This has been a restful weekend, the first one I've felt reasonably well in a while. I've tried not to overdo it, and spent plenty of time just sitting around with a nice cup of tea. The big event of the weekend though, was new chickens, and so most of our activity has been focused on that. We spent Friday afternoon building a partition in the run to keep the new chickens away from the current ones. The current chickens watched all this activity with indignation. On Saturday, Peter stayed at home to finish putting the final touches to the run, and I drove to collect the new ladies. We're still under bird flu rules, so there were strict biosecurity precautions in place. I wasn't allowed to get out of the car, so I didn't see the new ladies until we got home. I talked to them all the way back in the car, telling them about where they were going, and the beaky footsteps they were going to follow in. Skippy is smaller - she came out of the box curious, and it didn't take her long to start digging, scratching, and pecking everything in sight. It's such a lovely sight, knowing these ladies have never seen soil or the sky before, to see them scratching around and staring out of the window. Daisy, on the other hand, was quiet, subdued, and if one of our current chickens had looked like she did, I would have been carting her off to the vets. But rehoming day is always traumatic for these girls. They're pulled out of their cages, put into crates and into a van, driven to the rehoming centre, out of the crates and briefly into a barn, then into boxes, into cars, and driven to their new homes, all in one day. I know I'd be tired and subdued after all that. She does seem a lot brighter today after a good rest. We're keeping the old and new ladies separate for a few days, so they've got their own little house to sleep in, but of course they don't know that's what it's for, having never had a separate house to sleep in before. Last night, we went to the run just after it had gone dark to find Skippy on top of the house, and Daisy up on a perch. We tucked them in nice and cosy. Tonight I went in to find them both on the perch together, cuddled up next to each other. I'm hopeful that tomorrow they'll find their way into the house. The older ladies are, of course, unimpressed. Sunshine and Budgie did a lot of shouting, and even Bessie, who's usually quite placid, joined in the chorus for a while. Things do seem to have settled down a little today - possibly they're reassured that their own treats supply won't be diminished by the intruders. Poor things. We've never had any that had lost all their feathers, but they do usually look pretty moth-eaten and ragged when they arrive. The story is that they're moulting, and that may well be the case, but ours have moulted every year and yes, there are feathers all over the run, but they never look like this. I can't wait for them to start preening and dust bathing. Anyway, this weekend hasn't all been about chickens, although the majority of it has been. I've finally got round to making soap, for only the second time since we moved here - I'll report back on the new recipe once I know it's properly worked. I've finally finished painting the second coat of yellow onto the kitchen walls - I started the first coat in November 2021 so this is quite an achievement! It's not quite felt like there's a hint of spring in the air, but my thoughts have started to turn a little towards the garden (in between torrential downpours), and I managed to plant out the hellebore my sister gave me for Christmas. And yes, a cafe trip or two, and a bit of plotting and scheming and letter writing. All in all, a most satisfactory weekend.
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Today is my last day off work, and right now I'm not feeling ready to go back tomorrow. I can't complain. I've had 24 days off - nearly an entire month - and I'm well aware how fortunate I am. We had all kinds of plans, and sadly many of them have been abandoned through one person or another being ill. We managed to get as far as Christmas eve before Peter got ill, and then I caught it too, the day after my race, and we've both been snivelling and snuffling and coughing and spluttering ever since, staying in separate rooms, well away from each other. Still, I am trying to slowly ease myself out of illness and back into activity, and as part of that I'm trying to pin down my days, to make me remember what I've been doing. I did make a trip to see some of my family, which was lovely, although the drive wiped me out all of the following day. Closer to home, we wrapped up and wandered down an unfamiliar footpath in a familiar town, and although the weather was a bit grim, it was nice to be out, and to see the beginnings of green shoots in the ground. One day, we sneaked the chickens into the house - a rare treat under the avian flu lockdown. While Peter supervised their shenanigans, I took the opportunity of having them out of the way to clear out their run, digging several barrows of compost out and tipping it onto the veg beds, and getting soaked in the process by the fine mist. It felt good to be doing something out in the garden, even if only for an hour, and it felt good to have the run all nicely tidied up, ready for the arrival of the new chickens next weekend. It's warmer (and drier) inside the house of course, and I've been pottering about finishing the thermal blinds and painting a second coat on the kitchen. I created quite a mess in the process, but slowly things are coming together, with little corners here and there almost seeming finished. So, it's back to work for me tomorrow. From home, thank goodness - easing myself in gently.
