Where there is Livestock there is Dead Stock

Gandalf's end. The stock pot.

My title this week is that hackneyed old trope much used by we smallholders as a form of tough, fatalistic sympathy (not good to show too much emotion - these are not pets after all!) when we or colleagues lose an animal. We'd love to be able to keep them all alive and healthy for ever but, no, as Shakespeare would (nearly) have it,

"All the farm’s a stage,
And all the birds and animals merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances......."

New Sheriff in town..... "Lucky"

So on Monday 3rd Dec our lovely 'alpha' rooster, pure-bred Marans "Gandalf the Grey" died for no discernible reason. He was in the coop and fell off his perch in the afternoon, found stiff and flat on the ground (but not fully cold) by Elizabeth at 'supper' time. He'd be about 2 years old, hatched in July 2016 from eggs we bought from Mayo-Liz's farrier and has been a fine rooster, beautiful looking and an excellent minder of his ladies. He was also very fertile and his DNA is in most of this year's hatch babies.

This made us smile - a gift of 6 cushions depicting cats on bikes.

Ah well, he ended up in the stock pot and his replacement, as far as we can tell (for now anyway) is a honey-coloured 6 month old youngster whom we are calling 'Lucky". Now THERE is bird who deserves his name and has had a very interesting life. He is lucky to be still with us. We are fairly sure "it was him" anyway. Back in May (22nd or so) he hatched under the hen we were then calling 'Cat Basket Lady' but got left out of the nest one 'nap time' and could not hop over the lip back to Mum's warmth. We found him 9/10 dead and cold on the concrete. I cupped him in my hands to get some warmth back into him and over 10-15 minutes he slowly came to, kicking and wriggling with increasing strength till I thought he was back with us. I slipped him back in under Mum and he lived to fight another day.

Plenty fruit in the diet now.

Weeks later he managed to hop up into a bucket, half filled with water and then jumped down in. The water was too deep for him to touch bottom, so he couldn't jump out again and was doomed to tread water, squeaking pitifully till he got waterlogged and sank. When you have tiny chicks, never leave them able to access water deeper than about 2 inches. Luckily I happened to go into the yard and heard him so was able to save his little life again and put him back with Mum. Since then he has survived all the fox attacks and also our culls of excess roosters. So, here he is now, promoted to the New Sheriff. Big boots to fill, Lucky. No pressure. He may only be 6 months old but I saw him 'nail' a hen this morning so at least he understands that part of the job description.

The fruit for the Christmas cake sits overnight steeping in an odd
mix of booze. Mum-in-Law had had a de-clutter of the dog-ends
from her drinks cabinet from last year.

What else is new as we bimble gently in towards Christmas like ski-ers on the gentlest blue run? Stir-up Sunday finally arrived on the Tuesday and all those part-mixed bowls of goodness were moved on to become cooked pud or cake. The cake is sitting a few days to mature before I will get amongst it with marzipan and icing. I have a good idea for the design but I'm keeping that under my hat for now.

Village Christmas Party

There was a very successful Christmas Party for the villagers down at the Village 'Centre' (Memorial Hall). Everyone works really hard to make these happen. The hall is laid out magnificently with all the festive napkins and what-not and the ladies all bring along great bowls of the various foods. You pay for the food and (if you like) bring along your own booze and something to drink it out of. The place was satisfyingly packed and everybody was very happy with the evening. A good success.

Lisacul 2019 Calendar.

The 2019 Lisacul Village Calendar has also been designed and printed and is now being sold. Once again it is mainly based on photographs taken for the '365' project but this year has a nice refreshing theme running through it. Each month has a village scene but also an inset picture of some local refreshments - tea, cake, soup etc and the front cover says "Will you have a cup of tea while you're here?" It is a lovely thing to have. If you, dear reader(s) got one from us last year then, do not worry, you will get another this year. They are nearly in the post. If you would like one, the the Village website is the place.

https://www.facebook.com/pg/lisacultoday/posts/?ref=notif

Getting back into the sourdough making.

