Not 100% Convinced.....

On the left our pure-bred Cuckoo-Marans hen. On the right a
'possible' youngster. 

Followers of this blog will know that we are slowly trying to 'evolve' our chicken flock to one of pure bred Buff Orpingtons and Marans. This from our starting point of Sussex Pontes and via our current motley collection of weirdos which include some bizarre Araucana x Game birds and some hybrid, bantamised Buffs with odd, clumsy, short legs but who were/are, none the less, prolific egg layers. Those we called our 'Mini-Buffs'. The 'evolution' is being done mainly by natural wastage, just not bothering to replace the unwanted types and trying to hatch probable Buff or Marans eggs. Please draw a veil over the fact that we slid the 2 blue Araucana eggs under a Buff broody this spring to keep her sweet and then let her hatch 2 'black babies' - see earlier post.

Those young 'Marans' at 3 months.

For the Marans breed, we had only had our geriatric Cuckoo-colour hen, 'Squawk' and no Rooster, so we purchased 12 of the dark brown, speckledy eggs from the farrier who looks after the horses of our friend and sheep supplier 'Mayo-Liz'. We put them in the incubator we were 'keeping' for Charlotte while she moved house. With permission, of course. The farrier had said that he could not promise that these would be Cuckoo colour Marans, but they were definitely Marans, possibly of his other three colour options - Copper, Blue or Golden.

One of the geese fires up the new season
with this 179 g whopper.

Well, those babies are now 3 months old and we are not 100% convinced that they are pure-bred Marans. We do not claim to be experts, never having reared the breed before, but they seem so long in the leg and so upright that we worry that they will never fill out to the Orpington-style, rounded, Mumsie shape of Squawk. I even texted Mayo-Liz to check that Mr Farrier does not keep a few game cocks running around his place who might have been sowing wild oats but she assured me that he doesn't. In their favour is that the eggs were definitely Marans, so at least the Mum must have been. We have 3 grey-ish birds who I could believe could be the 'Blues' and the 3 darker birds are all starting to get a coppery hue to their cape-feathers, so they might be the 'Copper' Marans. Ah well, they will get the benefit of the doubt for now and we will try to ignore their upright, tail-erect, Tottenham Hotspur badge, fighting cock looks.

The Corporal's dark-tailed lacy lady. 

Meanwhile we also have a possible issue with one of the three hens from the 'Corporal's group. Although she is a perfect pure-bred (pb) Buff-Orp shape, she has a few dark tail feathers (with brown edges) and the feathers on her back each individually have a pale edge. This 'lacing' (as they say in poultry circles) and the dark tail are, I think, not allowed in the breed standard for Buff-Orps and may indicate that Mum was one of the mini-buffs or possibly our old Sussex Ponte, 'Enda' (both of whom lay the buff-coloured eggs).

Our young Golden Hornet crab apple tree
gave us almost 3 kg of good fruit and a few
splits for the piggies.

Outside of chickens we are more certain that we are on track. We have re-started our goose egg season with 2 found on the same day, and Liz has already had one of these as her breakfast 'dippy egg' - it weighed 179 g. I cleared the rest of the standing crop from the polytunnel and was delighted by some huge Sarpo Mira red potatoes. I struggle to get enough water into that part of the garden and generally expect light crops on the spuds, but these guys must have been growing near enough to the edges that they pushed some roots out to where the rain runs off the sides.

'Baker' sized Sarpo Mira from the poly tunnel.

We have been enjoying these as beautiful baking potatoes with stews etc or as mashed potato. The are a fairly resistant variety Blight-wise, anyway but growing them early or late in the tunnel helps you miss the worst blight weather. These were as clean as a whistle.

Soldier the Cat checks out the jelly bag.

Our little, young crab apple tree pleased us with a yield of 2.994 kg of good fruit plus a few splits and bruised one for the piggies. Liz combined this with an equal weight of our nice local blackberries and gave it all a good boil up. I then strained it through the 'jelly bag', added sugar and boiled it to set point. I say that as if it is easy - I have NEVER been good at getting jams and marmalades to set.

Crab Apple and Blackberry Jelly cooling.

The recipes say boil for 10 minutes, test for set point and, oh if it is not set, try another 5 minutes. I just assume it is going to be more like 30-45 minutes. This time I even didn't bother putting the Kilner jars into the dish washer for their 36 minute wash/sterilise till I'd started the brew. Happily I did eventually get a set point and the crab+BB jelly is cooling and setting nicely out in the kitchen on the worktop even as I write.

Log Rat nailed from 30 yards away

Finally in the archery department I am happy to report that in our (most likely) final outdoor shoot of this year I finally nailed that elusive sneaky target 'Log Rat'. That after 5 months of trying. Those arrows on the ground in the picture are NOT all my misses, by the way, they are arrows I have retrieved for other archers (we helpfully do that for each other). Mine are the ones fletched in a rather fetching (fetching fletchings?) bright orange and green. It was good to finally 'get' that pesky rodent. Now we move indoors and go back to target practise in the big Badminton hall at Castlerea's "The Hub" sports complex. The poor, much-pierced animals get a holiday through the winter.