I confess I have a new, not-so-secret plan for this year. After a lot of pondering and staring at my diary, I've realised it might just be possible for me to be at work for less than half of the days in every month this year. Wouldn't that be a thing? For me, 2022 has been a fairly gentle year, a much needed rest after the chaos of 2021 and the strangeness of 2020. Let's have a little look back at how the year unfolded. I started with a review of 2021, declaring that I wanted 2022 to be more restful, and to keep the house slightly less chaotic - which I'm pleased to say have both been achieved. My post about December on the homestead showed the state the house had become, and I'm delighted it's never got to that level since. January on the homestead was a busy one - we didn't do any DIY, but we looked after a family member's dog while they were in hospital, and sadly lost Bunty chicken. On the homestead in February, we had lots of weather, noticed signs of spring, and started painting the kitchen (which I'm ashamed to say I still haven't finished!) March on the homestead was productive. The chickens were still in flockdown under the Avian Flu housing order, and we had two rather expensive home visits for Bessie, our oldest chicken. I did some batch cooking, painted the bedroom, cleaned out the greenhouse, turned the compost, cleared the veg garden, and finally took the Christmas tree down. In April, I pondered how to make this place feel more like home and less like a building site. My April on the homestead post shows that I spent a lot of time outside. We hired a power scythe to tackle the remainder of the hay field (which we won't be repeating), strimmed the garden, and ate our first meal of the year outdoors. In May, I talked about some local adventures I'd had, did some more wandering, and vowed to do even more in the future (which I never quite got round to). May on the homestead was pretty cheerful. The avian flu housing order was lifted, so the chickens could roam free again. I retreated from the internet and found a whole load more time. I finally got round to planting some seeds, and tidied up quite a bit in the house and garden. June on the homestead felt busy, although I wasn't sure there was much to show for it at the time. I harvested some fruit, wheelbarrowed a lot of woodchip, did some spring cleaning, and we had our dog friend to stay again for a few days. In July, I found myself getting back to making things - in this case a blanket for a friend's baby, a new hot water bottle cover, and some washing liquid (which I'm still not even half way through). In July on the homestead, we did a lot of lazing around with the chickens, tidied odd corners of the house, and pondered the general state of the garden (which was rather out of hand). Then I caught covid for the first time, and spent yet more time sitting around sewing. In August we sadly lost Bonny chicken. August on the homestead was all about scything, and it looked like we might just get a decent apple crop (spoiler - we didn't). September on the homestead involved yet more scything, and considerable progress was made. Moles took over the garden, I made Peter a new hat, we made a hay box, and I took part in the local well dressing. September was a nicely sociable month, so not much else done, but we spent a lot of time hanging around with other people, which was lovely. In October, we had a little trip to the seaside. On the homestead, my thoughts turned to the cold weather ahead, and I had a little foray into carpet fitting, and started making thermal blinds. In November, we unexpectedly lost Poppy chicken. We took a trip to Edinburgh for a wedding, and had a few local days out. In November on the homestead, I made more progress on my thermal blinds, and sewed some present bags. Sadly, the bird flu housing order came even earlier this year, so they went into flockdown quite early in November, having only been out for just over six months. I hope this doesn't become an annual occurrence, but it's looking increasingly likely that it will. December on the homestead saw yet more thermal blinds (for the kitchen this time), more present bags, and the start of some rather chilly weather.