Meanwhile, lest anyone forget that I am still soldiering on, a martyr to my suffering (OK I'm basically OK and pain-free but bear with me while I indulge myself in a couple of amusing 'sick' stories). Fluid retention. It's gone decidedly weird on me. This, you will recall is due to the general inefficiency of the current version of my heart (leaky valve) which is failing to move fluids properly around my body. When I was in hospital back in July, this was all about swollen ankles and we all watched with interest as they swelled or deflated day by day. Then a few weeks later this problem went away and it was all about knees. Now that version is also no longer in fashion and I have a taut band of 'swollen' around my gut but very high up; liver/diaphragm level. I have always had a bit of a 'beer belly' down in the standard place, bulging gently over my trouser waist-band, but this is like a high-up 10-pints a night thing. It seems most unfair given that I have not touched beer for months and am eating precious little. I offer up a fervent prayer that the heart surgery, once complete will sort all this out and move all this fluid (if such is what it is) on and out.

We are both impressed by this tin that
came around latest gin. We think that,
with the (plastic) lid off, it will make a nice
Christmas candle holder.

Finally I am mercifully nearly through my month of iron supplement tablets. I hate those things with a passion. They upset my system in too many ways. Everyone gets the unpleasant black sticky poo, I think, but I also suffer a month of farting, belching and feeling a continuous, low level nausea. It is just on the edge, there, of nearly but not quite starting to feel sick. I never have (vomited, I mean) though I've had a few episodes of dry-retching. It's all very unsettling and depressing of appetite. I approach every meal wondering whether it is wise to eat it. Ah well, only 5 more days to go on that one. I will then keep a low profile and hope that the GP does not remember she put me on it and needs to see whether it worked! :-). Not really - I will, of course follow all the medical advice as best I can.

Enough for this one. Till the next time. Good luck now.

Los Chicos están Despiertos

The boys offer to cook for us on Wednesday.

(The Boys are Awake) Finally a proper day off. The Help-X lads are off today on a train-ride adventure to the lovely town of Westport and I am just back from dropping them to Castlerea railway station to which they are not due to return till 07:15 pm tonight.

Chef and Sous-chef (we'll leave them to
argue over who's who). The food was delicious!

Liz has declared this a "Pyjama Day" and intends not to get out of her PJs till, at earliest, when I get the 'please pick us up' call this evening. I, too, am going to do only daily vital chores (live stock etc) and no big jobs.

It's not all dirty jungle-bashing for the lads.
They like a woodwork project for a change.

Don't be fooled, mind, into thinking that nothing will get done. Liz tends to start off with the good intention of a relaxing day and keeps the PJs on but as often as not slings an apron on over the PJs and gets just as covered in flour, the gentle bloom of oven-steam or the 'dusht' of a distraction into 'just tidying this'. I will have to go feed the bullocks for a friend and I also have a newly arrived smallholder couple to see, to sort out some safe storage for a motorbike.

Robbedy (9) gets to shoot a few arrows with the Roscommon
club, under instruction from our very generous coach, Con. 

Our 'days off' normally go this way. Last weekend I'd not long dropped the guys to the bus-stop (they were off to Galway that time) when Mrs Silverwood advised that they would be passing through here en route from home to Achill Island (Co. Mayo). Achill Island is 2 hours further NW from here and is in the Irish speaking part of the country (Gaelteacht) and older niece J-M was off there for 3 weeks incarceration where students are only allowed to speak Irish.

I can never see how this is comfortable but the stairs are a
favourite sleeping perch for dogs. 

Robyn did not fancy the extra 4 hours in the car so opted to stay here for the 6 hours and do a bit of 'farm' with Uncle Matt and Auntie Liz. Parents and grand-parents will know that a lively, excited 9-year-old, given an nicely unfamiliar environment and space to run about out of doors, is more than capable of turning 6 hours of relaxing day off into an exhausting marathon.

When Pedro told me that Spanish bread is mainly baguette-shaped
I had to have a go. Not as easy as it looks!

I took the lion's share of that, including taking her to 'see' the archery gang (which turned into shooting with them under the generously provided supervision of our coach, Con) while Liz realised the whole family would need feeding as they passed back through, and rattled up a splendid curry and the trimmings for 7 appetites. She'd already assembled a magnificent packed lunch for the Help-X lads, (Yay, it is written. No Irish Lady shall ever send forth their 'children' on an adventure to the foreign without a good pack-up!) so there was not a lot of relaxing going on in that kitchen, that day, either. We saved a bit of the curry for Manu and Pedro, who I had to shoot down and collect from Castlerea just after we un-shipped the Silverwood Five.

