Dirty deeds done dirt cheap...

This dirty deed is one I can't say I enjoy a great deal. Who would? And how can a creamy white lamb, like the one below:

Turn into a shitty-arsed muck magnet?

It can't be nice for them, to have all that extra weight round their backsides. Having seen the damage flies and maggots can do, I try to make sure I have all the dung off them but it can be difficult if they don't stand still. If you nip them with the scissors then they do tend to leap about a bit, and I can't say I blame them.

Hands-on experience...

For the last few years I have tried, with my New Year’s resolutions, to either learn something new or do something positive. Wanting to learn new things means that, often, I succeed in my objective. That’s not to say that doing them is always easy, that would be a bit pointless, but the will to do something is a great way of helping things along. Learning to knit was one small success, improving my spoken Polish wasn’t.

During the summer, at Halifax Agricultural Show, we were talking to someone in the goat tent, asking lots of questions about goats and their upkeep. One of the questions she asked us was: can you hand milk? We both had to say no, and were then advised to learn. Asking around, we found somewhere not too distant and where they were willing to let us loose on the small, but productive herd of Toggenburg milkers.

So it was 7.30am on a Sunday morning when we arrived at Charnock’s Farm and were immediately given a stainless steel bucket, a ten second ‘how to’ and let loose on one of the goats. They were so patient, and over the weeks we’ve been doing it, we have got better and quicker, although there are still a couple of the six goats we milk that think kicking the bucket over or standing in it, is better than let us work away at their teats. It’s been an interesting few weeks and I hope we can become more proficient before the goats dry up naturally later in the winter.

I also get to work with the small flock of Polled Dorset sheep; rounding them up, tagging the lambs, inoculating and general management. It’s a steep learning curve, but a real bonus. It’s just a shame that, with all hands full, we don’t get to take many photos. I am also pleasantly surprised that Agnieszka still gets up, at 6am on a Sunday, to come with me and we learn together. I knew she was special, but now I know she is extra-special.

Bless my woollen socks...

One of the changes I have made in recent years has been to try to do something positive at times like Lent and New Year. Instead of attempting to give up or cut down on things, I endeavour to learn something new, or set myself tasks that require a bit of effort throughout the year and not just for a couple of weeks after Christmas.

In November 2008 I, with the aid of my mum’s instruction, a stitch book and a couple of You Tube videos, taught myself to knit. Despite being left-handed (and male) I managed to create half a dozen mobile phone covers, a hot water bottle cover and a scarf made from Shetland Wool (the same Shetlands I would shear later in 2009). I joined a knitting circle, but have limited my involvement with them after the snobby, slightly unfriendly atmosphere I found at the monthly meeting. Although I still ask for bits of advice, on the whole there are plenty of other sources I find more ‘user friendly’.

All this waffle is leading to my New Year’s resolution for last year, 2009, which was to attempt to knit a pair of socks. Wool and needles were duly bought and no fewer than four attempts were made to get started but I persevered and gradually a sock-shaped creation emerged. Interrupted by gardening commitments throughout most of the summer, one and a half socks sat neglected until recently, when the nights drew in and gave me an opportunity to get back to them. They certainly aren’t perfect, any close inspection will reveal their flaws, but they are made by me. I feel chuffed I was able to manipulate five needles, turn the heel and Kitchener stitch the toe and it has given me confidence and an urge to do more.

These were, of course, supposed to be for Agnieszka but somewhere in the measuring I made a mess and they don’t fit. But I have some more wool from Woolfest to knit her a nicer pair and I have, for me, some Hebridean / Blue-faced Leicester wool for a pair of welly socks to keep my feet warm.

With only a few weeks left before the end of the year, I will have to find something new to try for 2010, but I am sure I will keep up with the knitting.

Wakacje - część 2: From semi-luxury to school trip surroundings…

From Smołdzino we made our way westwards, taking a circuitous route to have a gander at the countryside and towns on the way. Would anything be suitable for us? Affordable? Close enough to town? If so, which town? The first town we came to of any size, on the way to Smołdzino, was Słupsk and we left as quickly as we could. Despite having a reputation for some fine churches, the traffic system and centre of town was horrendously confusing and very busy. It was with some relief that we left the place behind (we would encounter the sign-free, Manchester-like centre on the way back and curse it some more), only calling at a Leclerc supermarket to stock up on bread, sausages and fruit juice before high-tailing it out to the coast.

