Monthly Archive

On Monday I visited my mum. During lambing it’s difficult to leave the farm so I try and see her as much as I can before it starts. I make a quick dash down to Peter Tavy after lunch, have tea with her, and I’m back in time to do the animals. The extra hour or so of daylight now makes all the difference.

As the crow flies it’s no great distance. The road though follows a scenic route, narrow, windy, hilly; peppered with hamlets and speed restrictions. Reasonably quick if you’re the only vehicle but frustratingly slow if you catch a lorry, bus, tractor or tourist. Monday was a frustrating day and I was clock watching by the time I arrived. I noticed the light on in her room, ran up the stairs to the back door, calling to her as I pushed open the door to her room. I stopped dead, something was very wrong. A foul smell hit me. Taken aback, unsure, I called out.

It’s me, it’s Paula. It’s me. Are you here? What’s happened? Are you okay?

A small rasping croak replied. Yes, darling, just lying down.

I walked up to the bed. There she was. Curled, tiny; papery grey-white translucent skin stretched taught, she looked, for all the world, like a foetus. Large pillows surrounded her, engulfing her frail jumble of bones in a blowsy puff of nest. Her head, still, unmoving, looked unnaturally large, cheek-bones and jaw line sharply etched against the white sheets. Her eyes, sunken and bruised, slowly turned towards me, a filmy gauzy blue, no longer looking outwards but inward at some better world.

Darling, just lying down. Is daddy there?

No, no, he’s not. Not at the moment. What’s happened? I stroke her hand and head so as not to alarm her, trying to still my fear and anxiety.

Just having a small sleep. Is daddy there?

Not yet mummy. You have a little rest. I’ll go and get you a drink, shall I? I stroke her gently, letting her know I’m going.

I fly down the corridor to find someone, one of the carers, anyone. No one’s around. No residents either. No one. What’s happened? The doors are sealed, notices on them. I’m not concentrating. I see Lynn, Faith, Julie around a table. I gesticulate. They let me in.

We’ve got Norwalk virus. I left a message on your phone. We’ve shut ourselves to all visitors. Paula you’ve got to go. Now!

But Morna. I can’t leave her. I can’t leave her like this.

It’ll be okay. She’ll be okay. Honestly, it lasts around twenty-four hours. Now go.
No, you mustn’t go into her room. There’s hand wash. Leave.

This is the hardest thing I’ve done. I leave. Don’t let her be taken like this. Please.

the first wind flower or wood anemone 

This year’s first lambs, born at mid-day today, a few days early. Interestingly the ewe, a second lamber, lambed on exactly the same day last year. Though young, she chose well - a good time of day for their shepherd and mild gentle weather for the lambs.

Being licked dry.

A few minutes later they attempt their first wobbly, unsteady steps.

Searching for the teat. One is a little eager and is sucking hard on his brother’s face!

What do I hope for the future of farming?

What I hope for is probably irrelevant. Our countryside will change hugely in the coming years. Since the Second World War farming and countryside has been in a constant state of flux due to changing food demands and growing new crops. Farming has never been stable; but now more than ever farming has to alter to meet the demands of a planet in crisis.

What can we expect? Fields of tree planting for carbon storage; hectares of elephant grass and acres of withies to fuel power stations; drought resistant crops –sunflowers perhaps; less methane belching grazing animals and huge areas of cereals for human, rather than animal, consumption. We will become more and more conscious of energy (wind farms, solar power), food miles and food security (growing our own), and national biosecurity.

Whenever an industry undergoes massive transformation it’s hard for those involved. Change is frightening and we are not good at accepting it. But I do feel that there are huge opportunities to be had for people with sight, vocation and enthusiasm, but most of all innovation. After all we have to eat to survive. The countryside is changing and I for one will mourn it. I love the quintessential Englishness of our pastoral idle - our patchwork of fields; hedges, trees, woodlands and moorlands; our grazing animals. But preserving that in aspic is no longer something we or the planet can afford: farming and the landscape either change dramatically or we face extinction. The trick will be to guide the change in ways that create beauty and inspiration, that feed our souls as well as our bellies.

endangered?

What would you do for farming if you were government?