I Ran Out of Bullets

Nice surprise for Liz sneakily organised by the guests - the
Dining Room got decorated while she was outside, seeing
to some catering.

First a big Happy Birthday to the lovely Lizzie for Saturday. She bravely agrees to remove all chance of rest and swanning around getting spoiled, by inviting two guests over to stay the night (and then a 2nd night). These are a lovely couple and the best of guests, Dan and Danielle who jointly get referred to as "the children" even though they are grown up, working adults. This is because Danielle is daughter to Liz's closest cousin while she was a child, Cathy, so both of them should feel like a whole generation 'below' us (hence 'children') but, of course, we are all young at heart (cough) so they are just like 'normal' friends and we thoroughly enjoy their visits.

One of the ducks does the honours here. 

Dan lives a fairly high-power, management life, so he mainly loves the chance to relax in our brand of serene calm, but Danielle is mad keen to get involved in the small holdering, dealing with the stock and asking a gazillion questions. If anyone was sure to have her own place 'one day' then it is this Lady. Joking around, we have assembled a training course with tasks at various levels of difficulty and we sign her off as she progresses up through the "Stock Wrangler" skills.

Happy Livestock Wrangler. Here with a rather anxious
looking 13 day old Hubbard chick. (Pic by Dan)

Level 1: Basic early morning rounds, feed, water and release and basic evening round locking up.

Level 2: Shepherd 6 ducks to and from sleeping quarters to orchard without losing or panicking anyone. Mimicking duck's waddle as you follow them optional.

Level 3:  Load 12 Hubbard chicks from brooder to cardboard box and transfer to warm, sunny rabbit run without losing any.

That was going to be it for this visit but then she got bumped up to the next class when she was suddenly asked to do....

Picture by Dan

Level 4: Sort out which chick currently under successful broody hen B is actually in the wrong 'family' having snuck across from hen A when first brought off the nest for an explore. This only really possible because nest B chicks are either still a bit damp from the egg or less mobile than the 'A' chicks which hatched 2 days ago. The boss Stockman will help by lifting Hen B up a couple of inches so you can see under her skirts.

Danielle is no longer "The Children" but is now "My Level 4 Stock Assistant". All good fun.

Dustbin Lady shows off her first hatched.

While they were with us we were delighted by a huge amount of luck in the broody hens dept. In the last post I wrote of our 2 broody Buff Orps, Dustbin Lady and Crate Lady who had started on 6th and 8th Aug respectively, and as a result we just might have happy events while the guests were here (21 days later). Well in the event, both girls hit the target so a delighted (even tearful at one stage) Danielle was able to see 2 new chicks under 'Dusty' on Sunday and then a 3rd plus 2 under Crate Lady this morning (Monday). Dan was happy too, of course, but is a bit calmer and says he is "only the official photographer".

...and then a second.

Danielle also got involved in the chick-abduction mentioned under 'Level 4' above. One of Dustbin's three, when brought off the nest by Mum, wandered round the divider to Crate Lady in the 'next bed', walked right up to her chest, looked up at her huge 'same as my Mum' shape and presumably asked "Are you my Mummy?" Real Mum was going nuts behind the chick trying to contain the other 2 while calling the wanderer back, but Crate Lady said "I am now!" and promptly scooped the chick up under her skirts. It was a theft so fast and efficient that, had I not been there, I would have assumed all was well till I counted the 'dud' eggs left over, by which time the abducted chick would have bonded to not-Mum and would not have been returnable.

Dan takes some time out to study for his
soon-to-start first year at LSE and the kitten
may not have been much help. (Pic by Danielle)

What ever the outcome, we currently have 5 chicks from ten eggs which is not a bad score. The whole visit was the usual feast of excellent food, sensible drinking (yes, we do that now!) lovely chat and relaxation in lovely company. The guests' first plan was to stay one night here and go camping on the 2nd night somewhere in Wexford but they were so happy here and not entirely convinced they actually wanted to camp, that when we offered them a 2nd night, they jumped at the chance.

Blue gets 'Danielle'd. Pic by Dan

They took themselves off touristing on the Sunday instead, exploring Killala Bay, Enniscrone and the Ceide Fields. They had lovely warm weather for it. This morning we fed them the traditionally full-fry breakfast and off they went to find their ferry home. They have already booked their next visit. What do we give Danielle for her Level 5 test?

'Moloch' gets it in the beak

While the guests were away, I went, as usual on Sunday pm, archery-ing. I still love this and Sunday was a beautifully warm, sunny one, so we were out doors shooting at the foam rubber animals again. I was doing OK and managing to hit most targets plus, at one stage, for the first time ever I nailed the elusive 'Moloch', a fist sized owl who sits glaring at you from 25 yards away. If you need to know about the name Moloch, I refer you to 1 Kings 11:7. Impressed? Don't be. I only know this because our 'coach' Con told us. He is some flavour of dodgy Israeli false god. The owl, not the coach. I got him right in the beak (again, the owl, not....) and we were all so amazed we had to take a pic. Of course the lens-man and a friend and fellow archer, Paul, then went one better by nailing Moloch and the equally difficult 'Log Rat' with 2 SEQUENTIAL arrows. Show off! Also of course, neither of us could do a thing to refute the 'fluke' accusations - we never got near either target again.

