Took a walk up to the hill fields at the beck and call of the Gorgeous C. Snuffling at the edge of the forest that crowds up coniferously on two sides of out holding were a contenbted family of pigs.
The forest is about 120 acres in total, split into more than one plantation. Spruce as far as the eye can see. So, the sow, two boars and the piglet were all a long way from home. None had any tags, but the sow had a hole where a tag should have been.
So, it looks like these may have been loose for some little time. Or maybe the owner just hasn't ben keeping up with the work. One of them seemed to be a Gloucestershire Old Spot, or a Landrace or w=middle white and old spot cross, and the others were Saddleback. They looked and sounded contented, rooting industriously around at the edge of the forest floor, though I am a little concerned they might root up the fence and sashay inquisitively onto our land.
They were happy to have us approach, and tolerated a bit of shoulder scratching happily enough, so, they've been around people recently enough. And they've avoided the hunters, who would, I'm sure, relish an untagged pig in their sights.
If I thought they had no owner, I'd be tempted to corral them and register them. The two boars are not that far from killing weight, and the sow is obviously producing. That said, we have no idea of the health of the herd, and, if they have been roaming this long while, it may be thet the owner was not particular about tending them.
The constant staccato of hunters guns has died off somewhat, and I've begun some more outdoor work. We've stowed about 300 litres of drinking water for ourselves in the small stone barn. And I'm clearing out the large barn and stables for animals. I've begun the fencing repair work, but that goes slowly at the moment.
The deer have become skittish, lunging off into the undergrowth where they had been happy, this summer, to graze their ground as we passed in the distance.
I have seen a juvenile stag in full flight over fences and ditches and across open ground, cleaving space with flesh, arcing across the lush green of a grazed field, slowing slighly for a quick backwards glance before diving through the ash hedge and into the swallowing green of the spruce on the dappled dark shoulder of the valley.
It's quite a sight. Too quick a thing to catch with my words though.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Friday, November 11, 2011
Winters a comin'
The very long list is sitting undone bound between the blacl covers of a notebook, firmly closed, where it can't accuse me from.
That's not strictly true. But I liked how the line sounded.
We're working oujr way through the list, which spans the orninarily mudnae (checking the heating oil level) to the herculeanly mundane (storing the several hundred litres of water we plan to overwinter with).
There have been beautiful moonrises over the shoulder of the forested hill of late, the clear disc of ambering moon lighting up nighttime. The space station tracking rapidly acroiss the sky. Jupoiter shining at the foot of the burning moon.
Shots are ringing out across the valley. The dul rapid thuds of the pheasant hunters, plodding and rapdly plugging at the birds they seeded the area with. We met the neighbours, and dog, and children, waxcoated with broken guns, a liurching danelike creature skittering across the fields looking to flush out a fat little bird and watch it waddle across the sky. They had had no luck, and they moved on up the field and across the gorse and heather in a line.
Ther wood has arrived. We got stuck in the van reversing down out neighbours path, and he roared up happily in his tractor and hooked upma chain to drag the van up his hilltrack. With the few loads we have collected, we look set for next year.
This years wood is mainly split. Spruce is an awkward splitter, and one to be careful with. I founbd the six pound maul made shorter work than last years hickory handle axe, but even still, some had to be stubbornly cleft with a set of wedge and a hammer. What remains will have to be dug out and vut and split as the winter unfolds. Still, we should be set until the coming of February with what we have. Longer of we mix it with turf.
That's not strictly true. But I liked how the line sounded.
We're working oujr way through the list, which spans the orninarily mudnae (checking the heating oil level) to the herculeanly mundane (storing the several hundred litres of water we plan to overwinter with).
There have been beautiful moonrises over the shoulder of the forested hill of late, the clear disc of ambering moon lighting up nighttime. The space station tracking rapidly acroiss the sky. Jupoiter shining at the foot of the burning moon.
Shots are ringing out across the valley. The dul rapid thuds of the pheasant hunters, plodding and rapdly plugging at the birds they seeded the area with. We met the neighbours, and dog, and children, waxcoated with broken guns, a liurching danelike creature skittering across the fields looking to flush out a fat little bird and watch it waddle across the sky. They had had no luck, and they moved on up the field and across the gorse and heather in a line.
Ther wood has arrived. We got stuck in the van reversing down out neighbours path, and he roared up happily in his tractor and hooked upma chain to drag the van up his hilltrack. With the few loads we have collected, we look set for next year.
This years wood is mainly split. Spruce is an awkward splitter, and one to be careful with. I founbd the six pound maul made shorter work than last years hickory handle axe, but even still, some had to be stubbornly cleft with a set of wedge and a hammer. What remains will have to be dug out and vut and split as the winter unfolds. Still, we should be set until the coming of February with what we have. Longer of we mix it with turf.
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