1 + 1 =

Two calves this morning.  Yes, that is how efficient we are (she said, laughing).  Nothing like simultaneous calving - on opposite sides of the field of course, to start the day right. First, Caribou (left), produced a non-reindeer-esque heifer calf.

Closely followed by Tepi, who very kindly allowed us time for breakfast, before producing the latest member of the Carpet Dynasty, and nephew to the lovely Axminster.

Good haul for a morning!

And also, a wake-up call. This is what happens when a calf sees my appearance first thing in the morning...

The horror.

Red Tractor Week 2012

Because great food starts with great farming!

Click here to find out more about the Red Tractor mark and enter your favourite recipe for the chance to win some fabulous Aga Cookware.

#buycookeat

From the belly of beasts...

 ..come forth MONSTERS! 

Introducing 'No.1's Calf Mark IX', 'Arkwright' for short - he's almost the calf equivalent of birthing the Ark Royal.

9 calves and a figure that snaps back like that?  No. 1's Calf, we salute you!

Two Calf Mondays

Why stop at one when you can have...

A daytime miracle...

and a starlight marsupial fright...

Cute now, but when it was born, it looked more like an opossum.

And that's not what you want to be faced with on a dark night.

Any name suggestions (starting with the letter 'A') for these two lovely bull calves?   Starlight calvings reduce creativity, and you should do it for the animals...otherwise, I will name the latter Apossum.

Would you trust this man with your combine?

 Questions have been asked regarding the aesthetics of the back end of this mean machine.  Little do people know that "crumple chic" is top of Claas' optional extra request list.  Yours, for a small fee.  You could of course just park it on a hill without the handbrake on.

So, good people of Essex, be not afraid for 'tis the roar of our Mer-Cat-or, not a lion, as with a puff of smoke this beast devours the spring barley.

 You can keep your Lexions and Tucanos, make mine a Mercator.

Check out my bales

Yes, that's right, an open invitation to check out my bales. It only happens once a year, so take advantage of it whilst you can... Very proud of my work, although my performance review from Dad might not be great when you factor in multiple baler clogging, magical net wrap disappearance (seriously, we're talking Magic Circle worthy) and best of all trapping my hand in the reel, which hurt.  A lot.  Nothing Magic Circle about that one.

But that did not slow us down.  No more than 'The Rock Who Wanted to be Barley'.  So desperately did this rock want to join it's grainy friends, it had the audacity to enter the combine thus suspending combining for a morning.

Only so many times in these warming days you get the opportunity to say "F***ing glaciers." [Apparently in the last Ice Age, the glaciers stopped North of Colchester i.e. at LDF and dumped a variety of very pretty, but very annoying rocks in our so not Grade A agricultural land.  Although let this be a lesson to you all, a combine is to harvest, not to plough.]

But never mind, that's why we keep a couple of spare combines for parts.  Without them, and Dad's mechanical genius, I wouldn't get to write: Winter barley, harvested.

Next time I reverse into, or lose Humbug under one, I shall remind myself to be grateful for their presence.  Bring on the spring barley!

Harvest 2012

Faster than Usain Bolt, our Claas Mercator takes to the field for the first time.  Even the cows are happy to see harvest underway!

RIP Hat

Whilst the nation rejoices in the success of Team GB, we are in mourning, for one of Humphrey's hats has gone over to the other side.

And yes, the other side may be the council fabric recycling bag, but it is a loss Humphrey feels keenly.  For those who have met Humphrey will know, he is always to be seen in a hat.

In the winter, he chooses to adopt the Smurf look, occasionally tending towards French beret when worn at a jaunty angle.  In the summer, he models a range of sun hats in various shades of grime, from off-white to khaki.  From the fisherman's hat to the floppy-brimmed cricket hat, all are to be found protecting Humphrey's bald pate from the ferocious sunshine for which the Cote d'Horkesley is known.

And whilst Hannah may despair, and cruelly wrest these hats from him or behind the tractor seat or scattered around the farm (life is a catwalk), to make them moderately sanitary, the millinery parade marches on.  Some even say it runs in the family.

And so to the passing of the hat.  It's demise came when it entered the washing machine and the oil, diesel and dust holding it together were lost.  Seen here in better times, the international stardom years on Google Streetview.

And so, it is with sadness in my heart, and a rapidly disintegrating sunhat in my hand that I sign off this blog post.  RIP sunhat.  You've gone to a better place.

(And no Dad, we're not saving it for rags.)