This was one of the questions I was asked when being interviewed the other day. A ribbon of quicksilver thoughts free-fell through my brain – global economies, EU legislation, free-trade, climate change, energy, air-miles? Where would I make a change, what would have an effect? I was about to open my mouth with something along the lines that the topic was far too involved and deserved discussion in its own right, when I heard myself say – Education. Simplest, cheapest and most effective. Educate all our children from an early age about food, farming, countryside and the environment, locally, nationally and internationally. Integrated fully into the curricula of subjects already taught, future generations would come to understand the value of quality food (so they are prepared to pay the extra to buy it and farmers can earn a decent crust), and about the way food and the environment and our cultural heritage are inseparable. So, the current Year of Food and Farming is on entirely the right lines, but it needs to be continued, become mainstream. Ultimately, farming depends upon all of us as consumers, and this is where government should show real leadership, not through passing yet more laws but through helping us to make informed choices.

In the last month I’ve arranged my posts and pictures so they an be scanned and read on the front page.

Previously I had the the opening paragraph, maybe an image and the click to ‘read the rest of this entry’.

Would you be kind enough to let me know which you preferred, or if you don’t care one way or another. You can click on one of the categories in the left hand column to compare.

Thanks in advance!

I’m tired. Sand-grainy, blink-wet eyes; fogwebbed clouds obscuring any coherent thought process and bumbled lips, ones that refuse to form letters, words, sentences and end up vacantly tuttering.

Yesterday was my annual Soil Association Inspection and audit. I hate it.

Annual questionnaire-accounts-invoicescorrelatingincomingsoutgoings; marketingdetails-labelexamples-derogations-restrictedpractices; croppingdetails-rotation-forage-harvest-grazing; manuremanagement-source-treatment-inputs-pestcontrol-declarations; livestockmanagementplan-movementrecords-grazingrecords-anualfeedingrecords-feedpurchaserecords-vet.treatmentrecords- vet.purchaserecords-recordsofkeepingrecords-noncompliance-crosscompliance-compliance and…oh yes, one concussed, stressed farmer!

However much I uphold the need to scrutinise all licensees to ensure they are farming and producing food to organic standards as stipulated by EU law, it is, nevertheless, a daunting task to collect, collate and present all relevant information. Because of this it’s one of those jobs destined to the back-burner until that looming deadline is kicking you in the butt, has invade all your avoidance tactics and is infiltrating your dreams!

I’ve farmed using organic principles for years and as organic farming has grown in popularity I’ve seen how the Soil Association has had to adapt and change with the pressure of growth and new legislation. One of the things I’ve found ‘challenging’ (not to put too finer point on it) about the annual inspections is the choice of some inspectors.

I’m passionate; passionate about the way I farm, passionate about the extraordinary beauty and diversity of the British countyside and the people that live there; passionate about keeping stock happy healthy and as naturally as possible; passionate about producing the best food I can. But I make mistakes and I’m certainly not infallible. Nevertheless I strongly object to inspectors, with little practical farming experience, insinuating I’m trying to cheat, to hide a non-compliance or I’m guilty of gross misconduct until proven innocent (after all, what is the point?). I wait with trepidation to see who has been sent to ‘do’ me.

But yesterday I was pleasantly surprised. I had a human! Yes, a normal, speaking, smiling, courteous person that was not only knowledgeable about organic farming but was an organic farmer to boot. He was thorough, but fair, interested yet professional. A far cry from the zealous mini-hitler I was expecting. And what a difference it made to a day that is long and demanding, especially when suffering from concussion.

Relaxed, relived and sleepy, I checked the cows before flopping into bed. Wildcat had started calving. So it was up at 2am and again at 3.30am to check her conscious of Jennifer’s long labour. Happily everything was fine and she had a very lively, bonny calf. Today I had to attend an assessment of my mother’s care plan and tomorrow I’m being interviewed for an article. So it’s off to bed to dream sweetly and regain some control of my senses before the morning. Fingers crossed there are no middle of the night calvings tonight.

