Welcome to the cow shed

One of the drawbacks of living in the country is getting from a to b. Scant public transport and winding roads can mean a lot of time spent behind the wheel. But I treat this as an opportunity to revel in extraordinary skies, keep abreast of crop rotation and appreciate the richness of East Anglian architecture.

Time permitting, I would also mention that there are glorious surprises in store if one takes a spontaneous trip down a stony drive to investigate one of the many chalked up roadside placards. Sunday was no exception. I had completed my parental taxi duty and it was such lovely evening I decided to take the circuitous route home. I was soaking up the beautiful mackerel sky when I saw a sign that said ‘raw milk fourth left’.

Irresistible. 

It was a long drive.

Keep a troshing??

Norfolk dialect for carry on with the threshing, roughly translated as keep going! I think. 

Anyhow, I kept going. 

Past lawns peppered with geese and peacocks.

To a little wooden shed, with a fridge, an honesty box, and deliciously creamy raw milk, 

straight from the udders of six beloved Jersey cows named after Goddesses.

Yes, I’ll be volunteering for that taxi run every time!

Keep up with the developments @Old Hall Farm, Woodton, on social media, 

there are plans afoot for more local produce in a bigger shed! 

Squirreling away nuts

Walnuts and squirrels are hotly debated topics of conversation in the country. Any advice on how to keep the two apart is gratefully received.

A few years ago we planted two walnut trees but still barely get to enjoy a single nut.

The trees flower and fruit abundantly but I have yet to outwit the squirrels. I could snatch the nuts early on, while they are still green, and pickle them. But what I really want, is the satisfaction of cracking fully fledged, deliciously milky nuts out of their lumpy shells.

This year I tied little net bags around as many nuts as I could reach. But the fluffy tailed thieves merely used the twine as dental floss in preparation for some serious gnawing.

Last year we had one nut, this year I was chuffed to salvage twenty.
By constructing an impassable metal platform under the lower branches of his tree my neighbour, with a competitive glint in his eye, tells me he harvested four hundred and thirty. (Gardeners love to count, I know a man who keeps a tally when deadheading his dahlias!)

Fortunately I can buy as many walnuts as I want for Christmas from Geoffrey who sells his produce at the local farmer’s market. His three trees are forty years old and crop handsomely.

When I ask him about squirrels he simply smiles and says “shoot 'em”.

It's a good day...

...when the autumn sun is bright, 

you take the veg peelings out 

and bump into a little hedgehog who is snuffling through the compost heap. 

"The fox has many tricks.

The hedgehog has but one.

But that is the best of all."

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Open Farm Sunday

Last weekend we took advantage of Open Farm Sunday to go and have a poke around the local Kenton Hall Estate; a multi generational farm with with an inspiring enthusiasm for diversity which includes not only arable, beef and pigs but also wedding venue, glamping and cookery school! 

No wellies necessary, the weather was perfect; the tractors had been scrubbed up, lawns cut, there were teeny piglets to make us ooh and ahh, and magnificent Longhorn cattle with their suckling calves. Of course in the food tent there was also home reared ham to nibble, outstanding beef to savour and tasty bacon to bring home. 

There were dozens of local food producers, all rightly fanatical about their artisan wares. Breads, sauces, cakes, honey, and superb Baron Bigod brie, hand made from raw milk.

I had already met this young man from Fen Farm Dairy at a food festival last year... I just loved the way he cradled his brie with a tenderness normally reserved for new born babies!

This little pig went to market...

It’s been a ‘pig’ week.

Monday, we took Joan and her friends to the abattoir. So meekly did they all climb into the trailer, I’m sure they thought they were setting off on a caravanning holiday.

A ten-minute drive... the country route... no main roads and we were there. Still no squeals. No hanging about, no stress.

No tears. 

Twenty-four hours later we’re discussing ‘heads, shoulders, knees and toes’ with the butcher.

Then Wednesday, I finally got to play with my shiny new mincer....

Ladies who lunch

 

With the advance of Autumn, the demarcation between pig and mud is becoming increasingly blurred. 

Wet clay soil and tapering trotters are not empathetic. The latter are as impractical as stilettos on the lawn at a summer wedding! 

As a result, Joan breaks into a comical high-kneed skip to traverse the quagmire, when she sees me coming with the midday slops. 

Today she guzzled the remaining rosehip pulp from my syrup making. At least the vitamin C content should keep her joints well serviced! 

Happy Easter!

Typical man....

Mmmm, October, there’s a definite nip in the air that accompanies my early morning walk up to the orchard to let the chickens out. 

There’s also a huge lone ram in the adjacent field, who fixes his gaze on me. His black horizontal pupils observe my gait with an intensity that suggests I’m the only female he has seen for weeks. He looks a bit of a brute. 

Slowly, however, we have made friends and I’ve discovered his softer side. Give him a good rub on the head and he’ll twitch his spotted nose, close his eyes with a flutter and ever so gently begin to snore. 

Raining cats and dogs