There are certain things every boy loves, not least, holes. They love digging and moving shed loads of soil – but not by hand, I hasten to add. Give a boy a digger and he is happy. One of the curious aspects of life is that boys never change. Their needs and desires stay straight and steady from cradle to grave. Alan is no exception.
Amongst the collection of retired and competition horses, graze the small flock of sheep that were once destined for the meal table. The free range hens and turkeys that started their lives in factory farms strut and cluck in busy contemplation in the safety of their run.
There is nothing more Yorkshire than the Nidderdale Show. Set in the beautiful dales village of Pateley Bridge, it serves as a pilgrimage the the regions sheep farmers, and is followed shortly after by Masham sheep fair (which borders on the caricature, it is so Yorkshire).
It’s a strange one. At night, my routine doesn’t alter much – being a woman of a certain age, I climb into bed and take my watch off and take the hair band off my wrist that I’d put there earlier from my ponytail.
Life at Morndyke has just got a bit more entertaining . We’ve had an influx – of mice!🐭 Fat ones, thin ones, pale ones, dark ones, shy ones, brazen ones, even slightly disabled looking ones… they’re everywhere!
Today I was going to compete at Breckenbrough Horse Trials, but it’s rained. Then rained some more. I’d need flippers and a snorkel and I don’t look great in a bikini, so inevitably it’s been cancelled.
So the cows have been turned out for the summer grazing, and all was well with the world. That is until Alan rang me. Apparently one of ‘them red heifers’ (who incidentally haven’t been heifers for a couple of years, but the name stuck) had calved at Robin’s
What a great week it has been at Morndyke – full house here on the glamping site. It was so exciting to welcome our very first ‘proper’ glampers: Morag and Reg Taylor, with their gorgeous springer spaniel Gigha.
I reckon Wordsworth must have known a thing or two about daffodils, and possibly a thing or two about Morndyke. Our daffodils here are spectacular and well worth a viewing. The birds in the dawn chorus are just beautiful too.
What a difference a day makes. HEAT. The date is April 20th 2018. Has Spring arrived? Is this a temporary respite from the winter deluges? Capote certainly hopes so. I think he has shrunk from too many soakings.
Our lake is cold. And deep. And has a chequered past. I’d love to know it’s full history. It started life as a clay pit for making bricks hundreds of years ago. Just after the war the council tipped their rubbish in it and it shrank from 4 acres to 2.
Spring has sprung at Morndyke. It’s certainly the time of year for new life – it’s springing up every where! The countryside is flooded with babies. It’s about this time when the ducklings hatch – I love the quote from a favourite childhood book of my kids: ‘All the Places to Love’, that describes ducklings as ‘tiny tumbles of leaves’.
Football just isn’t my bag. I managed about 10 seconds – was marginally amused by the name of one Brazilian player, so made a few un pc comments to myself that made me giggle, then was bored. Apparently I have the sense of humour of a 13 year old boy… according to my adult 12 year old daughter….
The world is full of rich and diverse cultures, each with its own language and idioms. This stretches to the weird and wonderful world of Yorkshire farmers. I have, out of necessity, become a cunning linguist and now pride myself on speaking ‘farmer’.
Hens are funny things. They provide hours of entertainment just by being hens. My little brood of ladies consist of the ‘princesses’ – an ancient collection of ‘Welsummers’, that are very prim and correct and do not mix too well with the ‘ex-bats’.
I love summer – hazy, warm days with blue skies and warm breezes; endless hours of sunshine and glory with that promise of more to come. There is another reason I love summer. It brings with it the shearers.
Once in a while, or so they tell me, it’s good for the soul to take a holiday. This year, our annual pilgrimage took us up to the beautiful Scottish island of Mull. When I say us, I had better clarify.
I have a weakness. Horses. Since I took my first breath, these became my nemesis. The amount of money spent, hardship felt, and both physical and mental pain fashioned by these creatures is insurmountable.
I have three cows, namely Snowberry, Willow and Buckthorn. Alan would contest the ownership status. However, he was foolish enough to ‘lend’ me these three bovines quite a number of years ago when they were each a mere 6 months old.