Beeblebrox (Beebs) with 6 of her chicks

Meanwhile, back on the 'farm' the various clutches of baby chicks are now reaching the 6-week age where their Mums lose interest in them and they are cast off to a life in the flock generally. Connie's three and Big-Red's 4 are pretty much 'flown' now, though Stumpy's 5 and Beebs's 7 are still hanging with Mumma. It is amusing to see these groups coalesce into bigger groups as they move about. Stumpy is regularly seen with 5+3 or 5+4 babies in tow and last night as I went out with the dogs I could see on the (nicely shaved) front lawn a coincidental Stumpy plus NINETEEN chicks. I wish I'd had my camera. Actually Beebs (Mum of 7) was there but hiding behind a tree stump and Connie's three were only passing through but it looked very sweet for that few seconds.

The new lambs, Pedro and 'Oveja' (Spanish for ewe)

We got word at last from Mayo-Liz that my lambs were now weaned and ready to collect from out by nearby town, Kiltimagh. I had 'ordered' these to meet our meat requirements when I accepted that we would produce none of our own this year and the freezers would be lamb-less. My phone call to Mayo-Liz though, found them still as "babies with their Mums", so I'd have to wait while they weaned. This sounded like an adventure the Help-X lads might enjoy. We hitched up the trailer and headed off to Liz and Ray's farm which sits a-top a mini-mountain jutting out of the Mayo plains.

The new pair (centre) in with the aunts.

The two lambs for us were penned but still needed ear-tagging before we could load which led to a bit of fun. Neither Manu nor Pedro had had any experience of handling sheep and between us we let the ewe-lamb escape with a flying leap past Manu's ear - she raced across a small sand-school to be with her gang. Easy enough to catch again and the boys couldn't quite believe their eyes when having cornered and grabbed the ewe, I flipped her up on to her rump while Ray ear-tagged her and then I lifted her up and carried her back to the pen and trailer. Pro-shepherd? Maybe not. The lads were impressed but I must admit I might have been showing off a little!

Photo-bombed by this Soprano Pipistrelle (circled) on a lovely
sunset. 

The new pair needed names, one girl and one boy. We toyed with Pedro and Emanuel  for a while but then went with Pedro and 'Oveja' which is Spanish for 'ewe'. We have a black hen sitting on eggs currently, due this Thursday, so we have told Manu that if he is feeling left out we will name the chicks Manu1, Manu2 and so on. As soon as I saw these beautiful lambs (Mayo-Liz's lambs are always well bred and gorgeous-looking), I wondered whether they might be a bit high quality for use as "just meat". They are Hampshire x 'mule' (which I guess just means they are 'mongrel' or, at best "half Hampshire") and the boy, especially might get saved his trip to Ignatius G (Victualler) and might bide a while here as possible stud-ram for our existing girls. Have to think about that one..... No such luck for Oveja, I suspect, or Liz's freezers will remain lamb-less and we would have to be looking for a butcher who does boxed, butchered, whole carcass deals.

New neighbours. 

What else is new? We have, at last, some new neighbours in the 5 Acre field to our west. Friends of the Blog will know that these fields around us changed hands last winter, so Mike-the-Cows had to take all his cattle off at the end of his tenancy. No cattle have set foot on this since and we have watched, nosily, as the fields seemed to be left to neglect. Occasionally we'd see the new owner's son exploring, taking soil samples or checking fences but he said that they did not have enough animals yet to sensibly use the land. Well, they have obviously been out shopping because a group of 30-40 mainly black animals were walked in there this week and set up with temporary fences and water bowser, "just to eat all that grass off". Welcome to our townland, guys.

Blue takes it easy in the sunshine.

That will do, I think, for this one. I will finish with a few random pictures just because I've taken them and don't like them to go to waste. Enjoy.

Veg garden looking a lot more under control.

If all these plums change colour and are not stolen by magpies
we are promised a bumper crop

Apple with a confusing variety name - "Irish Peach".

Looking Forwards

With Christmas and the New Year all done, dusted and packed away we start to feel like we should be looking forward to the new season, Spring, new stock and all the fruit, flowers and veg leaping into action. In the previous post, I wrote that we were waiting on the splatter of tiny feet with a batch of 7 duck eggs in friend Sue's incubator. That has all now happened with three lovely healthy ducklings hatched over the 6th and 7th, collected by us on the 8th and now going through the first "brood box" week.

We use a semi-transparent plastic crate for this (well, a series of crates of increasing size to suit the growing babies) and our "electric hen" (warming plate) and we feed chick-crumb with plenty of water on the side (as these are ducks and they prefer their food dibbled in the wet) plus, for the first week, finely mashed hard boiled egg with the shell finely chopped and mixed back in.

