Monthly Archives: January 2017

Saturday, books and snow

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Saturday stretched ahead, with nothing to do and nobody to do it with (Julia was at work as usual). It was a lovely day, not at all suitable for staying in doing housework, and so I decided that a visit to a bookshop sounded good.

When does a visit to a bookshop ever not sound good?

Bookshop – Brierlow Bar
View from Brierlow Bar
View from the bookshop

There’s an element of irony in driving  40 miles to look at books on nature and sustainability, but I can live with that. I can live with most things that allow me to visit a bookshop. Anyway, I’m giving up meat two days a week, grow my own veg and make compost so I’ll allow myself a little backsliding.

It was a patchy journey, mixing sunshine with overcast skies. It improved steadily until I reached Cromford and turned off on the A5012. It’s a minor road, as you can guess from the number. It also runs through a narrow wooded valley, which makes it picturesque in summer (possibly even “bosky”). In winter, it has a tendency to shelter snow and ice in the shadows.

It is known locally as the Via Gellia as it was built in the 18th century by the Gell famiy. They are said to have built it around 1790 to connect their lead mines to the new smelter at Cromford, though it may have been built to serve their quarries as early as 1720. It still has quarries along its length, and large lorries can be a bit of a hazard at times.

Part way up there’s a lay-by with several dozen bird feeders. Someone has obviously made a lot of effort to make and maintain the feeding station. The light was going by the time I stopped, so I couldn’t get any decent photographs of anything that moved, but I did see a variety of birds – Chaffinches, Great tits, Blue Tits, a Coal Tit and a Goldcrest. Somebody is doing good work here.

Bird feeders – Via Gellia
Bird feeders, Cromford
Bird feeders Via Gallia, Cromford

The bookshop, for once, let me down. Stock has been moved and the nature section seems smaller. I don’t like it when things change. Doesn’t make it a bad bookshop, just one with a cafe, a smaller nature section and a sense of panic when I can’t find things where I normally find them. It will be better next time.

If it isn’t better next time I will have to develop an interest in military history or art, or even the birds of countries I will never visit. There are many ways of working round a situation.

The photographs were taken using my old camera, please ignore the black splodge in the top right corner. As you can see, as I progressed in the journey (and gained height) it became more wintry.

Peak District
Peak District
Peak District

 

 

“No rules. No fear. No steady form of income.”

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When I look at what we’ve done over the last week I think I could come to like this pretirement. It’s a word I first heard last year on daytime TV last year, and one I’ve adopted for my current state of existence. I can’t be unemployed because I wasn’t employed, and I can’t be self-unemployed because the world isn’t ready for the term. Every time I use it people just look at me blankly. However, if you look it up in Google, there are other people using the term, so it may catch on.

One man defines it as “No rules. No fear. No steady form of income.” I like that, because it makes me sound like a bit of a rebel, rather than a middle-aged layabout. In truth it also defines my mode of self-employment, as the last 23 years have been hard work, interesting and challenging. They were meant to be lucrative, rewarding and successful, but you don’t always get what you want.

At least I’m still able to add new experiences to my life. I’ve never seen Red Crested Pochards before or been attacked by a swan.

The coming week isn’t going to be so much fun. We have a day on the farm teaching people to do some of the jobs we used to do (there have been several emails on the subject, as they have realised getting rid of us not as easy as it seemed). As if that isn’t bad enough I have also been summoned to hospital to follow up on the pre-Christmas hospital visit.

I’m not keen on hospitals, as a visit almost always seems to involve removing my trousers in front of strangers. When I visited to have my arthritic finger examined it was a positive joy to sit there fully clothed and talk to a doctor. If only the trousers were the major problem! This week’s visit features a camera, and although I’m told it’s a good deal smaller than the one I use for bird photography, I’m still not keen on the idea.

That still leaves several days to fill in, but I’m not able to plan that far ahead. Every time I try to think about next week I get a mental picture of a camera. A large camera…

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Attacked by a swan

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As the title suggests, I was attacked by a swan today. To add insult to injury, it wasn’t even a rare type of swan, just an ordinary, and innaccurately-named Mute Swan. In attack mode they can be quite vocal, with a range of hisses and low growling sounds. It doesn’t have the same blood-curdling effect of a snarling pitbull, but it is still a little off-putting, and definitely not mute.

