Midsummer murmurs...

I’ve met a lot of experts recently. In fact I didn’t quite realise how many there were out there. They are actually very easy to find if you know how to look and all you have to do is tempt them in like blundering, eager wasps squabbling their way into a beer trap. To get the best results you should always get your expression right. You can perfect this by practising in the mirror and trying your utmost to narrow your eyes whilst quizzically furrowing your brow and getting the right mix of naivety and stupidity across the rest of your face – something that apparently comes naturally to me. This is like the ground bait strewn across the water to get the fish interested before you catapult your hook, line, and yes, “sinker” out into the water by rather coyly saying “What do you think I should do?”

In my particular case I have been discussing my silage strategy and how to get the most out of my poorly grass with some local self appointed peers. The thing is, I already know that growth has slowed despite the rain.  I know that I could throw fertiliser at it (massively expensive and not in line with my eco approach) and I know that if I sold, or more like, gave away some animals (at today’s prices), I would not need so much grass. What I wanted was a shrewd and intelligent solution. What I got was a collection of conflicting and costly confusions. The trouble is I am quite new to this...but not that new and I find that the more green you might appear, the more useless the advice. Its as if there is a multi-tiered system whereby you have to qualify for the reliability of the wisdom you are about to receive. Moreover, advice-givers seem to have the ability to suggest spending more money than they ever would do in the same situation...this seems to be on a sliding scale as to green-ness too and its not just limited to farming. Try it out for a bit of sport in whichever chosen field you wish, it will help you ascertain who not to stand next to in the pub. Finally, anybody who begins their smug and often loudly, slow spoken snippet of wisdom with “My advice to you is...” is really saying “Now, prepare to glaze over and ignore what I am saying because its about as useful to you as the contents of a train lavatory”. 

I did listen to one bit of guidance from someone who does not outwardly appear to be an expert, but someone who knows a great deal about life and people. He reminded me of the “P” word we either forget about or struggle to put into use. Patience.  He told me to look at the grass, look at the cows and hold off cutting for as long as possible, because however slow the grass maybe growing, its still growing. This is what both my, and many of your instincts would tell you to do anyway, and is probably how we judge good advice, ie, the advice closest to what we thought of in the first place!

Finally, I know I am a child and find innuendo funnier than most but here’s the picture of my cock (his name is Colonel Sanders, by the way!) you have all been waiting for. So thanks to Karen Steadman and her daughter Vicky (who truly loved this handsome boy) I have a cockerel with which to breed from...I also took in his girlfriend (Ruby) too. I had to take him off their hands due to their new neighbour obsessively complaining about his crowing. They even wrote to the Telegraph to whinge about it and repeatedly phoned me to get it off their hands – nice neighbours, eh? They’re certainly going about making friends in a little village in the right fashion! 

Loony Toons...

The world has changed! It has become more hip without us either realising or wishing to acknowledge it. We have done so much “thinking outside of the box” in recent years that thinking inside of the box for a change is considered quite radical and being conventional can be considered almost eccentric. Think of a young gent in a three piece suit and bowler hat, toying with his watch chain, flabbergasted that he couldn’t find moustache wax in the pharmacy section of Morrisons. You’d think he was a total nutter who probably also had an unhealthy affection for steam locomotives and a worrying collection of stamps and old tram tickets. A hundred years ago this would have been considered normal. I blame the Guardian.

What has this got to do with anything...or farming? Well, a bit, at a push. I’m trying to justify the reason for putting a video of the pigs on the blog in order to amuse you because other than some petite, sexily clad young girls “climbing over my machinery” (pictures on Facebook) there hasn’t been a great deal going on this week.

So, the point I wish to make here is how things change and that how strange, yet credible it is to quote a cartoon character to justify my blog activity (all will become clear, honest!). This would have been impossible a few years ago, not only for the non-existence of blogs but also because cartoons were made to do no more than occupy kids. Think about it. You could glean nothing sensible from Mickey Mouse’s first film, Steamboat Willy, other than the fact that some clever sod had drawn some pictures of a mouse on a boat and joined them all up to create the illusion of movement.

