Monthly Archives: February 2016

End of term…

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It’s cold, it’s raining and it’s grey. I’m resisting the temptation to indulge in likening this to my state of mind.

Apart from the poultry the main task of the day has been the 500 piece jigsaw puzzle of the UK. It’s filled a rainy day and hopefully added a bit to the general store of knowledge.

We’ve also been making birds out of sheets of foam and reading horoscopes, so I’m also having to resist the temptation to tell people what I really think about horoscopes. I finally got drawn in and next thing I knew I was looking up horoscopes on the web. We now know what animals we are in the Burmese horoscope system – including tuskless elephants and guinea pigs.  No, I’m not convinced by the guinea pig either.

Whether a system based on the day of your birth is actually more reliable than one based on date or year is open to debate. Well, not really, as they are clearly all inaccurate, but as a bit of fun it’s interesting to see a different system.

As I write, someone has very kindly made me a cup of tea, and in giving it to me they have laid a trail of tea across the pile of freshly printed papers on my desk. It’s been that sort of day.

The bird feeder has been crowded with goldfinches, which is a cheery sight. Unfortunately they are chasing off all other visitors and so far we’ve seen a greenfinch, a pair of great tits and a dozen chaffinches put to flight. As the others have no interest in nyger seed, and the the goldfinches show little interest in the rest of the food I’m not really sure what they are defending, but such is life.

We’ve counted a massive flock of around 100 jackdaws (with a few rooks) in the field behind the feeder. They used to visit in numbers (up to 40 at a time) when we had the pigs (and pig food) in the field but we’re not sure what’s attracting them today. It may just be a rehearsal for a horror film. As the day drew to a close they took up residence in the “buzzard tree” before setting off to roost.

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We have had two new goats born. The mother is refusing to feed them at the moment, which is about par for the course with our goats. We are great with pigs and OK with sheep but goats have been a problem.

 

Anyway, it’s the end of the day and I’m in possession of a smile and a carefree attitude as the day draws to a close. We’re off tomorrow and neither of us are working until Monday so we are going on what we refer to as a “holiday”. This one involves a trip to Suffolk to see family and pick up two computers donated to the group by one of my brothers in law.

Tomorrow we’re having a big push on housework and odd jobs and I’m going to fill the fridge for Number 1 son. After that I’m off for three days sight-seeing and eating fried food.

 

Bacon encourages thinking

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It was a marathon meeting last night – two and a half hours of my life that I will never see again. I swear I could feel my body systems closing down one by one…

This morning I couldn’t actually muster the enthusiasm to get up until Julia suggested that a bacon cob from Gregg’s might be in order. There’s something about a bacon sandwich, whatever the type of bread, that always engages my enthusiasm, despite bacon being so perfectly adapted for getting in the gaps between my teeth.

Gregg’s are quite a charitable organisation, supporting breakfast clubs for schools and giving small grants to local community groups. I like that in an organisation. Although people can do what they like with their money (including keeping it all for themselves) I always think it’s nice to see it spread round in the community.

I’m starting to feel like a session wrestling with grant applications may be in order. It generally ends in nothing but disappointment (so many worthy causes, so little cash!) but if you don’t ask, you don’t get.

Funny where a bacon cob can take you – from apathy to grant applications in this case. maybe I should make it a regular part of my management technique. If someone can write Leadership Secrets of Attila the Hun how long can it be before Management Lessons from a Bacon Roll hits the shelves. If there’s anyone who could do it, it’s probably this man.

 

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The calming effects of bread

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We had our regular Monday meeting after I posted last night. I was planning on slipping away before it started but I was a little slow off the mark and ended up cornered by a man with a clipboard and a mission. That mission was to have a meeting about the meeting we are having today.

There’s no helping some people, they just need meetings. They have a naive belief that meetings get things done.

Don’t get me wrong, the procrastinator in me adores meetings; you can waste so much time arranging pencils and cups of tea that by the time you hand it over to the natural-born filibuster (and all groups seem to have one) their job is almost done. However, procrastination is about me killing my own time. Meetings are about people stealing my time, which is quite different.

So, with another meeting in prospect this afternoon, I am despondent, to say the least. I am also dismayed, downcast and depressed. And downbeat.

In order to raise my spirits I am meditating on bread.

I’m thinking of running a class to make wheatsheaf loaves nearer the time of harvest festival, because several people have mentioned them and everyone seems to like them.

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Wheatsheaf loaf

 

Bread doesn’t waste your time, it doesn’t talk over you and it has no secret agenda. You can punch it, you can cut it and you can stick it in an oven without fear of a custodial sentence. And above all, you can speak your mind to it and it won’t sulk.

I like bread.

 

 

Plovers, soup and pruning

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It’s been quite a good day. There was a light coating of frozen snow in Nottingham this morning, following on from several short, sporadic falls of snow interspersed with rain. However, as we left the city behind, things seemed to warm up and there was no evidence of snow as we drove to the farm. I would have expected it to be the other way round as you always expect towns to be warmer, but I wasn’t complaining.

