Tag Archives: Easter

Chicken Run II

Where is that drill bit?
Where is that drill bit?

The major event this Easter has been the return of Chickens to the estate.  After a few site meetings Jim had delivered the posts and wire and between us we had dug three-quarters of the way around the area to be able to dig the fence in.  The gate was a slight issue as we needed to make one, so Jim and I suggested to the OM that he might like to dust off his old woodworking skills and throw one together.  He demurred although he did have what Jim and I both agreed was a good idea to hang the non-existent door from the end of the cow stall instead of securing a square post.  TOM decided to advise me on the size of drill bits, wood and other practical matters to aid me in my task.  “They are in the top shed” he told me.  Such instructions of little use.  He might as well have said they were on Mars.  I would have had more chance of locating them in outer space than in the heaps of old tools, wood and machinery in his shed.

“Do you think you can find them for me?” I asked.  He decided he could – and duly did – thus saving me a frustrating search and giving him another thirty yards of exercise.  A win-win, by my reckoning.

So by the Friday afternoon we had a wall plate and three trenches dug when Jim arrived for the main construction session.  Jim and I work well together.  He has the experience and the right  sanguine attitude towards the OM who pays him for his labour, and I am happy to agree with whatever Jim says and to offer what muscle I can muster.

Posts in
Posts in

It started reasonably well with the acquisition of tools:  metal spike and sledgehammer to the fore.  The OM was keen to tell us that the sledgehammer had been acquired from Yeovilton Air Base in 1962/3 when he was clearing the runway of ice (my first winter was a hard one I am told).  A legendary piece of equipment which promptly broke as we hammered in the first post.  We resumed 10 minutes later with Jim’s tools and cracked on with the job in hand.  Incredibly we managed to get posts and netting up and a strand of supporting wire too.   With only two lengths of wire to go, Jim left me to sort it the next morning but with a warning that it would be a two person job as the wire could get “twisted as fuck” if you did not feed it out carefully.  I took this as a serious piece of advice.  Jim does not often use strong language in my experience.

Gate - constructed by the author - not his father
Gate – constructed by the author – not his father

It only took an hour or two with Verity the next morning to make the run secure.  Which was just as well, as I had arranged to collect the hens that afternoon.  This is the third time that we have sourced chickens from Dorset Hens and they never fail to deliver.  They have a great range of hybrids of various hues, and although after a busy Easter there was not a great choice, we took an eclectic foursome of a Mottled Leghorn, an Amber Star, a Bova Nera and a Colombian Blacktail.   They were in a crate waiting for us when we arrived and the owner grabbed them two at a time to put them in the back of our car (in the dog crate).  As she took the Leghorn she muttered a warning under her breath that this was “a little bastard”.  Or at least that was what I thought I heard.  She actually said “this is the fastest”.  Ok – got ya.

VB and I returned with our clucking cargo and started to unload them. When the OM came up the yard I assumed it was to take a look at the new arrivals, but it turned out the more pressing matter for him was to print off a boarding pass for his impending flight to Newcastle – in three weeks’ time.  I politely suggested I would take a look later.  For the moment I wanted to get my hens settled in….

And so the hens are in.  And they have not hung about, with one already laying (three in total so far) and we have also managed to discourage either dog from getting too interested in the chickens too.  If Ella gets the wrong side of the fence, it will be carnage.  The last time we had hens she was only a puppy but managed to get into the old run, to which I was alerted when I heard one hen shouting “f-koff!, f-koff!”  Ella had the bird in her mouth, but fortunately did not deliver the coup de gras on that occasion.  I don’t think she would be quite so gentle now…

Easter Rising

The glorious few days of Amellanchier blossom
The glorious few days of Amellanchier blossom

The Easter break has been kind for DIY and gardening.  With the weather poor in the first week of the holidays, it was no chore to be inside, though painting the kitchen was.  But with indoor work done, gardening has been a pleasure in the warm spring sunshine.  This time last year it was bitterly cold and there is a hint of that with the fresh breeze and clear skies sending temperatures to hover above freezing at night.  But everyone and everything in the garden has been enjoying decent day time temperatures.

Another stunning morning to enjoy the view of Cadbury
Another stunning morning to enjoy the view of Cadbury

So we have been able to get a lot done and I reckon I have pretty much planted all the seeds I need to at the moment.  Some are a little later than previously, others might be a little early.  I have noticed that it is about this time of year that one starts to check out what your friends and neighbours are doing with their plots or greenhouses.  Denise was offering me spare tomato plants before I had even planted seeds, which put me on edge a little, trying to remember if I had planted seeds earlier last year.  I recall planting sweet peas early, indoors, but these were very “leggy”and were quickly caught up and even overtaken by those planted in the greenhouse later.  So I am, with the dread of heredity, coming around to the same view as The Old Man who always says it really is not worth the bother to force start them indoors.

