Thankfully, after our poor Ffarm’s endurance of another nights’ (Knights’?!) battering,
on completion of my anxious exploration during dawn’s early light I discovered that we’d sustained little further damage to the earlier onslaughts & that thankfully John & Kev’s robust emergency repairs to the roof of the Long Barn (for which I am so extremely grateful), had held admirably despite the tenuous hold with which the new nails grasped the rotted wood of the ancient trusses.
However to my dismay, the small, central window in the Barn’s West wall had fared considerably less well: a window which admittedly since before we arrived, sported a semi ‘bodge-it’ job of a stout wedge of plastic feed sacks welded diligently throughout the aperture in order to brave the elements.
Having stood the test of a fair few far-reaching years of service, said interim repair had finally admitted defeat & had been blown clean through, now offering unhindered access to the full force of the Prescelli’s wintry blasts. My poor, gwyr cariad Tony: no rest for the wicked (?!) as it will require his urgent, expert replacement – with a preferably more permanent not to mention, aesthetic solution; so with all the damage we’ve sustained, regrettably he will sadly have little time for respite – but hey, that’s the price of being a Ffarmwr, these days.
The weather continued to taunt with its’ characteristically atrocious, wet & windy conditions. I grimly endured the cold kiss of the rain & the sting of the wind’s bitter buffeting, to complete the chores & check our less fortunate beasts grazing the higher pastures but who were thankfully warm & comfortable in the shelter of the stout hedgerows encompassing the majority of each & every Ffarm Fach field where possible.
At lunchtime I enjoyed a soggily welcome break from the inclement elements to watch a little of BBC’s “Countryfile” programme whilst munching on some unctuously tangy Italian Mountain Gorgonzola along with a plump, oozingly ripened wedge of soft homemade Brie served simply with a few fresh, juicy grapes, some crisp celery & a generous chunk of homemade crusty bread; although my real interest was anxiously captivated as ever by the forthcoming week’s weather forecast – critical to our goatherding & cheesemaking, let alone cheese tasting!
Thankfully it appears the wind is about to drop & the temperature is set to plunge with a spell of much colder & blessedly drier weather – just what we need to kill off those dreaded BTV-carrying midges not to mention & the wretched plague of slugs we’ve suffered throughout much of 2007’s veg-&-fruit growing season.
As the midday repast digested into afternoon & so evening with the ever-bustling routine therein, I was finally able to relax a little once the cottage door had thumped firmly shut against another damp & dreary dusk.
Today however, this was gratifyingly enhanced with the confiding relief of a long chat with our dear friend & superb caprine mentor, Dreda from Monach Farms: with whom, but for her unstinting assistance, we would be literally lost. Between us we discussed my hopes for the expansion of our modest goat herd & as ever, she complemented our ideas with bucketloads of sage advice based on Monach’s encyclopaedic experience coupled with their overflowing love & enthusiasm for all things caprine (to be frank the best goaty thing we ever did was being educated by the fantastic Randall clan – their dedication & professionalism are by far the very finest & we will always be grateful for their unstinting help, advice & amazing support – indeed, we are privileged to feel like members of the wonderful Monach family! (This, especially at 3am when suffering a difficult, clumsily novicce kidding – their unwavering & surrogate veterinary bedside manner, has literally saved lives!).
Whoosh! And so, with light-headed with enthusiasm but unfortunately burdened with heavy-handed bags of cumbersome groceries, I found that on extinguishing the dull, ascerbic gleam of my yellow bedside lamp that sleep simply wouldn’t come easily; thus I instead occupied a few constructively busy hours with cleaning & tidying our home in anticipation of Tony’s inevitable ‘whirling dervish’ return (although why I bother is beyond me – I swear any observers would seek the hole in the Ffarmhouse roof where the bomb had whalloped through, only minutes after his explosive arrival….!!).
So, my much-missed husband Tony arrived home at long last from his very busy short-haul schedule, in the wee small hours: time to catch up on life, the Universe & everything…. then grabbing a few precious snuggly zzzZs together before our endlessly terminal whirligig mayhem begins, again……..