In my case, I am referring to an old episode of Southpark, and if you still think things haven’t changed that much, consider that cartoons like this are not only factual and intelligent but also some of the only peddlers of truth and insight on the planet. (I’d like to say Southpark translates globally across languages and cultures but I’m afraid it doesn’t. In Spanish, they translated the opening song from the film from “Shut your f*cking face uncle-f*cker” to “You’re an arsehole son of a bitch”, not quite the same, I think you’ll agree!) They also do what the press can’t do in quite the same way and relentlessly attack politicians, celebrities and bully-boy corporations. Quite a few modern cartoons; Family Guy, Stressed Eric, The Simpsons, educate people by tackling family life, morals, philosophy and politics and stand half a chance of subliminally relaying it to hapless Americans without all of the sickly syrup and piousness of Little House on the Prairie or The Cosby Show. Can't be a bad thing. In this case, the cartoon character is Kyle (I think) and he is sad about the fact that the masses would rather watch tv programmes with close-ups of animals with accompanying silly music than something educational or informative. Just to be “radical” there is no silly music in the below vid. (I actually haven’t worked out how to dub videos yet – any assistance welcomed here!).

By the way, Steamboat Willy was made in 1928 and essentially featured an animal with accompanying silly music. Maybe we haven’t changed at all.

Weather-wise, we have had, and continue to be having, some serious rain. I’m not sure whether this means that we will get the silage cut we need, however, without rain we probably would not have bothered cutting at all. I’m estimating getting the contractors in for the first week of July but will monitor growth and rainfall daily. Trouble is, as the new shoots of grass grow, the bunnies get straight on it – you can see the cuts along the shoots made by razor sharp teeth and the general slow progress of grass regeneration. In some fields its really bad. Funnily enough, the solution makes me think of yet another cartoon!

Pigs named during kitchen incident...

I hesitated at the point of electing to use the word “stoic” whilst typing the last blog because I’m always aware of when I might be tempting fate. Its a sort of superstition thing except you can’t avoid it like a ladder or salute it and therefore make things ok because you’ve already done it, said it, or typed it in this case.

So, perhaps as a result of my choice of vocabulary last week that following the spectacular pig naming extravaganza the extremely charming, domesticated and now famous Penelope was eaten by a fox! This is not uncommon. It is in fact, more common than ever because foxes are essentially a semi-protected species. You can even buy fox food in pet shops. You can guess my attitude to fox hunting. You can probably guess what I might feel about a nationwide cull too. Poor old Penelope, my favourite ever hen.

So despite some bushy-tailed, mange-riddled, vulpine murderer eating my favourite bird we finally managed to get the pigs named...and what fantastic names they are too (not). See it here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a340buyAamo

Well done to Katie’s daughter Lola for Oink-Oink on the left, and to my friend Marisa who lives in Madrid for Antares on the right of this rather sweet little piggy pic.

   

Also...

We moved around some animals at the end of last week. I wanted to get the mother of the stillborn out in the fields with the others. So out she went, happy to be in the open with some company to take her mind off things. Her two companions remain in the yard and will do so until they calve as we have to closely monitor their behaviour at all times. I also separated three steers for “finishing”. This means they will now get access to some rolled barley in addition to grass and some extra silage in order that they fatten nicely. This is important for the marbling process in addition to adding bulk to the carcass and resulting in a better price at market. This last stage of a beef animal’s life is crucial to the final eating quality of the meat and is something of an art. You don’t want them too fat, nor too plain, however, given the inherent qualities of South Devon as a breed you are at an advantage from the outset due to their fantastic natural marbling traits.

Finally, it rained yesterday! It rained today too. It rained overnight as well. I haven’t been in such a good mood for ages. This is great news. I’ve already sectioned off a few of what I call “buffer fields” so that the moisture can take effect and the grass can recuperate un-trodden. It also means that the silage cut, which will take place in a week or so, will be better than we thought. We were kind of down to the bone as far as grass is concerned and so this change of weather has really helped us and many other farmers, although some crops will have suffered permanently as a result of the lack of rain until now.

Happy sad...

I got back from Madrid mid afternoon last Monday and went to see how Robin had been getting on with some of the gateways. (We have contractors in every summer to cut the silage and their large tractors and bailers barely squeeze through the overgrown brambles and tree branches that crowd all of the field entrances). Two things here, firstly, the removed undergrowth has revealed the remains of what once was a fence which will now have to be replaced, and secondly, due to the dry conditions I’m too scared to burn the massive pile of twigs, branches and brambles Robin cut off through fear of accidentally torching all of the woodland between here and Brightling and ending up on the telly.