Over the years I’ve often read that a single blow from the wing of an enraged swan can break a man’s thigh, but I’m doubtful. A quick search of the internet seems to support me.  However, none of the people discussing the damage a swan can do seems to know much about catching turkeys.

Each year we eat about 1.3 million turkeys in the UK. That means that 1,300,000 turkeys have to be caught, loaded onto lorries and moved to a processing plant. Although they now have mechanical help, in my day they were all caught by hand. Many of the experienced catchers wore cricket boxes to preserve themselves from injury. Think of frantically flapping wings meeting delicate parts of the anatomy, and things will become clear.

A swan is pretty much the same size as a big turkey. If I say that my leg wasn’t the first thing that I was worried about,Ii trust you will apprecuate my problem.

It started by getting aggressive with Julia, who was putting food down to attract photographic subjects. I  diverted it at that point by standing between the two of them and throwing some food about. That worked until it got bored and started trying to eat my trousers.

Swans are about 28 pounds and tall enough to come just past my waist. In truth it shouldn’t be a problem. I should be able to best it in single combat, but beating up a swan in a nature reserve doesn’t seem right. Swans in open water are owned by the Queen – I’m not sure what the exact legal position is, and whether self-defence is seen as a good excuse. Under the Countryside and Rights of Way Act 2000 the maximum punishment is £5,000 or 6 months in jail. If, on the other hand, it counts as treason due to royal ownership, I might end up in the Tower of London.

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Mute Swan at Rufford Park

Fortunately it didn’t come to that. After a bit of trouser tugging and hissing from the swan and some grumbling from me, I used a handful of food to cover a strategic withdrawal.

It should have ended at that point, but a one-legged Greylag goose hopped up to the food and the swan grabbed it round the neck.

It was a dilemma – help the underdog or let the swan get away with it?

The goose was about half the size of the swan, has a leg that is permanantly tucked up to its body and has a damaged wing. It clearly needed help. On the other hand, I didn’t want to be incarcerated in the Tower of London.

I offered my trousers again, but got no reaction.

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Mute Swan attacking Greylag goose

In the end, after a certain amount of shouting and posturing, we distracted the swan and fed it again as the goose scurried away.

It seems a bit unfair that the swan gets extra food for bad behaviour, but that’s how it goes.

 

 

The coming year

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Today I have been thinking of the coming year.

We are having a casual January to clear the farm and to set things in perspective. In February I will have to start doing things…

I’m likely to have more time on my hands in 2017 because, as Julia has pointed out in a kind yet firm way,  I’m unemployable. Age, size and lack of formal qualifications are all against me, and that’s before you consider that I’m rude, lazy and look like I’ve dressed in the dark. When looking at job adverts I have noticed that these qualities are not often requested.

On the other hand I do have my own tools and an estate car. If there’s nothing in prospect by spring I can always go gardening again, though I will be more selective with my clients this time. No gardens with steep slopes and steps, for instance.

Extra time is not all bad, as it will give me more time to shop and cook, resulting in us eating food that is better and cheaper. We will also probably lose weight, particularly me if I am doing more gardening. Time, I think, to rearrange our neglected garden on Permaculture principles. I might be poor but I’ll be healthy, and full of fibre.

Work-wise I need something to keep the wolf from the door for the next nine years, at which point I will be able to draw my pension.  Just nine years? Where did it all go?

I’m currently exploring a range of dead-end options to occupy my time until that day arrives.

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One of my favourite farm photos – think in terms of stormy weather or pots of gold.

(To be continued…)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A better day – Rufford Abbey

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It was a better day today, a much better day, though it didn’t start off that way.

We nipped down to Lidl to look for Waxwings on our way to the farm, and found none. I hadn’t really expected to see any as it was extremely windy and the small branches were whipping about. It must be extremely hazardous feeding in tree tops on days like this.

Such is life: I’m not going to start stressing out about seeing a bird, even if it is pink and has a crest.

We cleared the polytunnel this morning, and are within a couple of days of finishing.  It’s amazing how much stuff you accumulate over five years. Much of it is now crammed into the house. Considering I used to have a junk shop and still have a hoarding problem, this is not a good thing. Currently I also have a car that’s rammed to the roof with plants, but it doesn’t seem worth taking them out with the weather we’re likely to have. It’s good to be finishing. Though we didn’t really want to go, we now want to draw a line under it.