French Beans (I think - better check the label)
French Beans (I think – better check the label)

Conversely, Denise frowned when she saw I had planted my runner bean seeds.  “Much too early” was her confident assertion.  This was on the obligatory “tour of the garden”, which is a social requirement of all good neighbours who should at least feign polite interest in the others’ vegetables and herbaceaous borders (whilst making frantic mental notes on how yours compare).   When Denise had gone, I rifled through my seed packets to check when it said to plant runners.  Thankfully it says April.  Relief – and renewal of confidence in my own work.  Mind you, when it comes to gardening I am still of the Ronseal school of instruction – I do exactly what it says on the tin (or packet).

The tour of the garden is one overt way of checking on the neigbours.  Alternatively you just lean over the fence to see what is happening over there.  Walking around the village can give you glimpses into others’ back yards.  Paddi’s greenhouse is right next to the footpath and Claire was able to report back that it is not showing any greater advancement in green shoots than ours.  So I feel more comfortable about my own meagre showing of shooting stars, as Paddi regularly produces healthy young plants far earlier than me.

Talking of neighbours I liked the report from the RHS, as reported on the BBC which showed that 22% of gardeners admitted to just throwing snails over the fence into their neighbours’ gardens.  I think the most shocking part of this was how FEW admitted to doing this….  I am in the happy position of not having neighbours too close so snails and other pests (such as dead rabbits) can be slung into the field or hedgerows.  Not that there are too many snails and slugs at the mo – but with the summer term about to start, I expect rain will be forecast so we’ll see plenty more then.  The report did not exactly raise any eyebrows with its findings – with facts such as 70% of men planned to cut the grass at Easter, compared with 57% of women.  Good to see there is still some basis in fact to sexual stereotyping.

So, all-in-all the place is looking good and showing real signs of optimism for the summer, which suddenly feels like it’s just around the corner.  I planted the potatoes on 14th April – which was four days later than the Old Man would have said – so can’t be bad, and the garlic and onions, despite relatively late plantings, compared with last year, are looking perky.  The Amelanchier has been and gone in a trice – showing its stunning blossom for a few days before dropping its confetti on the former heather bed.

So now we await the greenshoots of spring to turn into a the lush green summer.

Mediterranean Gardens

Tulips up - but not at home
Tulips up – but not at home

Despite the Easter chills at home, we have managed to spend some time surveying some more warm weather gardens.

Easter was spent in Cornwall – the Cornish Riviera I think is what they like to call it.  I always felt that chucking a piece of French on the end of something English to make it sound more exotic was doomed to failure – and in the chill north-easterly winds of Easter Weekend the warm water soubriquet was even more absurd.  Thoughts of sun-drenched beaches and ice creams melting before you can eat them were quickly dispelled.

Succulents in the Biome
Succulents in the Biome

So we went along to the Eden Project where the biomes are heated to produce climates more akin to tropical rain forests and Mediterranean climes.  It is very impressive with a good selection of plants from around the world including the Fynbos with which we had become familiar last summer in South Africa.  The Mediterranean biome does sometimes look a little devoid of plant material – but then that is what you get if you are standing in the middle of a semi-arid zone in California, say.  On our return, The OM told me that when he and mum went soon after it was opened, he heard some visitors from “oop country” complaining that there was not much to see – which compelled him to give them the unsolicited advice that this was a desert – hence the lack of major plant life.And desert is exactly what mum did to dad as soon as she saw him taking on the role of self-styled tour guide.

Sometimes I can feel myself getting the urge to offer unsolicited pearls of wisdom.  It is an urge I must fight against at all costs.  Oh, the dread of heredity.

Suffice to say our visit was a most agreeable one, and I could see that on a fine day the outside beds would be beautiful to wander around too.  But not in the sub-zero wind blast.

"We hacked a ragged grave in the unfriendly earth" (John Cornford, A letter from Aragon)
“We hacked a ragged grave in the unfriendly earth” (John Cornford, A letter from Aragon)

Our other visit to Mediterranean zones involved a short trip by surly Ryanair (with a much happier return trip with Easyjet) to southern Spain where my little big brother, Paul, has purchased a property.  It is a lovely spot on top of a hill overlooking Almunecar, on the Costa Tropical.  On this occasion the grand name is lived up to by the location, with palm trees and exotic succulents throughout the town.  Paul’s apartment is cut into the hill, so the only “garden” he has consists of a window box and a piece of terracing out the back, which is essentially rock and rubble.  His neighbour took two days chiseling a square hole in the cliff face before inserting a japonica.  We were not sure if he was planting a shrub or trying to build a fence.