So overall, 2022 was indeed more restful than 2021, and the house did stay the right side of chaos for most of the year, although I have despaired occasionally at how long it's taking us to get everything finished. And what about 2023? I'd like to write on here more - for most of 2022 I only managed one post a month, and while I'm glad I did that, I do miss more regular ramblings. I'm hesitant to make any predictions, but I'd like 2023 to be a year of progress, where I feel like a few jobs get ticked off the DIY list. I'd like the kitchen and dining room to be finished, to have properly moved into the new bedroom (the mattress is still just on the floor at the minute), and to have set up my craft room. I'd like the stairs to be finished, and maybe even to have made a start on the bathroom. Outside, I want the chickens to finally get their new extension, the whole hay field to be scythed (I got so close in 2022!), the garden to be productive, all fruit and veg to be harvested, processed, and stored away in a beautiful pantry. Not too much to ask, is it? I'm not entirely sure where December has gone. I was at work for the first two weeks, in a flurry of activity leading to a deadline. My last day was the 15th - a complete luxury, which I planned for, as I only took a week off over Christmas last year and it wasn't long enough. We had some lovely weather at the start of the month. Beautiful, but very cold, and of course that was the very moment our boiler decided to conk out. All fixed now, thank goodness, and without too much inconvenience. We also had a spell of freezing rain - a bizarre type of weather, where it's so cold that the rain freezes instantly and coats whatever it comes into contact with in a layer of ice. Absolutely treacherous, and I was glad I didn't have to go any further than the chicken run. My thoughts, unsurprisingly, have been on keeping warm. I finished a couple of my thermal blinds and got them up in the kitchen. I'm delighted with them, they make the room far more cosy, and they're bright and cheerful. I bought the thermal fabric for this project, but all the other material we had lying around, bought in charity shops many years ago. We've got another two to hang in the kitchen, and two in the bedroom. While I had the sewing machine out, I made a load of present bags from a couple of festive table cloths I picked up in a charity shop recently. I love using present bags instead of wrapping paper - I made several last year, but they weren't particularly festive, and my technique has improved the more I've made. I finished my Christmas shopping on 23rd December, which might not sound early, but is an improvement on most years, when I usually end up buying the final things between Christmas and new year, or even after that. Not this year though. I'm really pleased I had time for some pre-Christmas cafe trips and general hanging around, because since then, things have gone rather awry. Peter has been ill since Christmas eve, and now I'm full of cold as well.
Before I got ill though, I did manage to squeeze in a race with my sister. We've done this race before, in 2018 - it lasts from sunrise to sunset, and you just do as many laps as you can. I love the concept of keeping going for the whole of the daylight hours, in the shortest days of the year. We managed 21.5 miles, and were giddy with success, and then I somehow got locked in the car park, which resulted in an hour traipsing around the playing fields in the dark and rain with another woman who was also trapped, until we managed to squeeze our way out of a pedestrian exit. That, combined with the race itself, and a two hour drive home during which I could not get warm, combined to make me rather stiff, and unsurprisingly, I caught Peter's cold, so now I'm poorly too. Since then, we've been cooped up inside the house, spending our time in separate rooms, each with a box of tissues and our choice of mindless tv, occasionally rousing ourselves to make a cuppa or take the chickens a treat. What a way to end the year. I'm glad I took over three weeks off work, because it means I've still got nine days left before I go back, and I'm going to need that time for family visiting, doing all the little jobs I vowed to do while I was off, and generally recovering. Back soon with some reflections on the outgoing year and some plans for the new one... We got Poppy Chicken in November last year, one of a gang of three rescues we collectively named The Troublemakers. Poppy didn't seem able to stand when we got her home, and although she otherwise seemed cheerful enough, we still worried. Fortunately, we were able to ring the British Hen Welfare Trust advice line, who told us that often, when chickens are rehomed from factory farms, their legs can sometimes be damaged in the process of removing from cages into crates for transporting to rescue centres. We were advised to put her on 'cage rest' for a couple of days - shutting her into a dog crate with her own food and water, so she could see the others, but they weren't competing for food. Poppy was bright, and keen to eat, and on the morning of the third day we went into the run and found her standing. There was never any sign of a bad leg again after that. Poppy was full of mischief, and in many ways she reminded us of Rusty Chicken, who we'd lost not long before she arrived. She was friendly and fun, and always up to some kind of mischief. Poppy was curious, and was the only chicken to have ever jumped on the table and stuck her beak in the sugar bowl. She seemed poorly once, and we booked a vets appointment, only for her to make a miraculous recovery on the day of our visit. We took her anyway as a precaution, and she charmed the vet, jumping onto the scales by