As with Łeba, Darłowo, and its outlet to the sea, Darłowek, were empty windswept and freezing. A drive round Darłowo revealed a closed town centre and a visit to the beach consisted of a brisk walk, hiding behind a wall to look at the waves crashing over the harbour wall and then a sharp exit. Tree branches littered the roads and huge puddles made driving difficult, especially when a Kubice wannabe thought it ok to over-take on a blind bend.

From Koszalin we took a very nice winding road, lined with trees showing off their amazing autumnal colours: from green to yellow, orange to red and brown. We had decided to stay on what was advertised on their website as a ‘farm’ in Rekowo, about 20km south of Koszalin. When we arrived, the family were in the middle of preparing for a wesele and we were quickly shown a room as far from the house as possible. Luckily the heating was on and we were able to dry off slightly. I can honestly say this is the first time I have taken a pair of slippers and a pair of wellies on holiday and was glad of them both at different times while we were away. Our room had two single beds and two sets of bunk beds and was next to the ‘bathroom’ and ‘kitchen’. Agnieszka had to go and ask for both a gas bottle and a couple of pans as otherwise we’d have had nothing to cook with or on. For most of the time we were there, we played swat the mosquito and follow the cobweb as the place was rampant with both. Bare walls and draughty floors completed the authentic rustic ambience.

I wanted to stay here because their website said they kept goats and I thought it would be a good opportunity to talk to people about living and working in rural Poland. Unfortunately, the herd of goats turned out to be one old nanny with wonky tits, half a dozen geese, a small paddling of ducks, six damp sheep and a flock of mangy-looking hens. None of these seemed to be particularly cared for, the geese and ducks struggling to cope with the high sides of a makeshift pond and the hens being kept in until dinner time. Even the sheep weren’t very friendly, with one individual intent on staring me out every time I looked out of the window.

To add to this, we asked on arrival, and on leaving, for twaróg but couldn’t get any (‘I wish you’d asked yesterday’) and got excited about some home-made plum jam that turned out to be off. While it was a lovely setting and the houses / buildings very nice, I got the feeling they were half-arsed about all the did there and only kept the animals because it was a draw for school groups in the summer. Maybe they are different people in the summer, with some bright sun and long days; in October they were as miserable as sin and a disappointment of a place to stay.

Out for a walk in the forest nearby, we got caught in (yet another) brief but very heavy shower. After it had cleared the light was lovely. On the way back to the digs, we met a couple of young scallywags heading towards the forest, one with a loaded duvet cover slung over his shoulder. Inside, we assume, was the knock-off chandelier that we were offered. Quite what we'd do with it out in a field was a mystery, but we think a large house is now without any lighting in their main room.

In contrast, Koszalin was a very pleasant town. Admittedly it was Sunday and, as such, deserted (except for the church of course) but it had a nice feel and looked like a fairly nice place to live. The square was a bit of a let down as I had expected a few cafés and shops but on one side is the main road, on the other the town hall and flats on the remaining two.

Still, it was a very enjoyable wander for a few hours. It has everything we want from a town: shops, opportunities for work, a cinema, a station, and is not too far from the sea or forests. The countryside round about is rolling and rural, with plenty of forests and fields and the occasional lake. Prices too are reasonable once you get out of the centre of Koszalin. I warmed to it and was nicely surprised. Anywhere that has a 'potato institute' (whatever that is) is fine by me.

But, that said, we still had a long way to go and lot more places to see and any decisions will have to wait for a while yet, and if this is all there is to do on a Sunday, I'll need a pointy stick...

On with the show...

After the non-event that was the Royal Lancashire show last year, cancelled due to rain, we decided to make the effort to get to a few shows this year. One reason we missed shows last year was because they were happening earlier than I expected and also many take place in the middle of the week. So we decided, after advice (and some free tickets), to go to the Great Yorkshire and Great Eccleston shows.

