Whilst we didn’t have any more kids born today,
(which was just as well, because Tony was away doing a day’s Heathrow-Manchester-Heathrow shorthaul); other, Spring-type things have been happening on the Ffarm. This morning Roberta-Goose toddled off her makeshift nest in the clumsy footsteps of her husband Dave; a cursory glance inside revealed three huge, white eggs. She’d already laid one as an ‘eggsperiment’ (‘scuse the pun) a couple of weeks before, but it’d addled. However she’s now evidently gearing up to hatch a brood. Last year, she sat on a clutch of five; of which only two hatched but the goslings were killed by something – we still haven’t worked out what, nor how it got into the goose house (perhaps a rat or more probably a squirrel as it only bit off the heads, leaving the sad little broken bodies); the poor, puzzled goose fluted softly at me as if in the hope I could somehow repair them, which was heartbreaking. We wish her better luck this time around; & hope Nature is kinder this year – although from Tony’s rather brisk, no-nonsense point of view, he’s more concerned the Christmas dinner table will serve meagre pickings, otherwise!
With the biting wind & bitterly sharp showers, the outdoor weekly market today was sparse, & closed earlier than usual; with shoppers still feeling the post-Christmas pinch coupled with the unpleasantly cold conditions, things are lean indeed. I took cans & bottles to the recycling centre; our council provides recycling bins for the people living in town but those of us in the countryside, are expected to take matters into our own hands. Considering the lack of facilities we suffer compared with townsfolk, it seems a little harsh that we pay the same Council Tax & that our 4×4 – with which we couldn’t manage, here on the Ffarm – is also taxed to the hilt. And people moan about wealthy farmers….I’ve yet to meet one, hereabouts.
Meanwhile the frogs in the pond were back in full chorus, their amorous croaking drifting through the kitchen window as I tackled the ever-mounting pile of dirty dishes. As a rare shimmer of sunshine trembled over the darkening hillside I saw the majestically deep purple of a spring crocus closing its petals against the cold of evening; & the tiny, vibrant yellow petals of native Welsh daffodils are trumpeting hope of warmer days to come, peeping hopefully from amongst the shivering flowers of snowdrops along the wild woodland floor.
During the evening chores, I managed to catch my foot on a relocated pallet in the now much-more-snugly appointed feed shed. It sent me sprawling & I painfully grazed hands, arms & knees; but at least it wasn’t worse than a winding. It’s a salutory lesson to always carry the ‘phone or at least have it close at hand, when on my own; luckily Tony was home shortly afterwards, though. Thankfully bruised pride at being such an idiot, was the worst I suffered, to be honest.
But with everything springing into action at last, it’s all getting very – ahem – eggciting….!