herself, and peeking through her legs as the vet was examining her. Poppy took well to free range life, and loved a nap. She always felt comfortable hanging out with us, and would often have a snooze on a blanket in the garden. I once looked out of the window and spied her on the swing seat, swinging away happily all by herself. In early November, we planned a trip to a friend's wedding - the first time we'd ever been away from the chickens for more than one night. My sister was coming to stay with them as Treats Provider. I'd picked up a friend from the airport who was coming with us to the wedding, and as we were showing him around the garden, we found Poppy lying dead by a wall near the house, with Sunshine standing over her. We don't know what happened. She'd shown no signs of being ill, and had been pottering around happily with the others. There was no sign of a flurry of feathers, and the others weren't harmed, so it wasn't a fox, although after a frantic search Budgie and Bessie were found in their house so they must have been startled by something. We think there was a stoat - they're common here, and Poppy had a wound to her neck, but it would be unusual for a stoat to attack a full grown chicken in broad daylight, especially when there is plenty of other food around. It's possible she collapsed for another reason, and a stoat just happened to be passing after. We'll never know, and it was very sad. Our friend had to attend his first (and hopefully last) chicken funeral, and it did put a dampener on the start of our holiday. We asked my sister to keep the others shut in the run while we were away, and the avian flu lockdown came into force a couple of days after that, so that was the last time they were out. I've never been much of a believer in the afterlife, but I'm comforted to think there's one for chickens. So Poppy Chicken is now in the Great Dust Bath in the Sky, along with Bunty and Bonny who we lost earlier this year, Rusty, Beaky and Chippy who we lost in 2021, Mildred and Maud in 2020, and Hermione and Luna in 2019. So fly free, little Poppy-o. I'm glad you got a year free with us, a whole summer of delightful wandering around the fields with your pals, eating worms, digging up the garden, preening on the sofa, and causing general chaos. We're down to three chickens now, and while (touch wood) they all seem well, it does seem rather precariously small for a flock. We despaired for a while, but fortunately the British Hen Welfare Trust has started rehoming again (with appropriate avian flu restrictions of course) so we've put ourselves down for a couple of new ladies in January. We miss all the ones we've lost, of course, but we're looking forward to giving a home to a couple more soon.
November began with a chicken tragedy. We were all set to go away for two consecutive nights for the first time since getting chickens. My sister was coming to stay to keep them well stocked with treats. We picked our friend up from the airport, and as we were showing him around, we found Poppy Chicken dead in the garden. An utter shock - she hadn't seemed ill, and they'd all been seen wandering around together just half an hour earlier. It wasn't a fox - she had a wound in her neck which fits with what I'd expect from a stoat. We do see them regularly here, but I wouldn't have expected one to attack a full grown chicken in broad daylight. We'll never know if it attacked, or if she died from something else and the stoat was just passing after the event. We were, of course, distraught, and our friend's first visit here involved a chicken funeral. I'll do a separate memorial post when I can get at all my old photos. In the meantime, on to the rest of November. An exciting trip Like October, November began with a trip - two nights in Edinburgh for the wedding of some friends. Our excitement was marred by losing Poppy Chicken of course, but we had a good time nevertheless. Other jaunts We seem to have done a fair bit of galivanting in November, as we followed our Edinburgh trip with a visit to a friend in Lincoln, and then a wander down a local-ish canal. November also involved tea in some different places, and a visit to an exhibition of an artist whose work I'm very fond of, Sue Prince. Oh, and a trip to Trentham Gardens, where I've never been before, and where apparently I took no photographs. I did do quite a bit of Christmas shopping though. Sewing and more sewing November involved yet more sewing of thermal blinds, although I don't seem to have taken any pictures of the kitchen ones yet. You can see the cave-like window in the corner of this picture - it'll be so much nicer once there's a cheerful blind in front of it! I also picked up a couple of large pieces of festive fabric in a charity shop and while the sewing machine was out, made a few present bags ready for Christmas. Flockdown Sadly, the start of November brought the latest 'flockdown' - a housing order put into force by DEFRA to try to stop some of the spread and damage caused by the latest round of avian flu. Last year it started in early December, and lasted until 1st May. This year, it started on 7th November, and if it lasts until May again, the chickens will have been shut in their run for a full six months. Their run is big, and sheltered, which is great in this weather. We'd still like a bit of space that is more 'outdoors' (although still with a roof), and while we'd planned to start that last year, and even bought some materials, we never got round to it. Before flockdown started, we staked out where the posts with go - although I confess we still haven't got any further than that yet... I think that was it for November. Between jaunts and sewing and a work deadline or three, the month just whizzed past.