I forgot about the above when I suddenly had to deliver a stillborn calf on Tuesday morning, one of only three calves still to come at this late stage. This always focuses the mind. I spotted the mother in a state of labour at about 7 o’clock in the morning...the waters had already broken. I felt uneasy with this because calving tends to start early morning, say 4-5 ish. So, had the waters broken two or so hours before? If so, this could be a problem.

I let a few waves of contractions take place and saw a hoof, then two, then the beginnings of a snout. I got quite hopeful, but the contractions were lazy and short and the mother, a heifer, seemed quite disinterested in what was going on at her rear, another bad sign.  After a short while I decided to attach ropes to the feet and pull. This was quite tricky as the mum had drawn the calf back in by this stage and I had to force my hands inside and tie the ropes around the first hoof joint on each leg of the calf. It took a lot to hold against the contractions, albeit they were weak, and after fair old struggle I got him out, lifeless. I knew he had been dead for a little while but gave a couple of strong forceful pushes on his ribcage just in case, and when fluid emerged from mouth and nose I knew it was certain. All part of dealing with livestock, and a possible lesson learned. You have to become a stoic in this line of work.

Don't forget to check in tomorrow for some fun and japes in "Name That Pig™" with Penelope the chicken. Oh yes, a real game (poultry really...sorry) bird she is too! Short of being able to extend the farm budget to contract my other favourite ginger bird, Kaddy Lee-Preston from BBC Southeast Today, I had to make do with a chicken as my beautiful assistant for the spectacular cornflake-inspired pig-name selection extravaganza! Don't miss it! 

Not so quiet mode

I have often been told that people prefer me when I’m being quiet. So, I hope you’ve enjoyed the past week or so of serenity on this blog; no ranting, complaining or even a hint (I really wanted to say “whiff” here) of bum crack. Time I changed all that then...

I spent last weekend in what I like to pretentiously call my second home, Madrid. In actual fact, having lived there for 3 years in total, means that it actually is pretty much a second home. Given it’s size, I know it better than London. Anyway, there is a point to all this. Unlike our renewed relationship with farmers markets and specialist suppliers of everything from courgette flowers to venison, asparagus, cheese and chocolate, the “Spaniels” have been at it for years.

In brief, Franco’s long reign of fascism ended with his death in 1975 and can be blamed for having somewhat stifled Spain’s economical, cultural and political development during his 39 years or so of office. At the time Spanish people were aware of this and may have felt that they were poorer as a result. In fact, I think it has made them richer in some respects despite the rather dire current economic climate and a plethora of other socio-political aspects we could touch upon.  I am referring to the institution of food, or to use a broader Spanish term “alimentacion”. Franco encouraged Spain to grow and produce and to essentially be self-sufficient in a kind of “Spain is great, so we don’t need anybody else” way. As a result there is still a thriving market industry throughout the entire country.

In Madrid, I know of about 8 or so markets which make Borough Market seem not only the poncy hang-out that it is but also put it to shame on selection and quality. Remember, these Spanish markets are often run down and old fashioned concrete shells, but the colour, variety and ambience contained within is positively buzzing. The selection extends beyond just veg to meat products where there will be at least two or three butcher stalls in every market in addition to those that sell just chicken and eggs as well as a handful of separate stalls selling only hams, chorizo and cheeses – let’s not forget at least three or four fishmongers to boot! They are all essentially specialists who know their produce. So, markets are awash with both choice and competition and this is possibly why it works. Moreover, markets tend to be cheaper than supermarkets and you can always buy just what you need for that day or a specific meal, therefore generating less waste. All produce is grown or reared in Spain and comes direct from farmers, growers and cooperatives and so there is a direct life-line from consumer through to the person who planted the seed or reared the pig. There is also the logistics and storage network which employs thousands of additional people. Widely, the Spanish see Supermarkets as places for staples like flour, sugar, biscuits and booze. Decent fresh produce comes from the markets – that’s just the way it is and its also true to a point in France and Italy too.