"High on a hill..." Moorish Wath Tower on the Cost Tropical
“High on a hill…” Moorish Watch Tower on the Costa tropical

Paul, meanwhile, has bought geraniums for the window box and a Bougainvillea  from the market, which he managed to simply plant straight into his part of the vertiginous back lot as he miraculously found a small spot of soil.  He has other flowers along the back bought from the market.  There might not be too many plants in hs back garden, but then again, there are not always that many in these semi arid zones – just ask my dad (or rather make some comment within his earshot and he will tell you without being asked).

Gold Star for one Hen

Who's the Gold Star?

This week we had our first egg from our hens.  We have had them since Easter – 8th April – and our “point of lay” hybrids have been enjoying life at our expense for three weeks since then.  And not one egg has appeared.  Waiting for that first egg is like waiting for your baby’s first footsteps – you want to see it, but perhaps would like to share it with your partner more.  But life does not happen like that and Claire found the small but beautifully formed product of our Gold Star’s efforts on Thursday morning when I was at school.

In the past we have not messed around too much with breeds of hen – just the solid dependable Warrens.  This played well with the old man as, in the old days, when he was between a place in the Navy and a career in avionics, he briefly sold day-old Warren chicks to keep the family afloat.  So – as we were told – you need look no further than a good Warren hen.  After our first hens had passed on (Mr Fox had his wicked way) we flirted with ex-battery hens that came to us with the look of concentration camp survivors, traumatised and featherless, but they were not great layers and we have returned to pullets for better production and more healthy birds.

But we have stepped away from family advice and got some hybrids from Jane Gibson from Dorset Cottage Arks near Stalbridge who sells on behalf of Chalk Hill Poultry.  There was such demand for birds prior to Easter we took pretty much whatever they had – which sadly was not the Columbian Blacktail which we fancied, but instead we ended up with four fowl in various shades of monochrome. I am not altogether sure of their breed names – I think they are a Bluebelle, a Sussex Star, a White Star and a Speckledy.  Line them up in the correct order and you have an artist’s palette of white through to grey / black flecks.  I understand they will lay different coloured eggs, so we might be able to tell who is laying and who Imagenot.  So the fact that our eggs this week were white (another was laid on Saturday when – you guessed it – I was at school) points to the White Star having laid it.  This is does not take too much detective work, as she is the only one with a good-sized comb, but we will see what the others lay in due course.

So it looks like the White Star gets the merits this week and hopefully is setting an example the others might finally follow.

I poached the two eggs for lunch today .  Both were double yokers and were eggy perfection on toasted muffins. Mmmmmm….

First Egg – sitting a little low in a regular egg cup..

Digging In

It rained today.  It was cold.  And I dug.

Apart from planting radishes, broccoli, parsley, peas and rhubarb chard, I could not help myself digging one of the large herbaceous borders which is getting strangled with ground-ivy and elder.

I never would have thought that I would find this therapeutic, but I am genuinely gaining immense satisfaction from the back straining labour.  When I was younger this would have been anathema to me, but not now, and the reasons are complex.  Before Easter I set out to clear the “Silver Wedding” bed (so-called as it was created from herbaceous gifts given to my parents when they celebrated 25 years together).  Now while I agree with Pippa that digging is very therapeutic, it also struck me that, while I found the clearing of ground and revelation of spring plants satisfying, I think that it goes deeper than that, to a sense of territoriality.  What I am really doing is laying claim to that piece of turf – taking away my father’s influence, if not ownership.

Before, I would only have been able to venture into doing work in the garden under his supervision and advice.  But now I am increasingly emboldened to take control and do it my way.  And interestingly, he seems to like it.  He does not – as a I thought might be the case – seem to feel threatened.  But, perhaps not surprisingly when I come to think of it, he seems to welcome my input and likes to seek my opinion on horticultural matters, which makes me feel good, but also reminds me how little I know.

It has been a year or two since these beds were really worked over, and images of ground elder and ivy have now supplanted cows in my nightmares.  I know I haven’t got it all out, but for the moment it looks pretty and tidy.  As to how you get ground elder out of the numerous clumps of hostas that are sprouting I haven’t a clue, but if a job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing quickly so I just nip the tops off the weeds so only the flowers show.

It looks good enough for now God only knows how many weeds will sprout back after this rain.