sheep. 

It's so satisfying to mow those old weeds down

I still haven't replaced the tractor window I smashed with the tree branch because the tractor cab is much cooler without it. I'll get it repaired in time for winter, when we take off the mower attachment and put on the hydraulic wood splitter. 

My squirrel traps are shut down now, until next spring. My trapping total for this year is 843 grey squirrels. I'm happy to have a break from running my daily trapping route. There are autumn jobs on the horizon. The pear and apple trees are fruiting well and I will make all our chutney and canned fruit for next year from the harvest. The boys shoot a deer a week so there's always something for me to butcher and put in the freezer, or give away.

We have no wood stacked for winter and we will need to start logging and splitting downed trees that we've earmarked after storms or old age put them on the ground. Because of a disease called Ash Dieback, all the ash trees on the estate need to come out over time. Ash is great burning wood and can be burned green. Mike has his eye on a dead oak that's ready for logging. Oak burns longer so it's a good wood to have in your pile.

For now, I'm going to put a cake in the oven so there's something to send down to Ian for his first day. It will be hectic and stressful for him, but he can keep cake in his truck and snack when he needs a sugar high. All keepers live on baked goods. I've just wormed the goats this morning, so I'll check on them too, before I walk the dogs. 

I'll let you know how we get on with our audit.

June's Work

Summer has finally arrived and brought not just warm, dry days but many of them in a row. It makes it easier to plan big jobs like getting pheasants out to wood or hay cut which require a spell of good weather.

Last Tuesday was our last hatch of the season. The incubators and hatchers are all scrubbed down and closed up for the season. I will turn the hatching room back into the butchery over the coming months, ready for shooting season.

Mike, with a lot of help from beaters and staff, managed to get almost half of our birds to wood. Beaters - like Andy here - catch pheasant poults in the sheds, crate the poults and stack the crates on a buggy, ready for their short trip to the woods -

.
The crates are stacked 4 high so each trip carries 8 crates. We run two buggies in tandem, so we're always loading or unloading and can keep the process moving. I'm following Mike -

We pass our neighbour's herd of Hereford suckler cows, i.e. calves that are born and stay with their mothers in a small herd, out on pasture, free to suckle and graze and enjoy the views. The cattle look so well, healthy and content. I can see his hay field behind is cut and on the ground, soon to be baled.

Hey it's not just the cows that want to enjoy the views. I love admiring good stockmanship.

When we get to the woodland pen, I check and make sure feed and water stations are full and working-

Then I can open the crate doors and let the pheasants out -

They come out in their own time. The brave ones take flight, but the cautious ones stand on the edge of the buggy and check out their surroundings first. I stand back and watch. Way back, as the pheasants inevitably poo when they fly so it's best to be out of target range.

When my crates are empty, I drive back to the sheds to swap my empty crates for full ones and the process repeats until the woodland pen is full or the sheds are empty. I have to keep a tally of how many crates (15 birds to a crate) that I release. I have a perfectly good phone that has apps I could use to keep track but no, I do this -

It's only slightly better than Mike's system of scratching marks in the mud inside his buggy -

Honestly, you think we would embrace the modern conveniences in our pockets.

The birds are embracing their new outdoor lifestyle and settled in well, finding food and a place to perch up high from predators. We surround the wood with 8ft wire and a strand of electric wire at ground level, just to help protect them while they adapt to living outside. Both will be lifted in due time.

Now we have to bring food to the woods to feed the pheasants. About this much a week -

It's delivered to the house on Mondays and the guys have to feed every bag by hand. It is hard work.

Speaking of animal feed, I've made my own hay this year. This is only because I rented a field and didn't graze it soon enough. The grass got so long, making hay was the only option.

I hired a contractor to cut and ted (spin the hay to dry it out) my grass. His tedder broke down and rain was coming. I called my neighbour Margaret for help  She's runs a feed store and knows everyone. Margaret sent her husband with his old tedder and a friend with even older baler to get me out of trouble -

You can see the rain clouds amassing behind us.

They left the bales on the field for me to pick up. I rushed out of bed early the next morning to bring them home and stack them. In total it took 4 trips with the trailer. Mike met me to help after I finished the first load. He even brought coffee - the whole pot, sloshing around the floor of the Land Rover, and a couple of mugs on the front seat with Molly. Typical Mike catering, but most welcome even with the dust and dog hair in it. .

Yes I am still in my pyjamas but I managed to beat the rain! Here's my haul: 125 bales of meadow hay which cost me 50p each for the baling, and a nice bottle of Malbec for Margaret's husband.

Last month during lambing I was paying up to £7 a bale!

I have put tarps over the stack and will leave it for a month or so. Hay can heat up and even burst into flames when it's first baled (same concept as the heating up of your compost pile) so I will wait to store it in the barn until autumn.

So, to recap (because I love reminding myself it's all done...) ---

Our hatches are finished,
Half the birds are to wood,
The sheep are all sheared and the fleece sold,
Lambing is done (042 never produced, she was just fat!),
And the hay is in!

It's been a productive month.

On the down side, my vegetable garden is pathetic. The rabbits ate my runner bean plants and kale, so I will be eating rabbits instead of greens. The crows are still stealing my chicken eggs if I don't collect them quick enough. The window on the tractor is still waiting to be fixed, along with belts on the mower and an oil leak on the telehandler.

And finally, we did not buy the farmhouse and 11 acres. Sadly, we couldn't get the funding in place in time for the auction. But our pheasant vet and her husband bought it, so that's good news. There are plenty of good places out there and we will keep looking until we find ours.

There's no time to sit on our June accomplishments. Next on the list is the County Fair being held here at the estate, so I have a lot of tractor mowing to do to make everything tidy. My horse field is going to be used as the gun dog arena so I need to get that in shape next. And now that the butchery will be back on line, I can spend a few evenings in a high seat and bag myself a muntjac deer or two to save for beaters' lunches.

I might even have a day off.