So, why are we so Supermarket focussed in this country? Its because we have all bought in to the American-driven convenience philosophy which was cultivated by those wishing to profit from their products...not for our benefit or wellbeing. I know you all know this, I know you all have jobs and kids and whatever, and you haven’t got time. Make time, or see the supermarkets get stronger and farmers and growers get weaker.  Don’t just think about price either, this really is so bleeding elementary, but I’ll spell it out anyway. The amount you save on a two for one bargain, the petrol you save on doing one shop a week, the overall reduction in spending by buying a leg of lamb in a supermarket rather than from your butcher is nothing in comparison to even a packet of fags or a pint or choosing to take the more acceptable Easyjet flight for your holiday (which will cost hundreds or thousands!) at 11:30 as opposed to 05:00 for 28 quid more. When it comes to everything else in life; houses, watches, cars, golf clubs, hookers etc, we basically spend as much as we can, so why do we try to spend as little as possible on food and then feel smug when we get two packs of butter for the price of one when we only actually need one? This is a big subject and I’m just scratching the surface here. More another day. I’ll shut up for now, although all comments welcomed both for and against.

Tune in tomorrow and watch some ginger bird I picked up name the pigs!

“You cannot be serious!” Not all of the time, right?

The Blogger.com site has been down for the last few days which is why this post is a bit late..that and my ineptitude at uploading videos onto Youtube, so apologies for the delay.

As promised, I conducted Operation Pig in front of a camera. So the not so sweet little pig 2 has an earring. I would like to be clear that I make no apology for what you see and that by wishing to view such video content you should be aware in advance that you may find certain aspects of this footage quite distressing, as despite my explicit directions to the cameraman to carefully train his view on the pig at all times he seemed to do the best he could to aim the camera at my bum-crack whenever possible. Canny he is indeed, as he managed to get the entire tagging process on film whilst switching from “pig” to “crack” at every available opportunity (despite insisting that this was merely accidental and hinting that were my behind not so large it would have gone unnoticed). He is, quite simply, an unprintable word which rhymes with flosser or with dossier if you are French or posh. Now, before any of you get upset at the lack of decorum here, I would like to point out the following:

1. All humans have bum-cracks
2. Mine is quite nice, actually
3. I have seen worse...on women
4. My attention was fully focussed on the job at hand in order to cause as little pain and distress as possible to pig 2, and anyway, its nothing like a real builder’s one, so just watch the little piggy!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x3NYP79lc2s

On a serious note, in my last post I mentioned the farmers’ preoccupation with the weather, since which we have had no further rain and the grass continues to be nibbled by our ever hungry cattle.  There are all sorts of considerations here beyond the length of the grass today as you have to be able to anticipate how much further it will deplete before we have any rain – then, how much rain we get will dictate the growth we can expect - and then, when will it rain again etc? And so the whole thing perpetuates depending on rainfall, and the outlook isn’t great. Suffice to say, that despite our ability to open a few gates here and there into currently untouched fields I have put a silage bale in a feeding rack for one of the three herds where the grass just isn’t there. Tomorrow another one will go in amongst 11 heifers I have in a separate field – not good at all.

This may sound innocuous enough, and true, we have 15 or so spare bales to hand from last year but it is an indication of how bad the situation is in general; everything growing outside in large parts of the southeast of England is being affected. For farmers this is a major concern, for the rest of you this could ultimately lead to a price increases across many sectors beyond the obvious commodities including milk, bread and beer. Worst case scenario as far as we and other livestock farmers are concerned would be the forced sale of animals due to insufficient grass and having run out of silage and hay, (possibly obtainable at massively inflated prices) which if you combine with many others in the same boat, equals rock-bottom sale prices at market and a financial squeeze and inevitable insolvency for some. Moreover, as with any adversity in the agricultural sector this tends to strengthen the supermarkets’ already unfair position as they will further benefit from buying their already low grade meat at lower prices.

There is, as you can see, more to the weather than the opportunity to have another barbeque or join most of south London on Camber Sands.  So in this glorious sunshine, forget the tan, whether or not its Pimms O’clock and go into your garden at dusk and rain-dance like you never have before!

Finally, keep the pig names coming in. We have had some good (and some not so good, Dave!) suggestions already.