I briefly mentioned that I had a cow calving yesterday. This was Jennifer. In the Social Life of Cows I mention Jennifer and her position in the herd so do follow the link to get an idea of her. I’ve put several ‘ah-sweet’ images of cows and calves on the blog previously, so I thought you might be interested in some working images, so to speak.

early stages

Jennifer is my most senior cow; she is imbued with calmness, wisdom and intelligence. This hasn’t always been the case and whilst working her way up the herd hierarchy she was aloof, independent and didn’t tolerate humans. Now respected, secure in her place and in her immediate governing council she has relaxed into being a wise and benevolent leader.

progressing steadily

She is a very experienced mother and handles her calvings in a way that many humans could learn from. She started calving yesterday morning and having put her in a calving pen I left her to get on with it. After a couple of hours I was surprised she hadn’t produced her calf; she wasn’t showing any signs of distress so I continued to monitor her at a distance.

In these extraordinary poses she is almost squatting, straining to open up the pelvic cavity. I’ve never seen another cow do this other than Jennifer.

Another couple of hours went past; I was getting a little worried, even though Jennifer appeared unperturbed and was calmly working with her contractions. I decided to check the calf was presented correctly and alive. Everything was as it should be, so I left her to continue. At last, at four-thirty the feet were out and the head had filled the birth cavity, almost six hours after her water sack had first appeared; now she was exhausted.

the last stages. you can see the two white hooves, still in their sack, and the bulge of the head behind them.

I decided to attach ropes to the calf’s legs and help her with this last stage. It took hardly any effort on our part; she’d worked so hard at relaxing and opening the birth canal in preparation for the birth. So with a firm but gentle pull from us and a final push from her a monstrously huge but beautiful calf was at last born. Worn-out, shattered, she nevertheless immediately turned her attention to her calf; lowing in gentle velvet-soft tones, nickering and licking him into rosy pink life. Sneezing and jerking he gradually opened his eyes becoming aware of his surroundings and his mother. Buffeted and stimulated by her rasping, massaging tongue, almost immediately his pink wet nose and softly whiskered mouth indented, his tongue lengthened and curled as he nubbed and bumbled his mothers damp red hide searching for milk.

This calf is bigger than Jemima’s born just over a month ago! Generally big calves experience trauma during their birth making them slow and a bit addled – standing, feeding and sucking can be a big problem. Jennifer handled the whole calving in such a way that not only was she undamaged from having given birth to such a large animal but so was her baby. He was standing and sucking within the hour and though Jennifer has taken a bit longer to cleanse (expel the afterbirth) they are both doing well.

Yesterday a heavy metal shearing stand fell, with some force, onto my head and shoulder. Taken completely by surprise I couldn’t answer the urgent questions as to whether I was okay. I had no idea.

I’d been waiting for Simon, my shearer, to come and dock the ewes prior to lambing. Yesterday morning he called to say he would be over mid-day. We finished getting the lambing shed ready during the morning. The shed originally housed cattle; since building the cow palace it’s become a useful covered area to store the tractor, stock trailer and other pieces of farm machinery. The problem we face each year is finding a home for the various bits of machinery whilst the sheep are in situ. Once we have squeezed turners and toppers, tractors and trailers into impossibly small vacant places we put up pens, plumb in water-troughs, install hay racks, straw down, and, hey-presto, we have a lambing shed conveniently near the house, yards and nursery fields.

All had gone smoothly. The ewes had been gently and expertly docked. Robert, Simon and I were chewing-the-cud over various topics whilst clearing up. We’d noticed an udder that was particularly full and another ewe that appeared to have an overly fat tail. Chatting and moving through the sheep, not wholly focused on what was happening behind me, there was a sudden shout from Simon… a rather strange noise followed – metal connecting with my head and shoulder. I had no idea what happened. I have recollection of eyes and mouths worriedly speaking to me. I remember easing myself to a bale and thinking what the hell are they going on about? I felt none of the anger or immediate pain one usually does when you’ve banged your head, elbow or toe. Just mystified and, well, dazed. I remember saying I had to go in and get a jab for a ewe and sort of wandered off.

So here I am. I might be mightily changed, for all I know. I’m waiting for star-spangled clarity, inspirational thoughts and the sudden ability to be a truly remarkable solver of the world’s problems. Unfortunately none of these things have manifested themselves as yet. The head seems to be in one piece, albeit with a rather large soggy bloody protuberance on the back and there’s also a bruised swelling on my shoulder and neck. But having calved two cows today I guess I’m still just the ordinary old Paula – though do let me know if you see a change!

bluetongue 2

My fears have been confirmed. We are in the bluetongue surveillance zone. I arrived home this evening checked the answer phone and there was the man from DEFRA with his recorded message – in a dead-pan voice he stated ‘some, part, or all of my holding now came within the bluetongue surveillance zone and…’

Below is an excerpt from an email sent to me by a fellow farmer in Norfolk. I won’t add anything. The words tell their own story - poignant and thought provoking.