If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well, It were done quickly:  as Macbeth said, and I’m not going to argue.

We left around 2 pm (I’m currently self-unemployed, so days are flexible) and took a detour to Rufford Country Park.

I had a bag of sunflower hearts in the back of the car and used them to tempt some birds from cover in the car park. It wasn’t quite as simple as it could have been, because just as they started gathering a couple with a dog walked right across the seed. Eventually I tempted two Blue Tits and 15 Chaffinches, but a pair of pigeons found us and scared everything off. When you’re bird watching in a country park you can’t really pick and choose, or scare pigeons away.

Blue Tit at Rufford Abbey
Chaffinch at Rufford Abbey
Wood pigeon at Rufford Abbey

We moved on to the main duck area, with the usual suspects. There were two unusual ducks across the lake, one Pochard (which we don’t see here often) and one empty pop bottle. OK, I made a mistake on that one, but I did once spend 10 minutes stalking a bit of fertiliser bag that I thought was a Kingfisher, so it’s not the worst mistake I’ve ever made.

 

Whilst I was searching for a pied wagtail that kept eluding the camera, a Grey Wagtail popped up. They aren’t rare, but they like fast running water and we normally see them when we’re in Derbyshire, so it was nice to see one here. I expect it likes the mill race.

It got even better when we rounded the corner to find a flock of Long Tailed Tits in a tree with a couple of Blue Tits and a Goldcrest. The Goldcrest came so close I could see it plainly without the binoculars. Unfortunately it was so quick that I couldn’t get a picture.

My time will come.

Finally, as the clouds rolled over, we tried for a few more shots on a picnic table but the pigeons moved in again. We cut our losses and took some shots of clouds before going for tea and Bakewell tarts in the cafe.

Sunlight over Notts
Sky over Rufford Abbey
Sunbeams over Nottinghamshire

 

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear…

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There are some days when a single “Oh dear” just won’t do.

I won’t burden you with a list of minor annoyances, but I do want to share one.

On leaving the house this lunchtime to search for Waxwings I saw a big flock of Magpies gathering in the trees at the end of the street. There were around 25 in the treetops and another 15 or so swooped in as we watched, making a total of 40, which is the most Magpies I’ve ever seen at one time. I had my camera with me, so managed to get a few shots.

You won’t be able to see proof of this because the SD card from my camera has selected this moment to start playing up.

I’ve been meaning to back it up for a while.

I suspect that the good intentions that pave the road to Hell often start with “I’ve been meaning to…”

There were no Waxwings, just to add insult to injury, though there were around 20 Redwings and 30 Feral Pigeons.

Those pictures are refusing to cooperate too.

Actually, I’ve just managed to download the contents of the corrupted drive and download the shots. They aren’t that good, but it’s nice to have a few photos for the post.

I think there are 28 Magpies in this photo
More mischief
Redwing eating berries
Feral Pigeons

It’s also been a valuable lesson.

 

 

 

Rutland Water

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We went to Rutland Water today – the last of the local big nature reserves. It was raining when we set off, but we thought we’d give it a go and see what happened. In view of the curse  (which you can read about here and here) that seems to have settled on my shoulders this year it was a brave decision.

At least the rain stopped.

That, as it turned out, was the only good thing at that time. The toilet facilities, which can be quite important to a middle-aged man, were unsatisfactory. As we tried to photograph birds on the feeding station an employee of the reserve found it necessary to move a Landrover – setting of the alarm as he got in and slamming the doors as he got out. All the birds left.  The first waterside hide was closed. As we sat in the second hide two volunteers arrived with power tools, later following us to the next one (though we managed to slip out just before they arrived).

Tree Sparrow

If it had been free to enter I may have taken these irritations in my stride. But as they had charged us £11.40 for the privilege of walking round muddy tracks peering at distant ducks I was, by this point, already mentally composing my letter of complaint.

It costs £3.50 at Bempton Cliffs and £9 at Minsmere for  non-members of the RSPB, so      £ 5.70 seems reasonable – if everything is done properly.

Fortunately this isn’t the full picture of the day.

There isn’t a cafe, so there was no problem there, and the shop staff were very professional. Despite the unusable hides there were plenty of others, with some good views. Seems like the Curse of the Large Nature Reserve might be lifting.

