We’re deep into Spring here; it’s bustin’ out all over. The weather’s trying out all its tricks and the white butterflies are waking up, birds are on the prowl looking for goodies to feed their young or sneaky places to nest, the air (even out here in “the country”) resonates with the thrum of mowers big and small and the gardens are full of promise – even if that promise is of more weeds.
Meredith, Cristina, and Amelia the goat babes (points for guessing what we’re binge watching at the moment) are full of Spring bounces and gentle mischief in the sun
while, although nextdoor’s little fence-vaulting Gotland ram only visited with our ladies for a couple of hours on 27 May, the sheep paddock already has three new residents, with two more of our ladies looking close.
In the chicken coop, we’re dealing with the usual loopy broody behaviour although we now have a better idea of who we can trust to stay the distance and who will lose interest half way through. Not ones fond of being pecked, each of us has our own method for extracting eggs from underneath the pretenders. I employ my trusty shepherds crook in a lever-and-filch manoeuvre of which I am very proud.
The ducks, having settled well into their temporary home, have managed to lure some local mallards to partake of their pond parties. The visitors are shy types who have so far eluded my camera and taken to their wings as soon as I get within snapping distance, leaving our flightless ladies looking both bewildered and slightly annoyed.
But by far the biggest indicator that Spring is in full swing is me being laid up. It’s like the earth wakes up, I get faster and more frantic in my efforts to keep up with it and invariably end up breaking myself. Last year it was a torn shoulder (among other things) and a fortnight on the cosy chair; thankfully this time my back is only slightly pinged because (I am learning) I stopped when it started to hurt. Sickling is not a job that’s easy on short folk.
Thankfully, after just one day of rest, my back is already easing up. I should be able to gingerly amble the paddocks again tomorrow – and just as well!
I’m not good at missing out and the Spring Homestead has more drama and intrigue than Grey-Sloan Memorial at Halloween.