animal farm

The shearer was booked at the farm but we got there too late for photos of the main event!

Found some rather confused looking sheep – lambs trying to find their mother and vice versa – as apparently the shorn would now smell different. The fleeces smelt quite sweet to our noses. The mothers and the January lambs had all been shorn and revealed bodies that looked like contoured landscapes. The easter lambs still had their tight curly coats and looked a little smug!

Some fleece from the Jacob’s . . .

. . and the veritable black sheep below . . .

. . .  while in the tennis court where the feathered ones are housed at night, it was time for supper . . .

. . and every one mixed in together quite happily with the odd snapping and pushing out-of-the-way stuff. The noisy mealtime activity was looked down on rather disdainfully by the cock bantam who thinks he’s king of the castle . . ‘all animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others’  . .

. . the Indian Runners have beetled back to get their long necks into the pretty chinese bowls . .

. .  a small group of fat little birds posed for their picture and, of course, the boy band (Japanese Silkies) . . .

. . with the lead singer looking just gorgeous. Almost on a par with the wild flower meadow . .

. . with the mass of daisies this summer (poppies seem to have wandered off this year) are ragged robin, knapweed, common vetch and trefoils – common and creeping bird’s foot – and some sign of rattle; it’ll be cut in august and then grazed by the sheep through autumn.

. . and an old pile of furniture . . . walking across the top of the meadow and down to the ponds . . .

. . where a spirit of a fish has been carved by Lucy Williams . . .

. . it’s quite magnificent – over 3 metres long  and has a very energetic tail. Another pile of oak is waiting for her . . maybe? . .

. . the network of ponds is looking promising – the dredging and gentle carving out of the banks has brought this part of the farm to life. Hornbeam and oaks have been carefully thinned out to let in more life and once the water level has settled, the banks can be planted with rushes and native iris. Ducks are being hatched now to inhabit this watery area. We think these are old ponds maybe used to house perch or that they were dug for the clay for local bricks and tiles.  . . . the view to the west completes the picture. It’s a rather special spot –  aah, sigh!

“Heaven”—is what I cannot reach!
The Apple on the Tree—
Provided it do hopeless—hang—
That—”Heaven” is—to Me!

The Color, on the Cruising Cloud—
The interdicted Land—
Behind the Hill—the House behind—
There—Paradise—is found!

Her teasing Purples—Afternoons—
The credulous—decoy—
Enamored—of the Conjuror—
That spurned us—Yesterday!  Emily Dickinson  ‘Heaven’ – is what I cannot reach!