Dreaming...

"I dream my painting and I paint my dream" Van Gogh clearly inspired by his own work. I can assure all blog readers that my dreams and painting are as mixed together as well as oil and water! Last winter was tough - late snow then heavy rain and a spring that almost forgot to turn up. This winter...only in nightmares does it appear. Still and all, I'm not going to go bleating on about it. Fact is, we're all a little bored of the constant flooding news and our little Smallholding is standing up ok-ish to the ark test. We are not so bad as some fellow rural dwellers nor are we so dependent on our lands produce to live.

However, living in the fresh air is, most city girls rever. The dream of Dubarrys in place of Dune and Barbour's worn with the pride of actually being wet. That romanticised notion of crisp winter walks with obedient dogs, hand in hand in the peace of the countryside with all the time to stop and wonder at natures miracle as a snowdrop doffs it's cap to satisfy ones gaze. The sleepy ewes carrying springs new lives baa-ing whilst a buzzard mews overhead, demanding you pay spectacle to the aerial displays of our largest bird of prey. Well, stuff all that. The fact is, walking the dogs before work, in the dark, with winds so strong that your mascara runs all before 7:30am is not peaceful. Hosing muddy dogs down 3 times a day is hardly romantic nor is being mugged by starving, sodden ewes desperate for a few sheep nuts as sustenance anywhere like romantic. My Joules pheasant wellies are so ingrained in mud the decor has faded and my Barbour has no wax left on it! I now walk in permanent mans waterproof trousers and DHs old football manager type coat that has a broken zip and snags my nail each time I put it on. My wrists are knackered too by the daily fight with the chicken house such is the concoction of tarpaulin and rope around it to prevent it from taking off. And are the chickens grateful? Absolutely not, few eggs, messy houses and a potential egg eater which, once identified will have to become Sunday lunch. So, no reader, rest assured I am anything but complaining...Marianne Dashwood once identified that 'a woman of seven and twenty can never hope to feel or inspire affection again.' Well. I'm closer to seven and thirty these days and she is absolutely right. What use is a curly blow and gellished end nails? What purpose serves the 5:2 for me when at dawn and dusk mud battles ensue for all us country dwellers and their countryside dreams...
Weather: ha! Wet or windy or both! Barn flooded out twice so far and lamb field sporting a lake.

Providing for the family

I'm pretty sure Blaze was a cat in a previous life. His retrieval obsession started off with the odd sock and T towel then escalated to DD's toys, chicks and rabbits. Seemingly slighted by the stern looks and deep voice Blaze clearly thinks I'm unimpressed. The words "no" and "leave" not registering in the small bit between a labs ears. Keen to please, eager to be loved he ups his game regularly. Last week he decided to try for the 'ultimate.' To be fair, he knows me well and he is right in that, this time of year a haunch of venison with red wine delights me no end. 'Pick your own' style however, doesn't appeal to me. Not that this stopped him as he spotted 3 deer in the field. Not even Horsley's call of "been there, done that, still out of breath from it"  put a halt to the boys enthusiasm. So off he went. A million miles an hour. I was stunned into simply being able to do nothing except watch as Glory Blaze took off, full athletic, shiny, muscular coat bounding across the fields as the sun was rising and the dew was glistening. Sounds lovely doesn't it? Unfortunately the illusion was shattered by my trusty gundog whistle (3 peeps and he'll return my ar*e) and subsequent yellings of, "right, that's it. I'm cold, it's freezing, you can stay here and chase deer for all I care.." Basil Fawlty eat your heart out. Needless to say, the deer (regulars) are used to the dopey labradors and were away at a graceful bound and leap before Blaze had picked himself up to carry on running after them having tripped over his front paws - yes. He really did. Eventually he returned, ears flat, tail between his legs, cow eyes on. One day he'll learn to save his energy (for like when he earns his keep out at stud) but I love his efforts really. He's learning too that Mother Nature makes fools of us all (and how many times have I written that throughout the course of the blog to date?!)

We saw Darcey the other day on our afternoon walk. Darcey being the black fish we 'released' into the pond from the kitchen tank after she grew too big. DD was delighted. I was too but I have to say, each time I spot one of our family of herons there it's so special to be close up to nature. Even more so as the thousands of goldfish that exist out there in the pond attract buzzards to hunt there (an amazing sight) kestrels to perch and wonderful kingfishers always flying off so suddenly with a fish dangling. So I really hope Darcey has become street-wise after a cossetted upbringing indoors. Kristina, Wenlock and Mandeville are pleased with the extra space however.

We also have a new arrival by the name of Brutus. A shetland ram with scary curly horns! It's the lottery time of year. We don't have a marking spray on him and it costs too much to scan the ewes etc so it'll be wait and see again! We have made a better note of dates this time however. He's obviously quite a catch as even Lily, Saturn and May the lambs not in his field keep following him up and down the fence!

This weekend sees a 'tidy up' need. Lots to do in garden, lots to clean out in chicken area which has resembled a mud field of late and lots of prep to do in terms of getting a hay feeder for the sheep, stock checking the hay, oiling the gates and making a note that next year we must invest in hardcore around the gates so that we can get vehicles on and off. It's always the first and most vital areas to subside into clay and mud. DH and I noticed whilst on a recent trip to the Lake District that it seems quite normal to do this up there. Makes sense really. Not that we have many vehicles. Our little workhorse golf buggy has died so it's either the trusty Volvo or a trailer being pulled by hand to move some logs around in prep for the woodburner being fitted shortly (energy prices can go to hell.) Well, it can't be the car as the lock on the access gate is seized. Nothings moving in or out at the mo! Honestly, everything as a smallholder is hard bloomin work and usually costly!

In saying that I do appreciate every day how lucky we are. About a year ago DH was kicked out the City and though it was hard - people who have experienced redundancy will know just how hard, I always knew leaving the pricks he worked with (oh I could write a book!) would benefit us all. It didn't feel like that for a long time. But. One year on and we are feeling positive again (even if I am still angry - guess thats the scouser in me!) DH has his mojo back. And it is true; what goes around comes around.

Stay positive!

Will update photos when I get a chance.

Mx


Weather: Well it's warmed up a bit to a barmy 10 degrees. It may as well have been minus 10 this morning having to wash Blaze after a spot of fox poo rolling at 7am. Sub tropical indoors currently though as DD has a bug.