‘Our stock are our livelihood, such as it is, we run an organic beef suckler herd and 700 laying hens, and work long hours trying to make a living, but that’s life: farmings’ shit at the moment, but what else do we do?’

Last year they were hit by restrictions from both FMD and Avian flu (twice), having just, in the very nick of time, saved their entire suckler herd from drowning during the floods they heard the news about bluetounge. In her own words…

‘Just after that Bluetongue was detected, and we thought Now What!!? how do we deal with this? what are the symptoms? is it contagious? does it cross species? and the media had a field day; yet again; (They virtually camped in the area during the first Avian Flu outbreak- 9 miles from us) and there was no clear information, later on the farmers that had cows with the disease said there were few symptoms to tell they were affected, but since then our vet has been trying to keep abreast of the disease, and how it will affect cows in the future, and it seems as though some of the affects of the disease is to cause infertility in some and may cause calves to be born with abnormalities. I can only liken that to thalidomide in pregnant women. Follow that up again with Liver Fluke and a blasted fox getting my five 12 week old chicks from off the lawn, and traumatising their mother half to death. (she spent hours in the pond to avoid getting caught), and one might wonder why we carry on!’

She ends…

‘Yes, you bet we’re worried, but we can’t allow it to take over our lives. We just take heart that life here, at the moment, goes on in the age old tradition, and we are thankful that at least this year we have some beautiful calves to see bounding and gambolling about, and we will worry when the time comes (and hopefully it won’t). I’ve got enough grey hairs, and F has none, he has pulled all his out over the years!!’

So how will farms and good, caring people like this cope? Beef animal are already making a loss of £139 per animal. Not to mention the heartache caused from tending sick and dying stock. We will loose those very farms and farmers that are trying their best to produce high quality food from healthy, happy, animals whilst caring as best they can for the environment.

I have a wild passion for the north Devon and adjacent Cornish coast. I farmed, twenty years or so ago, on a bleak windswept moor overlooking Lundy and the Atlantic. During this time the boys (my sons) and I explored every wind-blasted ridge, each hidden, veiled, greenly-secret valley; walked along peregrine-lifting cliff tops and discovered unknown coves. We collected driftwood from winter storms, and, against a backdrop of wild seas and towering rock faces, would make a fire and cook sausages - sizzling, spitting hot - and bake, deep in the glowing ashes, black charcoal-crisp potatoes. Never, ever, will food taste better than it did then. We, all of us, nurture a hunger, a need for the raw, shattered beauty of the place. Read the rest of this entry »

Two days of inspiring spring weather. Uplifting: good for body and soul. When I walked down to the river at Scadsbury, the wild daffodils were already in flower. Small, delicately-pale cream-lemon-yellow petals, translucent against the light, the base and trumpet a brush stroke more vibrant, each flower set-off by green spears of thrusting leaves. Nodding, softly swaying in the breeze from the fast-flowing water, they resembled clusters of coy, yet animated, bonneted maidens. A far cry from their loud, brash and quarrelsome cultivated cousins.

After the success of their outing last week I decided to take the cows up to silage barn again today. Still aggravatingly itchy from mites I felt they would benefit from the fresh air and sun on their backs. This week they were ready for me. Gone was the spontaneous joyful and scatty hiccupping down the lane, instead there was a wall of solid red determination! Ranks mustered, eyes forward, they surged as one. Occasionally a foot soldier would break ranks to snatch hastily at a particularly flavoursome plantain, a bind of ivy or a clump of rank, wet grass - otherwise they were single minded in their resolve – they were going out to grass. When we stopped at silage barn it took a lot of persuading and cajoling to get them through the gate into the yard. This was not the game plan. Yet once they knew my determination was every bit as strong as theirs they conceded, eventually, and didn’t have too bad a day. Returning to the cow palace for tea they ambled along quickening their pace as they got nearer home – there, in full view of the young stock, they milled around the pulling at grass, brambles, whatever was to tongue, and shouting, with mouths full, about the heavenly day they’d had out to grass.