Arriving at the Harrogate showground at 7.25am on the Tuesday morning I was surprised to see just how busy it was. We were lucky in that we got a car park close by the showground as, when we were leaving around 5pm, some of the fields to park in were a long way from the entrance. So, after a quick boiled egg / coffee breakfast, we hit the animal sheds.

The GYS is huge. And busy. There were breeds of animal I had never even heard of, in colours / styles I didn’t think were possible. I think photos show more than words.

Steam cleaning the cows before giving them a blowdry to make their hair curl...

Better quality equipment than anything I've seen inside a salon was used with care...
Getting the sheep ready with a final trim...Taking the pigs for a walk in the show ring (these are Berkshires)...Ugly sheep. A Texel, bred for quality of carcase rather than personality...Beef cattle, showing their thighs. I think these were Limousin...
Holstein-Friesians, with their bags full and looking painful...Some cheese to look at, because you couldn't buy it there...

In stark contrast to the warm sun in Harrogate, the day of the Great Eccleston show dawned dark and dreary. We decided to chance it, driving up the M61 past Chorley in torrential rain. By the time we got past Preston it had slowed to a trickle and arriving at the showground it was cloudy but dry, with hints of sunshine poking through the clouds. A lovely site, with views across to Bowland and the smell of country in the air.

Again, photos do more justice than the words.
Saying hello to English white pigs the day after a Saddleback boar made a run for it - to the bar.Anglo-Nubian goats, becoming our preferred choice for the future...A load of bull, probably a ton and a half load and not something I wanted to get too near...Tractor-pulling, the noisy, and seemingly pointless, thing that modern farmers do...Of course, some Shetland sheep after they cleaned up the awards...The sheep show, an informative and amusing look at sheep through the ages...Finally, what to do when there's no television. Eat your sandwiches, watch your cow.

Thanks to Tony and Kath for tickets to Great Yorks and, as ever, to Agnieszka for the lovely photos.

A stitch in time...

It is true that a stitch in time saves nine because if I’d written this the week after, it would have been posted. But I didn’t and, as time went by, it got harder and harder to post. Anyway, it is here now.
A recent trip to Wool-Fest (http://www.woolfest.co.uk/), held in Cockermouth, was a real eye-opener. We went there on a mini-bus organised by our knitting circle, the Knitting Noras, more out of curiosity than anything. It was amazing, and really brought home how little I actually know about wool and fibre. All shades under the sun, in all blends of fibre, from pure wool to bamboo and soy bean fibre, plus everything you could possibly want to knit, spin or crochet. There were even a few sheep and alpacas there, to show where the yarn begins.
We were there for about four hours and had a good look round. It isn’t cheap, but the quality is excellent and most stallholders were pleasant and helpful (are you reading this narky old bag on the book stall?), although there was an amusing reversal of the ‘woman asking a plumber’ scenario when I asked one of the stallholders about a type of wool / sock. When she replied, she looked only at Agnieszka. It was only when I pointed out that it was me who did the knitting did she talk to me properly.
A wedding dress, made from Wensleydale fleece / wool and worn at a sheep-infused wedding.