And now here we are, almost in the middle of December, which seems to be whizzing past in equal fashion. Only four more days at work before I break up for Christmas, and I am SO very ready. I like to spend the break plotting and scheming about the next year, so expect to see some of that here at some point soon. I should probably concentrate on getting the Christmas tree up first though. Gosh, that was a long time away from my little blog! My ancient laptop was behaving very oddly, and eventually just gave up altogether, and I've only just got round to replacing it (and figuring out the new photo software). Anyway, now we're here, let's go back in time to October, which feels like rather a long time ago now. A trip to the seaside October started with a much-needed trip to the seaside. We were there for less than 24 hours, but goodness me it was refreshing. The sun shone, we wandered a couple of miles along the beach from the hotel to the tower, munching chip butties and doughnuts. Then, once it went dark, a crowd of people formed - unknowingly we'd arrived during the World Fireworks Championship. Sadly this turned into a literal damp squib, as a downpour arrived not long after the start of the show, but we still had a marvellous time and returned home nicely reinvigorated. Exploring closer to home I met a friend for a walk, and we went somewhere close to home but new to me. It reminded me how I planned to do more exploring this year, and never really got round to it. Something else to add to the list for next year. Carpet fitting October's big project was fitting a carpet in my study. I spend a lot of time in this room, and it's one of the coldest in the house, partly because it barely gets any sun, but mostly because of the ceramic floor tiles. I did have a rug down, but it wasn't very warm, and there was still plenty of tile visible round the edges. We realised we had some spare rugs in the loft, and I thought I'd throw a few down to see if I could get the room a bit warmer. We retrieved some rugs from the loft, and at some point, Peter realised he'd got an entire carpet from Freegle a while back, and it was still sitting in an outbuilding. Would it fit the whole room?? Yes! Well, very nearly, and certainly more than the assortment of rugs would have done. But wait! If we're going to the trouble of putting down an entire carpet, we might as well put in some decent underlay and do it properly. Did you know underlay has a tog rating, like duvets? I didn't. This is 3.6 tog, 15mm thick, wool underlay, and it is SO warm. I've never laid underlay before, but how hard could it be? Obviously everything was a bit of a fiasco, as with all these jobs, especially when you don't really know what you're doing. The first thing was to lay carpet gripper rods, and because of the tiles, these couldn't be nailed to the floor, but had to be glued. We took all the furniture out of the room, and I was reminded yet again that life sometimes seems like one long game of House Tetris. After gluing the gripper rods, we decided to remove the giant bookcase from the room (I was originally going to go round it, to save the hassle of dismantling). Yet more faffing - especially when I realised I'd painted the room AFTER installing the bookcase... Gripper rods down, bookcase dismantled, gripper rods under the bookcase removed and re-glued, first coat of paint. The original cream paint was eggshell, and I was painting matt, so it was really patchy to start with, and I realised that even with two coats, it was going to be a slightly different colour than the rest of the room. I ended up doing one coat on the missed bits, and then another two coats round the whole room to even things up. Finally, it was time to fit the carpet! I spent a lot of time sitting on the floor like this, despairing. Why had we FOLDED it before putting it in the outbuilding? Who folds