Daleks and the revenge of the seed potatoes

This is last nights sunset. Rather than there being a stream of light beaming down from the heavens in a William Blake** sort of way, we have a stream of darkness extending out - a sure sign of Daleks.

Today it is windy - but I'm afraid of using my anemometer after making such a fool of myself last time - but rest assured, as I sit here I can hear the tiles slapping on the roof.

Blogging has been thin of late, mainly because of the arrival of seed potatoes, hunnerds of 'em - meaning I've had to get out and make beds for them. And breaking new ground is hard work - as I've mentioned before, although we like Monty Don really. The patch I'm digging now is hindered by two things - firstly is another bottle depository - which really slows you down cos you have to dig gently. In my world digging gently is an oxymoron. And secondly the patch has been under manure for a year. This I thought would kill off the ground elder. But it hasn't - and it means the layer I should be burying is under at least a foot of rotted straw etc. Which all just adds up to hard work...

And there's the mucking out to be done in preparation for kidding...

And the ****ing Daleks seem to have *****ed with the ****ing clocks. It must be the Daleks - no human beings could be so evil.

**Methinks I don't mean William Blake - I have an image in my head of an etching of a stormy sky with light streaming down that I always thought was a Blake - but I can't find it on the interweb.

Rapunzel's Luncheonette

We spent a pretty cold Saturday at a farm junk auction in Caithness (also known as a farm displenishment sale - a word I've never come across before). It was fun. We bought things we didn't really know we needed and that so far don't work. But it was fun - and fascinating. And I wholeheartedly recommend them for all you power tool fiends. We spent much longer there than we intended and possibly spent more on snacks from the canteen than we did on boxes of assorted, or more accurately, utterly unsorted, junk.....which might come in useful one day and in fact has already come in useful trying to fix the lawnmower that we bought. Trying being the key word here. I mean honestly - I have enough projects on the go here without introducing more....!

A bit of a Rapunzel's Luncheonette methinks. (One for Mat, bound to be a boon for marathon training in LA).

Pigs might fly...

...indeed. Well they might. One thing is certain - wheely bins do, so do plant pots and anything not securely anchored.

I've been out with my anononanameter down here in the relative shelter of the cottage and the readings are gradually increasing - we have a wind speed of around 25-30 meters per second with the strongest gust so far being 54.2m/s. That's 121 mph or 195kph. Which is windy. Even if the anemometer isn't dead accurate (and there's no reason to suspect it isn't) - it's still bloody windy.

The school were going to be holding their Celtic games this morning - but I think the weather has blown those plans out. Meanwhile we hunker down. The only real answer is to turn up the ipod - very loud - cos it's hellish scary listening to that wind. Setting Sun - Chemical Brothers - is a great fillip against the wind.

Rambutan

Milk production leaves a number of by-products - including unwanted goat kids. We sell as many as we can - as live animals, but occasionally we have to get rid of them in, erm, other ways.

So Jussi took Rambutan off to the abattoir near Wick this week. She stayed with him to settle him after the drive, calmed him with honest words said in a comforting voice and saw him drop as the dastardly deed was done.

It's a tough thing to do - even hardened old timers say so. But he had a happy life, and when it came he was happy enough as he was lead away - he had no idea what was coming.

Here is a picture of him at less than a month old. A cutey and a favourite.

Pigs in sh*t

Well not pigs exactly. More like us.

Oh dear. We had a blockage in the drains that was discovered when we noticed various unsavoury things littering the garden. Ahem.

So I got to work digging trenches trying to find the inspection hatches in the sewage pipe. Found one and shoved the rods we'd bought for cleaning the chimney down it. And wriggled it about a lot. And nothing happened.

It's 22 metres from the inspection hole to the septic tank - we only had 10 metres of rods - so I dug more trenches looking for another inspection hole. I mean there must be one there - no? well I'll try there. Mmm. Nope.

The next day we were in Thurso anyway seeing a man about a ridiculously complicated grant application, and a tractor, and bought more rods. Excitedly I rushed home to try out my new toy. We now had a full 20 metres of rods shoved down the drains - and eventually it cleared and the weight of the 'water' trying to get to the freedom of the septic tank nearly pulled me over - and nearly sucked the rods out of my hands - which would have been amusing ha ha. But job done. Everything is re-instated and we can flush the loo again.

Fragrance returns.

Forward planning

Jeeesh! You turn your back for a moment and all of a sudden it's been ages since you blogged.

Forward planning 1

The course I mentioned here was all about marketing meat from the croft. This is not a major part of our vision, but we do produce goats as a by-product of cheese-making and we can't always sell them while they are still alive. We are also intending to raise pigs to make full use of another by-product of cheese making ie whey. So off I went on this course - all paid for by various sources of public funding - I mean it wouldn't be catering to crofters if it wasn't.

It was a very good couple of days, and I learnt various things such as:

• - all abattoirs are crap and they steal your meat and mess up your beautiful animal with cack-handed butchery. And -
• all butchers are greedy gits and they are impossible to satisfy - anything you sell them will either be too lean (so I cannae offer you the price we discussed cos I can't sell it) or too fatty (ditto). And -
• all over Europe local produce is highly prized and local produce has a price premium over imported products. Except in Belgium, where they'll pay through the nose as long as it's imported. And -
• Meat sales are seasonal. Take lamb as an example. Legs sell in spring, chops in summer and cheaper neck end cuts sell in autumn and winter. Until a system of progressive or creeping slaughter is developed this seasonality is, and will remain, one of the major challenges facing meat producers and butchers alike.