Not to put a dampener on the glorious day I will leave my next post about bluetongue till tomorrow.

midges flying over hanaborough moor 7th february 2008

Bluetongue. Twenty-four different BT strains identified so far each needing a strain-specific vaccine. This disease is expected to become endemic in Britain. There will be no compensation. Vaccination will be the only way of protecting livestock. Our native and indigenous breeds of cattle and sheep will be more susceptible to the disease having never encountered it before.

Bluetongue. The BTV-8 strain is now affecting the Eastern and South-eastern counties of the UK with the surveillance zone having been extended into some parts of Dorset. DEFRA are expecting different strains of the disease to arrive along the South West coast from France this spring and spread northwards.
In the UK midges have not been killed off during the mild winter and are already flying. They travel two kilometres a day in normal weather conditions and much further in strong headwinds. It doesn’t take a mathematician to work out how long it will take to reach Devon.

Bluetongue. It is hoped, according to DEFRA, there will be enough BTV-8 vaccine ready to carry out vaccination in the South East during May. There is no indication of a more comprehensive vaccination programme this year, next year or ever. The costs of developing vaccines for the 24 various strains and for implementing a countrywide vaccination programme will be staggering. Will DEFRA or the government be willing to help with the costs? I’m not so sure.

I’m shit scared and worried. It seems extraordinary to me that some people appear to be acting as if it’s a mild inconvenience. This disease is potentially devastating; especially to an already beleaguered livestock industry. And I don’t know if I have the heart or energy left to cope with a farm of sick and dying animals. This could be the death-knoll for Locks Park Farm.

Twinkling fairies? Or the harbinger of devastation?

When I walk I think and when I want to think I will always walk. I find it meditative, inspiring as well as organizing. My movement, the air, the rain, the wind or the sunshine, it stimulates my thoughts and allows them to gain form and sequence. Today I was walking and thinking about an article I was writing. I was totally engrossed, not fully aware of my surroundings.

Coming over the brow of a field I startled – I’d stumbled across the red deer, not just a few, but the whole herd, spread over two fields. I stopped with a jolt, the dogs and the deer too. We were all, so it seemed, completely surprised by one another. I waited as the realization of human and dogs sunk in and after a few stops and starts as one they moved in a rapid surging wave back into the forest. I walked on, across the culvert and along the stream bordering the forest. I felt a movement, turned and saw the outcast, moving slowly and hesitantly back into the forest, way, way behind the others. A fully mature ‘white’ hind though a murky dirty dun colour. She drags a withered hind leg. Perhaps an injury from a rifle shot or from being caught up in barbed wire. She seems to have no fear, watching us closely, staring intently. Is this because she hopes for companionship or because she wants an end to her sad life? I don’t know, I’m not sure. Eventually she moves slowly into the shadows…alone.

a handsome zebu bull with one of his cows on San Cristobal

Before I completely forget about some of the wondrous animals I interacted with whilst away, I thought I would upload a few images to share with you. You will have gathered by now, I’m passionate about animals, and in particular mammals - from the teeniest rodent through to gargantuan whales. All, wild and domesticated, human and not so human, fascinate me. I thirst to know more! Here are a few encounters… Read the rest of this entry »

Yesterday was not a ‘remembering remarkable holiday’ day. It was a full-on farming work day.

Every year, about half way through the winter housing period, I muck out the cow palace. I do this for several reasons – the dung is beginning to build up, to make sure that parasites or fungal growths such as roundworm, lice and mites that thrive in moist warm dung are removed; and, most importantly, to help get rid of any bacterial build up before calving. This seems to be more important during recent winters as we no longer have any sustained cold spells to inhibit the growth of pathogens.

And every year I look at the job in front of me and think ‘it’s never going to be done in a day’ ‘how have I ever managed before?’. This year Olly was my helper and, taking on board what was expected, he just looked at me and said “You gotta be joking! It’s impossible! We won’t do all that!” With false cheer I replied “Yup, I, we, will. It’s done every year. I know it looks daunting. But we’ll get in done. And in plenty of time too”. Read the rest of this entry »