We saw lapwings by the roadside this morning, now returned from wherever they go in winter. I know they go to Ireland from the north of England the ones from the south go to France and Iberia. I’m not sure where ours go from the Midlands, though they do seem to come back at this time of the year. There are actually large flocks of plovers in the pits at Netherfield, so they may only nip down the road. You can never tell.

The group did the measurements for the Woodland Trust this morning and I did some of the pruning on the apple trees in the agroforestry project. I was originally  booked to do it all, but they have since decided that it was cheaper to get me to teach the farm apprentice to do it. For definitions of cheapskate, click this link.

When the group was doing the trees they heard, and saw, a pair of buzzards circling. I wasn’t close enough to hear them, but actually saw three wheeling in the sky above a plantation on the property next door.

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To warm everyone up at lunchtime we used the new soup-maker Julia bought me for Christmas. I’m always suspicious of gadgetry and it’s take me a while to get it out of the box. To be fair, I threw in a half-bag of slightly mouldy carrots, two onions, some potatoes and a stick cube (chopped small) with four cups of water and produced a half-reasonable smooth vegetable soup. Considering the ingredients I actually used I think that was a good result.

It’s also easier to wash up afterwards as I always seem to get soup on the wall when using my normal hand blender method.

I’m now converted.

If only they did one with an automated veg chopper…

 

Building with mud

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People have commented on our mud walls at times, the most recent being a comment from clarepooley33 – author of A Suffolk Lane. Coincidentally, it was close to her, just over the border from Norfolk, that I first found out about mud building. As a child we used to visit a friend of my father in Norfolk, and he first pointed out the duckponds in the gardens of old houses. The normal procedure in bygone days had been to build the walls from mud that was dug close to the property – creating a house and a pond simultaneously.

Cob, as it is often known has a long history as a building material in the UK and it is still relevant today. Much of it is confined to the south-west and the east of the the country, but as wattle and daub it is much more widespread.

Our walls are actually rammed earth. In truth, I’m not clear about the difference between cob and rammed earth but it seems to be that cob incorporates animal dung and straw to help bind it, whereas rammed earth is just soil.

Our wall is used as an internal wall and acts as a storage heater. Sunlight enters the windows at the front of the building and heats the wall, which then slowly discharges that heat. We have four solar panels on the front to heat water for the underfloor heating and with the earth wall, and the straw bale walls in the rest of the building, we manage to keep warm. Even in the middle of winter we don’t have much trouble keeping the  temperature up to 18-21 degrees centigrade. Yesterday, with an outside temperature of 8 degrees, we were 23 degrees inside. The main problem is that people leave doors open when entering or leaving the building and once heat is lost it can be slow to build up again.

The other problem is that the surface breaks up. We didn’t start using the building until after the walls were up (we first visited when the plaster was being applied to the straw bales) but I have been told that the problem is that they incorporated large pieces of gravel in the mix, and this has caused the crumbling.

This picture shows (if you look at the top edge of the unit) the crumbling that occurred overnight.

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You can see the large bits in the wall. When the thin pieces around the stones dries it seems to crumble away. We dust the units and sweep the floors regularly.

The white pipe is where the bolts securing the shuttering went through the wall during the building process.

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Close up of the wall showing large pieces, crumbling, a patch and some random organic material that got into the mix.

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You can see how the wall is built up from layers in this photo, and you can also see out awards for sustainability, education and land use – not that I’m showing off or anything…

Incidentally, the flooring is recycled from a fire damaged building and the cupboards are second-hand units donated by Belvoir Interiors of Newark, who also gave us all our kitchen fittings.

If you want a look at an earth wall try this link. It should take you to the Google picture of an earth wall, with thatched roof, on the A605 in Whittlesey – but I’ve never tried to link to a Google Map before.

A kitchen experiment

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There’s still no picture of shepherd’s pie (see yesterday’s post) because it wasn’t fit to photograph by the time I’d finished. It tasted fine, it even looked good in an anaemic sort of way,but it needed a little extra finish, and that was where the trouble started. I could have put it under the grill, but I had another idea.

I have often looked at cook’s blow torches in the cash and carry, and always decided I can’t justify the expense, as I’m not sufficiently adventurous to get a lot of use out of it. However, I’ve often felt an urge to try one on the topping of a shepherd’s pie.

So this evening, after putting the pie together I withdrew to the garden shed and pulled out my faithful old flame wand, which is normally used for weed control. After all, it produces flame from gas, so why couldn’t it produce an artfully browned top on my potato topping? The only difference I could see was that you had to stand further away with the flame wand, as it’s designed to reach the ground while you stand.

The theory still seems sound.

When I use the grill, after using the fork to make a pattern on top, I tend to wish it would work more quickly, though it does eventually produce a nicely browned effect that looks quite appetising. Brown is a good colour for food.

Now, moving to the blow torch. That doesn’t seem to produce such an appetising effect. Instead of brown it tends more towards the black end of the cookery spectrum. The pattern was far starker – charred on the edges of the fork marks but with white channels in between. It’s difficult to explain, but it wasn’t pretty.

It may be that in years to come my shepherd’s pie with industrial blow torching may be seen as a pioneering dish of post-apocalyptic  culinary style. Tonight, however, whilst the flavour was fine, the quality of the finish was remarked on, and suggestions were made that the term “garden tool” should be taken as a sign that it shouldn’t be used in cookery.