Forward planning 2

Last year we took our animals to be slaughtered in Dingwall which is a good 2 hours drive away. There is now a new abattoir near Wick, built with huge public subsidies - clearly meant to be used by crofters - which is not only much closer but is also near to places we regularly visit - so we thought we'd better go check it out. We'd heard on the grapevine that this new slaughterhouse was crap and they steal your meat and mess up your beautiful animal with cack-handed butchery - but, well, what can you do? So we phoned and arranged to visit. And when we arrived we were given a right royal tour from a very large and very jovial and very enthusiastic slaughterman. He particularly enjoyed describing all the killing and butchery machines and showing us ramps that lifted up and baths that would strip the hair off a pig in three minutes - stand back and I'll show you - and this is the chute the skins go down and this is the chute for the tripe and this is where the vet inspects the livers and and and. I think we'll give 'em a go.

Forward planning 3

The treacle lager is now bottled. The young beer tastes excellent and should mature into a very tasty tipple indeed. Unfortunately I bottled the beer and then read the instructions and discovered that I'd not added enough priming sugar - so I had to go back and add more sugar to each bottle. When will I learn to read instructions before I start?

Forward planning 4, 5, 6 (eek) and, erm 7, and ouch oooh dunno maybe even 8

How pathetic and futile is this? This weeek I've been planting proper manly willow sticks -

in lines like hedges like, to provide shelter in years to come for fruit trees and veg plots and even goats, and goat food and maybe even baskets. I really do fancy a basket weaving course - have done ever since I saw a basket weaver at work when I worked here. Maybe one day. Hedges are meant to be straight (because ploughing a curve, especially with horse, is nigh on impossible) - but planting willows requires, amongst other things, soil. So my hedges tend to duck and weave, hopefully taking root in the little patches of soil I could find for them. I seem to remember learning at school that trees are very good at catching particulates blown on the winds - hence you get the deep forest soils of central Europe, soils developed in just such a manner over, well, I guess a good few years. It helps that the forests of central Europe were (and are of course) surrounded by land for thousands of miles on each side. Surrounded as we are on three sides by sea, for hundreds or thousands of miles I guess it'll take a wee bit longer to get to those deep rich soils here.

But we'll get there.

Wolves

When I visit Englandshire I note that 'rural' life is pretty sterile. I mean villages might have a few farms but mostly they seem to be commuter retreats, and all is clean and well kept.

We've been blessed with glorious weather over the last few days. The sheep are out and wandering along verges and grazing every spare bit of grass to be found. And in the village this includes gardens. There's other new arrivals too - an older couple have moved into a house that had been empty for years. This morning I was in the post office and commented on the sheep keeping their lawns, and borders, and shrubs, wonderfully tidy. This prompted much hilarity. Apparently they are none too pleased with this voluntary labour and were in the post office yesterday asking if they sold sheep repellent.

Wolves? Shot guns? Nobody quite knew what to make of the request. But it will take years for the village to forget that one!

On Saturday we went to see a man selling pigs. Developments afoot. But this will have to wait a wee while because on Sunday we helped a neighbour cut back one of their willow hedges. We now have enough willow sticks to encircle Scotland with prime goat food and it is going to take me weeks to get them all planted.

But bright light warm days - winter seems to be over (despite the heavy frosts) and we are much much happier!

...and then there were 127...

At various points I've noted that we only get 4 TV channels, and I've also noted how the satellite dish sings and hums in the wind. We've been getting interruptions in reception - including a little on screen message telling us we'll be losing all TV come June 3rd.

And then the kettle broke up at the croft. Jussi needs warm water to clean the milking machine - so I was heading for the electrical store in Thurso - via the bank that sets up in the village library on Friday mornings.

Mmmm satellite dish.

So I bought a Freesat box. Now we've got 127 channels - including radio - but even that is exciting cos we don't get radio reception in the cottage. And the picture is wonderful.

Why didn't we do this months ago?

I'm shittin' frying pans

Ok - so this is a wee bitty juvenile - but funny anyway. It's 6 minutes and needs sound. Thanks to Graham K for the link.

Scaffy van

No bin men today. Regular readers will immediately surmise that we have snow, and they'd be right. But really not much snow at all so I reckon the scaffy van men are on a bit of a skive. In between the snow there's been some glorious sunshine, so all in all quite a nice day really.

I made Boston

Baked Beans at the weekend and discovered that our black treacle was out of date, and as the tin firmly asserts that it must be binned on expiry I thought I'd better use up the rest of it - almost a full tin. Mmmmm I wonder.

[pause while you guess what I used it for]

Pilsner. I've brushed down the brewing kit and I've now got 23 litres of pilsner on the go - using up the remains of the black treacle for the wort. This feels slightly sacrilegious and I'm not at all sure what the dark tones of molasses will do for the beer - but I think it's guaranteed to be 'interesting'.

Tomorrow I have to drive to Inverness for a course - so I'm mildly worried about the prospect of snow in land with the heavy frost forecast for tonight.

Ach - it'll be fine.