Curiosity might not kill the cat in this case!

We are reminded each time we do this, that ducklings do not naturally creep under mother's skirts (if she is swimming, they'd submerge!) but climb instead onto her back. The ducklings are the same with the electric hen and you can generally find them all hopped up on top in a huddle. As I write this they are 3 days old and thriving. They have good appetites and have quickly learned about food, water and keeping themselves clean. You can not let them out onto the water properly till they are about 3 weeks old, as their preen-glands have not yet developed or started to produce the water-proofing oil for their feathers. In nature their mother would have oiled them up in the nest.

Hopefully the parents of this years piglets, pregnant sows
Iris and Plum.

I may also have mentioned that we had been in contact with our piglet-breeder, a guy called Adrian who farms over near the town of Boyle. You may recall that although last year's piglets came from a chap called Dermot in Wicklow, 3 hours drive away, we did not have to make that drive ourselves. Dermot was coming most of the way here and if we'd meet him in Boyle, we could get away with a half hour drive and a bit of piglet-wrangling in Boyle's market car park.

Half grown piglets at Adrian's place.
These are about 5 months old

The reason Dermot was up here was to collect a sow from Adrian and take it 'home' to get it pregnant by one of his boars. That sow and another have now produced a couple of litters each and are pregnant again (pig-people like to keep their sows in pig as much as possible because if you 'rest' them they can be a devil to get back on heat). One is due this month and the other in March. We hope to take 2 gilts from the January litter, which will be weaned after 8 weeks, in March. Sue is hoping for the same. Obviously it is all in the lap of the gods at present - as with humans there is no telling whether they will successfully 'farrow', or when or how many piglets might result and how many survive to weaning. Litters can be as big as 15 piglets or down in the 5s. All we can do at this stage is wish them all luck and pray hard.

Polly with last year's twin lambs in March (2016)

In the sheep department I had been getting a bit concerned at a stiffness or lameness I had seen on a couple of cold damp mornings in our oldest ewe, Polly. At 9 years old, Polly is at least 5 years older than any commercial 'serious' sheep farmer would keep a breeding ewe. They are allowed a couple of seasons and then generally turned into mutton at 4 years old. Well, every day is a school day with livestock and I now know a bit more about shepherding after seeking advice from Mayo Liz, the person who we are sure knows more about elderly sheep than anyone - she supplied us with Polly (and Lily and Myfanwy) in the first place aged 7 and still has some of her other ewes at 13 years old.

Mineral Lick for sheep.

Every time I see a lame sheep, I have been reaching for the foot-trimming shears and paring away any shaggy edges of 'toe-nail' I found. Well, apparently you should not always do this - restrict foot trimming to 1 or 2 times a year. Sheep get over most foot problems much faster untrimmed. Then, too, I have learned all about "The Mineral Bucket". This I possibly should have known because way back when I was a student doing a bit of milking, I remember the cattle had access to great big salt-blocks to lick. Also I know, in theory, that those goats you see creeping out along the sheer vertical walls of dams in Europe, clinging on by the edges of their toe-nails to the joints in the stone, are doing it to get to the salt deposits encrusted on the wall by water seeping through the dam.

Polly beats Myfanwy to the mineral lick. 

Be that as it may, Mayo-Liz always gives her sheep mineral licks in Winter because the quality of the grass falls away and they might lack minerals in their diet. This might be why Polly is getting stiffness in her joints, especially if she is starting to lose teeth through old age. The 'lick' is a mix of minerals and salts thickened up to a very stiff, clay-like consistency with molasses and is dark brown in colour. All the sheep love it and the older 3 (born at Mayo-Liz's) all piled in with delight. It was like an old friend! They lick and nibble and try to rasp away at the stuff goo with their lips, teeth and hard-pad (top jaw) trying to beat all the competition off till they have had enough. The bucket is now a stop on their endless circuits of the field. I THINK I can detect a new spring in Polly's step but that might just be fond imagination.

Not so chatty now, Mr Fox?

Finally a bit of fun to close off the fox story. We are fairly sure that we have solved that problem for now with our shooting of the boy-fox back in November and our new habits of keeping the birds in if we are both off site seems to have driven off the older girl (plus my man-with-shotgun from Jan 2015 has shot 2 other animals recently on his own place). Well, I thought it might be fun and cathartic to take a stuffed toy fox to our first archery club session on Sunday - we are for ever shooting at coffee cups, balloons and other bits of junk when we get bored with shooting at the official targets.