We managed to see some good birds, including Red Crested Pochards, which I’ve never seen before.There were plenty of Pintail visiting and we got good views of both Great and Little Egrets, though there were a lot of reeds in the way of the Little Egret. There was even a distant male Smew.

Smew drake
Great White Egret
Pintail drakes

As we neared the car park a Red Kite flew over.

All in all, it was a good day.

On the way home we managed to miss the rush hour and all the traffic lights seemed to work in my favour. That’s another jinx lifted; I swear that all the traffic lights have been against me since 1st January.

 

 

 

Guerrilla Poetry

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Searching the internet this morning I found this item.

I then searched for Guerrilla Poetry, on the basis that you can put Guerrilla in front of most things these days.

It’s amazing what you can find.

I really should post a poem here, to stay in the spirit of things.

 

Clouds come from time to time –

and bring to men a chance to rest

from looking at the moon.

Matsuo Basho (1644-94)

A boring day, and how I amused myself

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Had a lie in, wrenched myself from nice warm bed, dropped Julia at work (she starts at 11.00 on Saturdays, in case you were wondering how this fits with the lie in), took some books to a charity shop, bought some books from the charity shop, made sandwiches for lunch, checked bird reports, checked WordPress, checked Isle of Mull, checked telescopes and digiscoping, picked Julia up from work, made corned beef hash (with mashed root veg and stir fried cabbage), ordered a bokashi bucket on-line, cancelled order when they messed me about at the checkout, went shopping and, finally, wrote a long boring sentence about my long, boring day.

That’s the bare bones of it. It’s also the longest sentence I have ever written. One hundred and nine words. According to the experts that is enough words for four or five sentences. I’m pretty sure that it will be considered difficult to read. There is a figure I’ve seen somewhere that indicates most people can’t follow a sentence past 30 words.

I’ve just put a sample of my writing through a readability calculator and come up with the following –

Flesch Reading Ease score: 70.7 (text scale)
Flesch Reading Ease scored your text: fairly easy to read.
Gunning Fog: 11.3 (text scale)
Gunning Fog scored your text: hard to read.
Flesch-Kincaid Grade Level: 8.6
Grade level: Ninth Grade.
The Coleman-Liau Index: 7
Grade level: Seventh Grade
The SMOG Index: 7.8
Grade level: Eighth grade
Automated Readability Index: 8.4
Grade level: 12-14 yrs. old (Seventh and Eighth graders)
Linsear Write Formula : 12.1
Grade level: Twelfth Grade.
Readability Consensus

Based on 8 readability formulas, we have scored your text:
Grade Level: 9
Reading Level: fairly easy to read.
Reader’s Age: 13-15 yrs. old (Eighth and Ninth graders).
I always thought I was easy to read. I’ve certainly always tried to be easy to read. I’ll take “fairly easy”, and try to make it simpler. But to see myself graded as “hard” in one of the scales seems a bit tough.
If you want a go, you can find the calculator here.
Next time I’m bored I may try housework. Housework wouldn’t be keeping me awake worrying about my writing style.

 

 

Cleaning up

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We had a day on the farm cleaning up today, which was rather sad.

It was a cold and blustery day – you can tell it was blustery from the angle of the feeder in the picture, but you’ll have to take my word for the temperature.

We spoke to the lady who is moving in to run a project, agreed a price for the polytunnel and found out that she is now on version 9 of her plan for the site as the farmer and incoming tenants keep changing their minds about what she can have. That’s life on the farm – you pay your rent and you get messed about.

It seems that the architects will be flattening the allotment area – all the herbs, the rhubarb and the keyhole beds are under threat. The plan is to erect a selection of yurts and garden rooms.

According to the internet there were two Waxwings in the neglected orchard in Flintham so we went to look for them as it’s only the next village. We didn’t see any, though there were plenty of Fieldfares about.

Best bird of the day turned out to be a Redpoll perching in a tree by the Ecocentre when we pulled up. That’s now the seconf redpoll we’ve had at the centre and the first for this year. I managed one blurred photo before it flew away.

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Fieldfare

In the afternoon we tried again – no Waxwings, but there were about 60 Fieldfares with a dozen Blackbirds and a single, silent, Long-tailed Tit.