Spuds away!

It's National Potato Week!

  Whilst we're not potato farmers (last grown at LDF in the '50s), we are surrounded by a potato growing giant, so to celebrate, we're delving into Grandad T's farming archive to compare two very different harvests...

From one horsepower  c.1945...

..to today in Horkesley

.

.

.

  The valley is alive at the moment with the merry harvesters working from dawn 'til dusk to harvest the humble potato.  I like to adopt a dig-for-victory approach to growing potatoes in the garden, but Humbug rejoices in the opportunity to chase the big machines.

   And so, as Rix's workers fill the local pub comparing which model of tractor adorns their credit cards (only the most dedicated make the harvest cut), we salute the potato -provider of employment, most versatile tuber and saviour of dinnertime.

Beef chilli and baked potatoes for supper?  Yes please!

All Creatures Great and Small: Squirrel SOS

We have a squirrel stuck in a grain bin.

A squirrel, that had previously eaten through a plastic dustbin to eat the food within.  It is now quite an obese squirrel.

Arrived at the farm to find Dad has rigged up a squirrel escape route.  Apparently, "it does not like diagonal ladders"..so the escape "strategy" involves vertical ladders as well.

That's right, Dad's built a squirrel jungle gym.

It's very difficult not to fall off a ladder when you are laughing quite so much.

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!