The only good fox?

So it was - we sat Brer Fox on a little wire hoop in the target at 40' range. I was actually the first to hit him and with a very lucky first arrow (right in the mouth) but he was soon getting peppered by all and sundry and starting to leak stuffing. Ah well. All good harmless fun. I should quickly re-assure my readers who do not know this story or about archery, we would not dream of taking a bow and arrows to the real thing. It is illegal throughout the British Isles to hunt any animal or bird with a bow and arrows. I am told you can still hunt that way in parts of Europe and USA but have to use the very powerful "compound" style bows and even then it has to be under license.

Towser.

So there you have it. 2017. Bring it on.

A First Lamb

Totally taking us by surprise this morning, welcome to the world a little ram lamb born to Lily overnight out in the windy, rainy open in the East Field. The lambing gods were obviously smiling upon us - it could have gone so wrong. You'll have read that we were not, for a start, expecting anything till March 25th at the earliest, so this guy is 2 and a half months early. Mayo-Liz had had this ewe still running with her own lambs till well into October (29th), when we decided to buy her and her chum, Polly. At that point the lambs were separated so that the ewes would come on heat and be put to the tup. 5 months of gestation would then bring us round to late March or into April, with a closing date of late April/Early May. Those, we'd have been ready for, with our 'maternity unit' set up and me on nervous but high-alert vigilance. This birth date says that Lily was already 'with child' when we were choosing her, possibly by one of her own ram lambs, possibly by the intended father, the purebred Hampshire Down tup.

Last night was a filthy night, windy and raining big splattery drops but the sheep were out loose in the East Field as they are every night. I'd left some washing flapping on the line (oops) and 2 pillow cases had blown down into the wet by the time I did my breakfast round and the dogs' 'comfort stop' at 0830. I could see that the 2 ewes were not together, and could see Lily way out in the field with what appeared to be something white on the grass near her - a blown pillowcase maybe? Better go check and see why she was over there and not at the gate begging for breakfast.

Obviously, a major excitement when I saw that it was in fact a lamb, on its feet and bleating. What happened to 25th March? I picked up the lamb and led Mum, with it, to the rain shelter in the field, so it would at least be out of the rain, then rousted Liz out of bed (no cup of tea? A rude awakening!). Together we swung into action, clearing some space in the goose house, moving feed bins and laying hay down, making a pen with pallets etc. Mum and baby were shepherded in to the warm dry house. 'Aunt Polly' was abandoned for the moment in the field while we phoned Mayo Liz for some advice. She (Polly) was not happy to be split from her chum, but we didn't know if it was OK to have both ewes in the pen.

Mayo-Liz, Bless her (Thanks Liz) was on the phone within seconds of me sending the text, asked loads of questions and gave me loads of advice and reassurance - check Mum is milking OK, check sex of baby, check baby has an anal opening, get some Iodine spray for the umbilical cord end etc but yes, you can let Aunt Polly in there. So we now have Mum, Aunt and the little fella in the pen, happily warm and dry and getting used to their surroundings. Baby is suckling well and dividing his time between feeding, sleeping and exploring the pen. He is Iodined up. Lily seems to us, now, to have gone off the boil and relaxed so, we are fairly sure, this singleton may be our lot for the moment - no twins this time round.

Oh and the rest of the stock, missed in the excitement, did eventually get released and fed - poultry, geese, rabbits and Pirate the Cat. And the washing got picked up from the grass and re-washed. We are all calm again if a little "bounced into spring". Oh and Liz caught one of our Buff Orpington youngsters bullying one of our adult 'mini-buffs' this morning, so they are growing up too.

Birdwatching Treats

Sorry for the bad pic, which was taken in increasingly poor
light and increasing rain - taking a chain saw to the hedge.

Every now and then this lovely area where we live dishes up a bird-watching treat and this week I got 2 on consecutive days. On the Wednesday I was decapitating the gnarly , overgrown hedge that runs along the East side of our lawn, stopped to rest the chainsaw and heard a short, repeated 'kip kip kip' call from high up in the black spruce trees. Looking up I could see some birds acrobatically clambering and fluttering about the highest branches (60-70 feet up!), apparently ripping off cones and stripping them of seed. I was intrigued and nipped in for the binoculars and then took a few minutes trying to get a good, well-lit, clear view of them (I was looking straight up, so all I could get was a back-lit silhouette.