carpet?? Certainly not professional carpet fitters. Still, the aim of this project was warmth, not perfection, and a lumpy carpet is better than no carpet at all. Slowly, after some rather unconventional smoothing techniques, it was starting to take shape. Yes, that is indeed an upturned coffee table filled with heavy things, and if you imagine me lying face down and essentially using this as a giant iron, you won't be far off the truth. The carpet didn't quite fit into the final alcove, but I did a bit of patching with the chunk cut out for the fireplace, and it doesn't look too bad. I'm definitely considering this a triumph. I've put the original rug back over the top, and I've not had the electric heater on while I'm working since the carpet went down. I can't tell you how thrilling it is to be able to work at my laptop without fingerless gloves on. We decided not to put the bookcase back in. Instead, we moved the sofa bed, so it's now possible to have the bed folded out and still use the rest of the room, which is very handy. It does mean that all my books are temporarily in a different room (House Tetris again), and we now need to build some more bookshelves. Still, I have learned some new skills, and we now own a knee kicker for the next time we need to fit a carpet. Thermal blinds October was apparently the month I turned my attention to the impending winter, as the other project I started was also all about warmth. We don't have curtains in either new bedroom or the kitchen/dining room, and not only does that mean things get decidedly chilly at night, especially in the kitchen, but it doesn't feel cosy to sit there looking at giant black squares once it's gone dark outside. Curtains would have been the easiest option, but Peter's not a fan, and I don't like the way you end up tucking them behind radiators. Instead, we decided to go with simple blinds, and because we try to avoid paying for things we can do ourselves, I declared I'd make them. I measured all the windows, six in total (two upstairs, four downstairs), and ordered some thermal fabric. This isn't fleecy, it's just really tightly woven. I started with upstairs - that way they would be mostly out of public view if my experiments didn't quite work. We found some fabric we'd bought years ago in a charity shop, and some bits of wood for the top and bottom. Then I started scratching my head (and swearing) as I tried to figure out how on earth to put everything together. The fabric is beautiful, but shiny and ever so slightly stretchy. There was also only just enough, meaning no room for excess seams. I wanted the pattern to be straight, I didn't want it too bulky at the sides where it would be rolled, and also the three layers of fabric really needed to be attached together all the way across so it didn't go saggy. The first one was quite painful, but once I'd figured it out, things went a lot more smoothly. These are red and gold on the front, black and gold on the back, with a layer of thermal fabric in the middle. They look fantastic, and, as is the way of things, they are still not hung up at the windows (that's a job for this week...). They do go very nicely with the ridiculous gold and orange walls in the bedroom though. The ones for the kitchen use a different pair of fancy fabrics, but they didn't get started til November (and still aren't finished). Fungi So, back outside, and on a wander round our fields with a visitor, we discovered a wealth of fungi. I confess I don't have a clue what any of this is, and I never did get out the identification book to check. Maybe next year. So there we are - a potted run down of what was happening here in October. I didn't spend much time outside, and did nothing much in the garden. Still, a trip away, learning how to fit a carpet, and redecorating an entire room isn't a bad list of achievements for a single month.
