..the mincemeat is coming!!
Hitting the shelves today.
Trust me, you really don't want to miss out!
Wherefore art thou Max?
It's stumbling around the yard time again! No, we've not been at the moonshine, a midnight, full moon calving produced this little werewolf...
Or given it was born of Caribou, perhaps a little reindeer in training?
With time to kill as Caribou settled, it was time to assess the options for a) staying warm and b) not falling asleep in the barn. After deciding it was positively arctic when I left my bed, I was wearing three fleeces, a coat, and hat, (positively balmy, how wrong I was) and had the restricted mobility of the Michelin man. Excellent for warmth, bad for accusations "your immense bulk is blocking the light [single bulb] in the barn".
As for falling asleep, this is no jungle gym, you've got to get creative. Whilst you, calving novice, might see a breeze block in the straw, you would be wrong. I (foolishly) see a temporary balance ball for a little core exercise, some step-ups (massively contributed to the stumbling). Other patented ways to kill time and avoid the fallback option of local radio - all farm radios' bandwidth selectively dies leaving only BBC Radio Suffolk/Essex (I can't type that without singing the jingle)? An impromptu Bollywood dance class - a little known fact is that Bollywood dancing originated from the Essex-Suffolk border where we are all naturals. Humph can now also hand jive - I'm not sure how he ever survived an episode of 'Blockbusters' without this crucial life skill. A life is born, a skill is learnt, it's deep stuff here on the farm.
But '"Where is Max?' I hear you (apparently the entire County of Dorset?) ask. Well, not only is he now installed in his proper place on the "Dairy dreams" post, but he's got double-billing. Here, for your eyes only, is Max with his best "Blue Steel". Definitely working his best side.
Sliding doors
- Butter wouldn't melt...
"Have you seen the puppy that's trying to kill the furry animals?". You can take the dog out of the country...but not to a popular pet store. The TV advert promises a treat for every animal, but after this and barking at your own reflection in the sliding doors (every time they closed), we were lucky not to leave with a pet ASBO.
It's been all go here with more calves, muck spreading, hen moving, bale moving (sterling work by Humph, cramming the last bales into the barn before it rained) and a tip-top weekend of dehorning and castrating in Dorset - I'll save you the details. Never let it be said the glamorous Taylor girls (in matching Primark hoodies) don't know how to have a good time. Incidentally, the chants of "here come the chavs" were not appreciated.
Back home in Essex, Humbug and I put the "rural" into "rural broadband" at the CLA's Rural Broadband Week roadshow in the village hall - think muddy wellies and eau de fox scat. The CLA's "Can't Get Online" campaign is lobbying to ensure every rural business and household can access a broadband connection of at least 5Mbps. Humbug, a very concerned citizen, contributed some very loud yawning - greatly appreciated by all at the meeting.
The cows have decided enough is enough and they'd like to come inside thank you very much. So it's time to start reconstructing that highly advanced system of gates in the barn, consider (only consider) replacing the vintage baler twine that holds them all together and find places around the farm to store the machinery that's been kept undercover over the summer. You'd think it would be difficult to lose a gate. But you would be wrong.
All thoughts now turn to sugarbeet madness. This year, I get to see for the first time the MONSTER machinery in action in the tiny fields of Lower Dairy Farm. A nightmare for the operators...but very exciting for me!
All-you-can-eat Autumn
Temperatures are dropping and the frost has returned. Time for the annual checklist...
Drilling sorted. Check. Harvest Festival. Check. Pumpkin sale at Wiston Church. Check. Sweet chestnuts gathered. Chek - I'm typing through the pain. Who needs gloves? And I can hear a tiny violin....which must mean...Whoop! Autumn is back!
So, as the crops emerge and I tentatively dance up a rainstorm and play the weather game, it's time for another vintage photo. This Massey Harris seed drill courtesy of Grandad T's faming collection c. 1940s.
This year, I spent a frantic half hour in the role of the man on the back, running up and down the tailboard trying to eke out the little seed remaining, and inevitably running out with a few metres to go. But, crisis averted! After we'd got past Dad's "seasonal Tourette's" when faced with bags of seed corn - "It's Autumn! No Spring! ..Winter!..Spring!..Winter!", the correct grain was found and job done just in time for Humphrey to head off to play the flute in concert that evening.
Good news for us and for the pigeons, seagulls, rooks etc. that use the fields as an all-you-can-eat buffet to get fat for the winter. A flock of pigeons is for life, not just for Christmas. Fortunately, natural pest control in action - thank you to the farmer next door who's planted some far tastier oilseed rape. Plus, this year, they've got Humbug to contend with. And that dog believes he can fly...
The humble calving jack
There is a Facebook group called "God bless the man who invented the calving jack". This simple device - literally to jack a difficult calf out, was invented by a farmer and is the single greatest aid to calving in the world. After last night, I may have to start the campaign for a knighthood.