I bet Heston Blumenthal never has to put up with comments like that.

 

 

 

 

Bird counts

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The Bird count went as well as could be expected when you’re working with a group that is prone to loud voices and jerky movements. I think they are all great people in their own ways, but as companions in quiet birdwatching they leave a lot to be desired

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I wasn’t very successful with the camera. The greenfinches seemed to know when I was about the press the button and the yellowhammers flew past and hid in the hedge several times without pausing on the feeders.

At least the chickens seemed to like it. After a shaky start (where the brown hen appeared to be interested in one of the younger cockerels) they made it up and spent the early afternoon basking in the sun. It’s alright for some!

The group made needle cases from a selection of hearts Julia provided, only managing to lose one needle in the process (though we’re still a bit nervous about finding it again!)

And finally, a couple who come on the farm metal detecting popped by for a cup of tea and brought us some nice mistletoe for us to “plant” on our apples trees. It’s a project for next week now as we’re busy for the rest of the week, but it will be interesting to see how it goes.

Meanwhile we are having to clean up quickly and prepare for an evening meeting at the centre. Julia has an evening meeting in Nottingham and I am to be left at home to cook shepherd’s pie.

It had better be good because last night she left me at home to cook tea while she visited a neighbour to do some handicrafts. At 10 pm she returned to find me asleep in front of the TV and the oven devoid of shepherd’s pie.

I am, it is safe to say, in her bad books.

It would be nice to insert a picture of a shepherd’s pie here – unfortunately I can’t. ;-(

 

 

The great coat rack migration mystery

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Better weather today and the birds started to use the feeder. This is a problem in another way as it now exposes the poor quality of my camera for photographing birds.

As long as the weather holds we may be OK for tomorrow.

 

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You can see how much rain we’ve had over the last few days because the Trent has come over its banks at Gunthorpe and is now looking twice as wide as normal. I’m glad we don’t live near the river.

We live on top of a ridge and are fine as far as flooding goes, but the wind can be tricky. About twenty years ago, having left the cat flap open (one of the cats had lost its magnet – again!) we got up to find a snow drift in the kitchen. That’s what happens when you leave a north-facing cat flap open in a blizzard.

I can’t think of much to say. It’s a day for boring admin tasks.

Apart from the birds, the most interesting event of the day was turning up to find the broken coat rack from the kitchen has been moved, and is now next to the recently-broken coat rack in the centre.

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Shared premises are always a mystery, but at least it stops us stagnating.

And yes, that wall on the left hand side is made from soil.

 

 

Imogen comes to call

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Things are looking up. We actually had a pause in the wind from Storm Imogen and the sun came out for ten minutes. After that it was back to normal.

The Farmland Bird Count has got off to a bad start despite the new feeders, with hardly a bird seen today. The ones we did see were clearly struggling in the wind. A long-tailed tit went past so quickly it looked like it had been fired from a bow and several crows have been seen flying sideways. Apart from that we’ve seen a blackbird, a pied wagtail and er…nothing else.

It was all looking so promising too. In the last two weeks we’ve seen a great-spotted woodpecker, a sparrowhawk and some good flocks of redwings and fieldfares. We thought we might be on for some good sightings. Plan B is now in operation – do the count on Wednesday.

We’ve also had pancakes, put new bedding down for the chickens (I think most of the old stuff has blown away!), finished the Chinese New Year masks and completed a grant application form.

We are applying for money to support a community arts project based on bread and baking, and the application contains more waffle than an American breakfast.

It’s not that it’s a bad project, just that the way they ask questions encourages a less than precise style of writing. Half the time I want to answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’ but they’re expecting 250 words so suddenly I’m peppering it with things like inclusivity, diversity and mindfulness. George Orwell would have been ashamed of me, though Big Brother would have been proud.

 

 

Bad news for Zebedee

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They had a cooking demonstration on Saturday night. You don’t need access to the calendar or the detective instincts of Sherlock Holmes to work this out – just look at the evidence.

Kitchen chairs in the centre, centre chairs in the kitchen, all our mugs in the kitchen, box of empty bottles, random cooking equipment left around, rearranged table displays and, for some reason, an explosion of Union Jacks.

It would be nice if it was clean and tidy, which was how we left it last week. However, it isn’t, and I’m not going to waste my time either discussing it or, more to the point, tidying it.

The taxi is late, again.

The polytunnel is flapping as Storm Imogen picks up speed. We’re expecting stronger winds this afternoon. I still don’t see why we need to name storms – we’ve always got by perfectly well by calling it “weather” in the past. I wonder how long it will be before we can buy a range of T shirts and mugs with various storm-related slogans – ‘Keep Calm and Harry on’ or ‘Gertrude – probably the best storm in the world’ – as the Met Office seeks to cash in.

Incidentally, there are no storms beginning with Q, U, X, Y or Z, so if you are called Queenie, Ulysses, Xavier, Yvonne or Zebedee tough luck, you are being ignored.

The taxi is here now, the rain has arrived too.

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I don’t like Mondays.