Shear delight…

Bank Holiday weekends can sometimes be a washout but for once the weather matched the forecast and, while not as hot as predicted, was warm and dry enough for me to toddle up to Ramsbottom to give Tony and Kath a hand with the shearing of the sheep.
Whatever I was expecting, it certainly wasn’t the sight of Tony, still in his Sunday best shirt and tie, hand clipping a ewe. After a few minutes of chat it was down to business and I was given the task of trying to ‘roo’ a ewe. Unfortunately the wool hadn’t risen enough for it to come off easily and, despite tugging and pulling, I couldn’t seem to make the fleece come off and had to resort to clippers. With the ewe fairly immobilised by a head restraint, it was quite straightforward to clip the back and down the sides of the belly. Doing the legs was a different matter as they don’t like their legs touched so trying to clip the fleece from a squirming, wriggling sheep made it a slightly more difficult task.
The second ewe we did was one of the older ones and well used to the process. She stood quietly while the fleece was literally pulled off her. When the new wool starts to grow it pushes the old growth off to some extent and that means it can be pulled, or roo-ed, easily. Again, starting on the spine the fleece is peeled off the sheep like you would a banana, except that it’s wool, warm and smells differently. The ewe, I’ve forgotten her name, stood quietly, burping occasionally.
Finally we attempted a ram. This is a whole different ball game, if you’ll pardon the expression. Firstly, they have horns and, secondly, they are much stronger than the ewes and a lot more wilful, so even getting them into the head restraint was a task in itself. I held onto the horns while Kath pulled with the halter but it wasn’t easy. This one had to be clipped and so, again starting at the spine, we clipped the fleece from its back. The ram let its displeasure be known by having a wee a couple of times and dropping a few sheep currants, but neither found a target. He settled down as we did the belly but got understandably skittish when it was time to trim the fleece from around his tea and sugar, add to this my nervousness with a sharp pair of clippers and it’s a wonder there wasn’t blood. I was proud of my ability to shear and only once nicked a sheep but not enough to draw blood – although it was enough to make the ewe a bit nervous.
As a bonus I was given the fleece from the chocolate coloured ewe that I clipped. As soon as my carding brushes arrive I will attempt to turn this into some sort of yarn and knit something from it, the first time I will have done the whole process from clipping to knitting via carding, spinning (not sure how to do this bit yet) and washing. It seems every week I learn something new and I feel good that I can do these things. I look forward to learning more and, maybe one day, passing on some skills to my offspring.

Dung. It's the future, I smelled it...

Over the weekend we went to Builth Wells for the Smallholder and Garden Festival, held at the Royal Welsh Showground. It was a chance to meet people who already farm on a small, or larger, scale, to see breeds and, hopefully, to get some information that would inform our choices for the future.

It was more than even I had hoped for and just about everything you could want was represented: hens, ducks, turkeys, guinea fowl, dogs, sheep, pigs, goats, cows, horses, tractors, alpacas, hamsters, rabbits and bees. I haven't been this excited since I crossed the border into Albania. We got to the showground around 9am and we didn't leave until many of the trade stands had packed in and gone at about 6pm. Where the time went to I have no idea. It was fantastic. I got to speak to people about cows, goats, sheep and spinning and for all the questions that got an answer, another dozen sprang into my head.
I was really buoyed up by the positive attitude of the people I spoke to, their hard lives made better by the quality of life they now enjoyed. I was at once elated and depressed. Elated because this is what I want for our future, somewhere to live where my family can enjoy food and drink untainted by chemical additives, where it is produced locally and doesn't sit for days in the back of a trailer, trundling across Europe so that Tesco shoppers can enjoy the fruit (and veg) of the season at unseasonable times. I know it will be hard work but I am not afraid of that, not if it means giving Agnieszka and any children a good standard of living. On the flip side, it made me depressed knowing that, for a few years at least (how many? Three? Five? Twenty?) we will be stuck in that cultural sewer pipe known as Farnworth and that money will restrict what we do here, or in Poland. It was a sobering thought and one that made me think hard over the following few days. Depressed I might be about my current finances and lack of 'easy' opportunities but the resolve has hardened and the determination is there. One day, we will have it. I am sure of it.

From the show, then. Some photos:

An Angora goat, softest fleece I've ever touched.

Some Anglo-Nubian kids...

An ancient cow of Wales with calf...

A modern farrier, making a horseshoe the traditional way...

Parading some Welsh mountain sheep in the ring...

Preparing to show...

A sheep hairdrier, I kid ye not...

How to shear a sheep in under two minutes by a bloke from the British Wool Marketing Board...

Some quail, these ones are Cinnamon Quail...

The pig shed buzzed and hummed, mainly from the smell of the pigs, which is a bit of an acquired taste. These are English Whites being shown in the ring. Essentially it is an opportunity for the pigs to do a bit of running around and for their owners to chase them with a bit of board and a flimsy walking stick...

An Oxford Sandy and Black, or possibly a Gloucester Old Spot...

My mum's favourite (on a butty) is the Saddleback...

While the rain stopped for a bit we popped outside to look at a working threshing machine...

And a stretch tractor...

And finally, for everyone we know in Ramsbottom... a ram's bottom.