Two huge calves born last night. The first, calved all on her own, a Hereford heifer calf every bit as adorable as her mother was as a calf.
The other, an upside-down, back-to-front bull calf from a Psycho Daisy May of a cow.
Fortunately, with our trusty calving jack at our side, after attempts at calving in the field, in the box, in the yard, sitting down, standing up, the calf was born alive - at which point Psycho Daisy May lost the psycho element and became a fantastic mother.
Success was not down to the calving jack alone. Without the VERY patient phone assistance of the best vet in the universe, Helen ('Supervet') and Champion Calver Stuart ('DairyStar'? - or equivalent masculine superhero name) we'd probably still be out there. Go Team Taylor!
The farm is lucky enough to have an excellent calving record. Over the past thirty years, there have been few truly challenging calvings like this one, and we have lost only a handful of calves. Most of this is down to luck, but the advantage of the Hereford-Angus cross are the small calves, increasing the chances of an easy calving - better for the cow and for the farmer. Prior to calving, Dad is out at all times of the day and night checking the herd. It's always frustrating when a calving doesn't go to plan, but worth the effort once the calf is out. And such excitement is character building...
So, thank you inventor of the calving jack, and thank you SuperVet and DairyStar. Massively indebted to you. Here's hoping the calves turn out like our friendly giant 'Thistle'...
Blackberry Ice-Cream
Verity requested. Hannah has spoken. The late sun has led to a resurgence of blackberries in the hedgerows. I was once told "never pick blackberries after October 1st because the Devil's peed on them". Ignore this, seek out some blackberries and get churning. Can't find blackberries? You can always buy fresh or frozen. Just make sure they're British!
BLACKBERRY ICE-CREAM
To make with fresh berries:
1lb blackberries, 5 oz sugar, 1/4 pint water, 1/2 pint double cream
To make with frozen berries:
1lb blackberries frozen with sugar OR 1/2 pint blackberry puree, 2 oz sugar, 1/4 pint water, 1/2 pint double cream
Puree the blackberries and strain through a nylon sieve. Boil the sugar and water together for 3 minutes and leave to cool. Whip the cream lightly. Stir the syrup into the fruit puree and fold into the cream.
Turn into basin and freeze for 1 to 2 hours, until the mixture has reached a mushy state. Take out of freezer, beat well and pour into waxed containers and replace in the freezer.
To serve: Remove from freezer 1 hour before serving and leave in the refrigerator.
And hey presto, there you have it! In the modern land of the ice-cream maker, most/all of this will be done for you. But all our ice-cream is made by hand. Follow a similar fruit-based recipe in the machine's recipe book and you'll be away.
Hannah would like to thank the unbeatable freezer knowledge of Helge Rubenstein and Sheila Bush for this recipe.
(PS This totally counts as one of your 5-a-day...)
Who's your daddy?
A week of birth. Three calves...two as yet unnamed:
And the third, introducing "Jean", sired by Kiss frontman Gene Simmons...
Uncanny.
But that wasn't all...
Yep, those weird slimy things turned into bundles of fluff. All together now...awwww. It is incredible that something so small can spray food 4ft up a wall. Less cute.
For now, there is a baby embargo on the farm. No more!! I've started stumbling around the farm clutching my giant Starbucks mug, hallucinating that they've opened a branch on the farm. Seriously, I've planned the layout in my sleep. I'm just waiting for the phonecall...we could totally get Gene Simmons to open it!
Calving in a pea souper
2am phonecall. Blanket fog. Black heifer. Black calf. Oh what's that? Goody it's backwards! Momentary dread, but a beautiful big heifer calf! (Pics tomorrow once I remember the camera). Calving can be nerve-wracking at the best of times (it's like another child for Dad - it's well known that the choice between taking your wife to hospital with labour pains and "just popping out to see if that heifer is alright", will go in the cow's favour for any livestock farmer), but visibility helps! The fog was so thick, the cows were investigating the torch beam and using the murky conditions to form their own band of Resistance stealth cattle - more 'Allo 'Allo than deadly killing force. Fortunately, with a little tug, the calf was born and up within minutes. That left time to launch into a nighttime discussion about the future of the farm.
After a week of calf rearing, general work and night-time calving, we're all a little weary which explains why at least one of us falls asleep at the table during every meal. And, why I was found asleep on the kitchen floor the morning of the calving.
So for tonight, it's time to scrub off the red oxide I covered myself with whilst painting the plough mouldboards - it helps prevent rust so I'm hoping for an anti-aging miracle. Only paint plough mouldboards whilst on your mobile if you are actually competent at multi-tasking or if you want to be accused of a grisly murder. I'm off on an early morning onion scrumping mission tomorrow, and wandering around the countryside covered in "blood" is never a good idea.