November to follow soon... September was rather sociable. We spent a lot of time in cafes, and at other people's houses, and we had people to visit every weekend and sometimes during the week too. It was lovely - although it did mean that the DIY was a bit neglected. The hay meadow One thing that wasn't neglected was the hay field. I was out there whenever I could, and both my mum and a friend did a full day of scything and raking as well. We made lots of progress. I'd left several rows of cut grass, so the first job was to rake all those up into piles, and ferry them to the new grass dumping ground, where I hope it will all rot down nicely into compost for next year. It definitely started to feel like we were getting somewhere. I've been keeping a record, and it seems we only actually spent 14 hours in this field in September, and that included the hours done by my mum and my friend. It doesn't seem like much - I did 24 hours in August on my own - but it was all just over two days, with the rest of the month given over to being sociable. The woodland One of our visitors is rather a tree expert, and was interested in inspecting our fledgling woodland. Of course, it still looks absolutely nothing like a woodland, but I was impressed how many trees were growing over the top of their guards. It's interesting to see how the different species are faring. We saw a lot of alder, birch, rowan, field maple, aspen, and oak, a good number of hawthorn, blackthorn, and hazel. We didn't spot any willow, but there are only 15 of those in a field of 1000 trees, so I'm not too surprised. We also didn't spot any beech - there should have been 45 of those, so again, not too surprising, although there are only 45 birch too and we did see plenty of those. It'll be good to see how it all works out. There were a few that hadn't made it, which is only to be expected. At some point over the winter I'll try to start gathering in the guards and stakes from those, and seeing if I can pass them on to someone else. We did pick a few blackberries while we were down in the fields, but not as many as I'd hoped to. I spotted them at the right time this year, but didn't pick them until later, when they were mostly gone. Oh well, there's always next year. Moles Another outdoor preoccupation in September was moles. Now, I have no interest whatsoever in a pristine lawn, and nothing at all against moles in principle. However, this summer our garden has become home to a very enthusiastic mole, who seems determined to colonise the entire garden. I don't really mind - but we did start getting concerned for the chicken run, after every trip to the compost bin resulted in one of us sinking into a mole tunnel. The chicken run doesn't have foundations - it's just built on top of breeze blocks, and the speed at which the surrounding ground was collapsing was quite alarming. September saw us make several failed attempts to encourage the moles into the hay field (which is very close, and where they could have free run) but to no avail. We resorted to more drastic measures, which I'll report in October's post. The hay box Moving inside now, but still thinking about hay - we made a hay box. This is extremely exciting, and something I've been meaning to get round to for a while. There's a fair bit of talk about these at the minute given the rise in electricity prices, but I don't know anyone who's made one. We talked about all kinds of fancy plans, but in the end just took a plastic storage box, and filled it with hay. Nestled a pan in the middle to make a hole, which we draped inelegantly with an old pillowcase. We stuffed another pillowcase with hay to put on top, and finished the whole thing off with a stone from the garden. The idea is that you bring your food up to the boil, then put it straight into the hay box, where it finishes cooking. These were, of course, popular in war time, and now there are a variety of thermal bag alternatives. We are complete converts, and have made all kinds in here - I did rather go overboard on how much rice I made (but it's brilliant having cooked brown rice in the freezer!) A new hat I've started making Peter a new hat. I've made a few of these before, but never got round to making a proper template, and it usually takes me a few goes to get right. It's still not quite finished, but I've been having fun making it (although there has been quite a bit of cursing too). Other things There's nothing much else to report from September. I got involved in the village well dressing, which was fun. We also went for a bit of a local walk, and spotted what I'm pretty sure was a red kite - not too common round these parts. Other than that, September was mostly just hanging out, either at friend's houses, in our own kitchen, or in our favourite cafe. Overall, a nice, cheerful month. October so far has been less sociable, but more DIY has been done. Will report back soon.
August was all about one thing round here - hay. Well, more specifically, scything, as hay itself is more of a by-product - my main aim is to reduce the fertility of this field (by cutting and removing the grass), and therefore eventually increase the biodiversity, ultimately restoring something like what would have been a traditional hay meadow habitat. Anyway, I started slightly later than I intended, as I had covid towards the end of July, and it took a couple of weeks to get back up and running. And I started in a different corner of the field this year, aiming for a diagonally upwards direction. So I started at the bottom left of the field, and slowly, an hour at a time, edged in rather curved lines, up the field. It was hard going though. Theoretically, it should have been easier than last year - heading diagonally upwards means you're depositing the cut hay slightly downhill to your right, rather than slightly uphill. I made a good