Tidier and better lit!

I am sure it was crossbills I was looking at, which are a new species for me here and, I think, anywhere - they ticked all the boxes I could rake up from memory and books - beefy looking finch, russet-red colour (in the males), the calls, moving as a group of 7, acrobatics, feeding on pine cones. However, I must admit I had to nip in to the biodiversity website to see if I was "allowed" them (I have come unstuck before with crows (we only have hooded crows), swans (only Whoopers here, not Bewick's) and owls (only Long Eared, no 'shorties' here)).

When we come back on lay, we don't mess about! We are looking
for a cross eyed chicken after we found this 118 g ridged shell
monster! She'll settle back down to normal eggs now. 

The next day, I was walking the dogs along the lane and got my best view ever of a bird I need nobody to confirm for me, the sparrow hawk. We both know this raptor well, having enjoyed a regular resident female bird for many years in our garden in Kent. This one was a male who I saw coming towards us (the dogs and I) down the middle of the lane about 2 feet off the tarmac, probably looking left and right for unsuspecting wrens or blackbirds in the hedges, rather than looking where he was going.

He came in from a good 100 yards away; he came on and on and was getting closer and closer. I was starting to think he'd hit me at about knee height and I might have to duck out of the way! About ten feet away from me he suddenly seemed to notice us and veered off through a gap in the hedge, but he was close enough that I could see every feather on his back and the gorgeous yellow iris and yellow eyelids of his eye. What a handsome chap! I love a sparrowhawk. Both these sightings have obviously gone onto the (National) biodiversity database and the crossbills are also now in my garden bird survey which, for us here, runs continuously for the 13 weeks through December to March.

Having a go with Royal Icing. A reasonably tidy job. 

It's my job, these Christmases to marzipan and ice the cake. I can't claim to be an expert, but I do enjoy it and this year I decided to go with a sheep theme; I do not seem able yet to go collect my real sheep, but at least I can have them on my cake! I was going with a design similar to that used on the dustbin lids (see earlier post)  so I had already scrounged a nugget of black fondant icing from that ace and experienced cake maker, Mrs Silverwood. I just needed to sort out some green icing (for the grass) and white (for the sides of the cake and the sheep themselves)

I did OK, but must admit to a couple of rookie errors which nearly spoiled the day. First up, I thought it was 'Royal' icing I needed to be rolling out sheets like I did the marzipan, and to be sticking them on (it isn't, as cunning cake makers will know; it is 'fondant' icing). 2nd up, I knew I had to pro-rata down the icing from the recipe; that was using 675 g of icing sugar (!) but instead of pro-rata-ing down from three TEASPOONS of lemon juice, I did it with "the juice of x lemons" so I ended up with a very sloppy and lemony mixture. No matter, we rescued it and I was able to smear the icing on with a 'pallet knife' (well, sort of) and got a good finish both with the green top and the white sides.

Christmassy touches about the place. 

Then I was into making up some of the correct kind of icing (fondant) for the sheep bodies and rolling out Mrs S's black icing for legs, ears and faces. I used some left over Royal for the lettering (which I must admit to being not very tidy at, the icing syringe is not a very easy 'pen' to hold steady and guide accurately) and then bashed up some more for the fancy piping round the top and bottom of the sides. Bingo, an unusual cake which we are very pleased with.

Finally today, a family Christmas mystery which someone somewhere may be able to help us with. Among the Christmas decs we faithfully pull out each year and pack away each 12th Night, is a terracotta crib which you can put a tea-light into to make the windows light up. It has managed to get cracked somewhere along the lines and the sheep on the bottom left corner is broken off, so every year we promise to glue it back together and every year we fail and pack it away again, unfixed. Our mystery is over 'where did it come from?'. Neither of us can recall buying it or receiving it as a gift and yet we have had it, as far as we can remember, for as long as we have been together. I was convinced it was Liz's but she, equally was convinced it was mine. So if, reading this, you can remember giving it to us, then please comment. We will love it no less, but at least we'll know where it came from!

Newbridge silver tree decoration. 

Ah well, tomorrow I am off on an airport run; we have a house guest for a few days. We have been mad busy today and we are nearly ready. We are hoping for a break in the weather so that we can show the lady some of the local environs. I am secretly hoping that we will get the call from Mayo-Liz to say our real sheep are ready for collection; it would be so much fun to take our guest with us to collect them! Not holding my breath on that one, though.