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.

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.

This little piggy...

The question is, how many are there?

Answers on a postcard please.

I also have a tad of sympathy for those piglets who need to visit this milk bar...

Small is beautiful

Things will never be the same again. That’s what they say. Comparisons have been made to the Great Depression of 1929-30 and the last fuel crisis in the early 1970s; comparing then with now. In some respects, this current sticky patch is the fault of banks and bankers (although let’s not forget all those people who took the credit, knowing full well they would struggle to pay it back) but it has elements of both these previous ‘disasters’ and that makes me nervous.

In a report last week, one of the newspapers said that if a terrorist attack targeted Portsmouth / Southampton, where much of Britain’s imported food arrives, then two days later supermarket shelves would be empty. This makes me so uneasy. I don’t want to be in a position where I struggle to feed my family because Tesco provides, citing consumer demand as a reason, strawberries in January. I want to be able to grow my own food and provide my own energy. A tall order, but one I am trying to work on.

We’re still on the waiting list for an allotment, sharing one with my parents at the moment. This set-up isn’t ideal but means we can grow some of our food and become slightly less reliant on supermarkets. Having to learn new skills is fun, interesting and empowering and I am glad we know how to make soup and bread from scratch, can build things from wood and understand the seasons and what should grow when. We have a lot to learn, but every day a bit more knowledge lodges itself in my grey matter and nudges something useless out of there.

Moving one step further forward, I attended another course at Reaseheath. This time to learn about small-holding and livestock. Reading James Herriot books and listening to the Archers is all very well, but there comes a time when you have to put abstract learning into practice.

The day itself was divided into four segments: sheep, pigs, cows and tractor driving. After quick introductions from our instructor, Mark, and the other nine participants, it was out into the cold to look at sheep. First stop was the barn where the North Country Mules (Blue-faced Leicester x Swaledale) were mooching around in readiness for giving birth to singles, twins and triplets.
Although the photo didn’t come out very well, you can just spot the sheep wearing a crown of straw. The others didn’t dress up, they just stood around, taking a bit of molasses-enriched silage and staring at us as we learnt about lambing and general sheep health. From the draughty barn to the draughtier field to round up some lambs and bring them back up to the farm.
As predicted, the two groups in the field moved into one quite smoothly and then, not liking the look of us, set off at a run across the grass. Between us, and thanks to strategically-placed hurdles, we managed to get them through the first gate, then along the next field where they instinctively headed for the corner furthest from where we wanted them to go. Plenty of running, arm waving and ‘sheepdog’ whistles ensued and eventually they were coaxed to the right gate.
They did this so expertly, through the gate and into the holding pen, that they must’ve done it before. It seemed easy and even our tutor said we did well, some of the full-time students aren’t so competent.

Having them in a pen means they are easier to catch and ‘tip over’, which sounded a lot easier than it actually was. Sheep may look all fluff and spindly legs, but in reality they are heavy, strong, wriggling and not that happy about going over. First you have to catch one, without pulling its fleece. Then, you put one hand under the head, holding onto the front leg, and one hand on a back thigh. Bend the head round to touch the body, throwing the sheep off balance, then step back and pull the sheep towards you. Theoretically it should roll over, sit on its bum with its back resting against your legs and, once there, stay fairly quiet.
What actually happens is they wriggle and writhe, twist and squirm. I got as far as turning the head but when I tried to step back, the sheep followed me. After a couple of goes it got fed up and wrestled its way free so you have to start all over again. Although it isn’t easy, I did manage to do it twice and clip a few toenails. Once they are in position, the sheep sit quietly and seem to be ok with you checking their feet. If I want to keep sheep, which I do, healthy feet are very important and tipping sheep over will have to be second nature!

After their pedicure, the sheep were taken back to their field and left to graze un-harassed while we moved on to pigs. Reaseheath’s pig unit is a commercial operation, with 130 sows plopping out 12 piglets 2.3 times a year. It isn’t a laid-back family business and it shows. Even the instructor said he would be glad when the new unit is built next year as this one is dirty and cramped and only one step away from factory farming. An uncomfortable experience.
We were shown outside pens of four-week-old piglets, then taken into the farrowing unit and given a week-old piglet to hold. Mine was quiet for two seconds until it realised my hands were freezing (they’re kept nice and warm) and then started to squeal loudly. I dropped it back in with its mother (fenced to stop her rolling on top of them but with enough room for her to lie down) and moved along. The smell was incredible and the urine stench made your eyes water. I wasn’t the only one glad to get out into the crisp Cheshire air.

Then it was time to use pig boards to herd a few and two enormous (or are they normal-sized?) white pigs were let out of their pen. Sheep stick together when faced with the unknown, but with pigs it’s everyone for themselves and these two were no different, each making a beeline to a different part of the yard, followed by us with our boards. No amount of clicking, shouting, talking, board-waving or pushing seemed to make them go in any direction they didn’t want to. As you can see from the photo, she’s bigger than me and I’m not very assertive.
The third part of the day was supposed to be with cows but the 250-strong Holstein-Friesian herd is managed by an outside company so wandering around with the cows wasn’t possible. We were, however, shown into the £1.5 million milking parlour and watched as the first cows came in to be milked. Like the sheep they knew were to go: straight to the end and then turn to face outside so the milking hands could reach the udders. Cows get milked in batches of 34; a swift and automatic process with all the herd going through in around two and a half hours.

Finally it was back outside to have a play on a tractor. Two minutes of instruction and away we went although it was unit only, no ploughs or trailers to wreak havoc with. There is, I notice, a longer course on tractor driving so maybe I will sign up. Until then, I have the memories. Agnieszka said that, had it not been for my ears, my grin would have gone all round.
If things will never be the same again then I for one want to be prepared and this course was part of the process towards knowing enough to get by. I hope I know more than I did last week and slowly edge my way into self-sufficiency.