attempt to peen the scythe, which should make it easier to scythe. That worked a little bit, and I did get quite a bit cut and removed, and stacked up in the shed. I was doing all this on my own though, and it proved to be too difficult to make wheelie bin bales like I did in previous years (with help), and so it's all been piled haphazardly in the back of an outbuilding. Not very scenic, and a bit of a nuisance, but we are all about practicalities here. I was still having a tough time scything though, and tried switching to my longer scythe blade. This lasted about five minutes, until I misjudged the length, and impaled a water butt, meaning I had to abandon the scything to rescue the precious water leaking rapidly into the field. The longer scythe blade was quickly abandoned after that, not least because what I'm trying to scythe isn't beautiful swishy meadow, but rather an assortment of clumpy, uneven grass. About this point, I sent the scythe blade to be professionally sharpened. I also decided to start again in a different corner of the field. This meant I'd be heading downhill, and therefore depositing the cut hay slightly uphill, which isn't ideal. However, the grass by this point had flopped over rather a lot, and general consensus seems to be that it's best to cut with the grass flopped over away from you, rather than towards you. Between this, and the newly sharpened scythe blade, things started moving an awful lot more quickly. This is where I started on 20th August. Ninety minutes later, I'd done the first row. And by the end of the following day, after eight hours of scything over the two days, I was starting to feel like I might actually get to the end of the field this year, for the first time ever. By the end of August, I'd done seven long rows, along with cutting and raking the bit I'd started with originally. Getting there. So, twenty four hours of scything in August, and while that doesn't sound that much, it was mostly achieved an hour or two at a time, after work, or in between weekend activities. You'll have to wait (not very long!) for September's update... In other news... We lost Bonny chicken, of course, which we are all very sad about. I'm so glad she had her final days hanging out in the hay field, rooting for critters. The apples were still looking good at the end of August, although nowhere near ready to pick. I'm afraid there's nothing much else to report from the homestead for August. All my spare energy went into scything, so there was no weeding, or any other garden activity, aside from the occasional bit of sitting on a bench. There was no painting of the kitchen - I wonder how many months I'm going to be saying that?
September's update soon (I hope...) Last week we had to have Bonny chicken put to sleep, and as I was looking through my photos of her, I realised that in many of them, she was hanging around with her pal Bunty. Bunty went missing earlier this year, and as we always hoped she'd come back, I never did a memorial post. At this point, I think we need to accept that she's gone, and so here we'll remember both Bonny and Bunty together. Bonny and Bunty, along with Chippy, who we lost last year, were our only batch of chickens who haven't been rescues. We got them in June 2020 as point of lay hens, four months old. They were timid and jumpy, and our existing rescue ladies must have seemed quite intimidating. They soon got into the swing of things, and Bonny soon tried an experimental sit on my leg - something she never repeated. Bonny was always quiet and shy, always wanting to be with the others, but often at a little distance. Except with Bunty - they were very close and often found marauding off somewhere together. All chickens love digging, but it really was Bonny's special thing. She loved digging. She even managed to put her shyness aside and get close to us if we had a spade and there was half a chance of a worm. Her legs were so powerful, and if she wasn't with the others at the end of the day, she'd usually be digging in the woodchip pile or the windbreak, looking for critters. Bunty was less cautious, but still never got as comfortable with us as the rescues usually do. She did make an exception for showing her disdain for the chicken lockdown last winter though. We got these three young chickens because we thought they'd last longer, and be a core flock while as the rescues came and went. It hasn't worked out like that. Chippy died at just over a year old, then Bunty went missing a few months later, and now Bonny has gone two, at just two and a half. Most of our rescues have been older than that when they've died. Still, they had a good life while they were here, I hope. Here's Bunty. And here's Bonny. As far as we knew, Bunty wasn't ill, but she mustn't have felt like herself to just wander off one day and not come back. I can only assume she tucked herself away somewhere, and then was found by a predator. I hope it was quick. Bonny did get ill towards the end. She laid more and more lash eggs, never a good sign, and the vet gave her a hormonal implant. She looked like she might be improving, then went rapidly downhill, lost a lot of weight, and started losing her balance. It seemed that she had a tumour (at least as far as you can tell without surgery). I'm glad her last few days were spent wandering around the hay field. So goodbye Bonny-o, and goodbye Bunty-o. We miss you both already. It's never easy saying goodbye, and even harder when they're still young, it seems so unfair.
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Hello!Sit down and make yourself comfortable. I'm Jenni, and I write here about our new foray into country living, which includes growing food, knitting, baking, wandering around the fields, and seeing which local cafe serves the best cake. Categories
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