Poppea not quite eclipsing my ample belly with
her own. 

Don't get too excited about looking for me in the Olympics, however. This was an out door shoot so all of us, expert and beginner alike, tend to lose a few arrows in the grass, or shoot high over the bank into a bramble patch, or ping the arrow, nose first, off an underground stone, or undershoot the target and hit the woodwork of the stand. This arrow-carnage can run you out of 'ammo' in a bit of a hurry and, since starting back in spring, I was getting through my original dozen and another 6 I had bought from a local guy. Fortunately some of the damage was only tips broken off at the 'join' and I have the tapering tool, glue and tips to repair these.

That day, though, I lost 2, snapped 2 more in half and someone smacked one of my successful arrows up the back end like Robin Hood, breaking the 'nock' into which the bow-string fits. It was half past 4 by then and I'd had enough when the instructor asked "have you run out of bullets?" Nothing for it but to pack up my stuff and head home to rejoin the house, where the guests were already back from Mayo/Sligo. Since then the archers who stayed to the bitter end actually found 2 of my lost arrows in the grass and I have been able to re-tip 5 more, so I am good to go back into action next week. Watch out Log-Rat.

Rain Dance

Neither of us ever anticipated in all this 'move-to-the-West-of-Ireland' project that we would ever be standing in County Roscommon disappointed at the lack of rain. We are not the kind of people who moan about the wet weather and then straight way transfer all that grumble to the heat after just a single hot day. We have been enjoying the blue skies and taking the close sweatiness and midges that sometimes come with it, on the chin. Stoic to the end, us. But my diary records that this run of 'scorchio' started on 11th May, all be it with a couple of showery days around the 20th, so have a heart, Met Éireann; we are sated. You even sneaked the perfect Bank Holiday weekend in there.

Some nice artichokes for a tapas style meal

We are happy, content, have had all we could ask and more. When the run of hot days appeared to be breaking with an 'orange' warning for thunderstorms and heavy rain on (Bank Holiday) Monday, we got stuck into some good weeding, mowed all the grass and raced several lines of washing through the laundry system. We watched with happy anticipation as the promised massive black cloud banks rolled in mid-afternoon. Back in Kent Liz would have been telling our lovely neighbour, 'Angel' Betty and myself off suspecting that we were doing rain dances because we were fed up with all the watering. Here we listened out for the distant rumbles of thunder on the N, S, E and W horizons, commenting cheerfully... "Yes! It's a-coming!"

Alliums

No such drama for us here, though. Friends in all directions were reporting rain. Sue and Rob talked of "monsoon" conditions. Carolyn in Sligo reported lashing rain and cousin Keith in Dublin spoke of massive downpours, impressively heavy although short lived. We stayed dry as the 'dusht' and missed it all. Our clouds built impressively and dispersed. We stayed oppressively hot and clammy and felt quite miffed. Cheated, even. It didn't rain all evening, then a tiny front doorstep-dampening drip came later on and the night was dry. We know we should be careful what we wish for and I am glad that I got the mowing done - I would have been cursing if the shaggy grass had got wetted and then taken days to dry out again. It has not rained today either. Ah well.

In the local bogs the turf cutters are taking full advantage
of the drought. This turf is "footed" up to get some air through
it and we have seen some being cleared and carted away to
store. This is Kiltybranks.

Meanwhile in archery I am still having a whale of a time, loving my new hobby. When weather permits we are out of doors and the instructor is doing his best to get us ready for an assault on nearby inter-county "Field Archery" competitions. Field Archery is where you go yomping around through the woods and fields trying to find and then hit model animals made of dense foam rubber. The beasts are a bit larger than life (to give us half a chance - the crows are more like ravens and the partridges are as big as chickens, for example).

We have also been introduced to the black arts of scoring so that we can see whether we are improving week on week. The animal models are marked with an oval roughly corresponding to the chest/lungs position and a smaller oval where the heart would be. The scores vary according to size, range and difficulty of the target/shot but might be, for example, 15 for a kill (dead hit on the heart), 10 for a 'wound' (chest area) and 5 for a 'hit' (anywhere else on the animal). There is much banter around how the animal is not officially dead even though you have just banged an arrow through his head, in one eye and out the other. There are also silly scores for some of the more ridiculously tricky shots - a rat on a log THIRTY metres away (!). Hit that one, you get 40, knock him off his log with your arrow stuck in him and you score 60. I have not got within a foot of the blighter.

The pigs this evening.

I should quickly add, just to quiet the fears of people who think I have got a bit blood-thirsty, that it is ILLEGAL everywhere in the British Isles to hunt anything with a bow and arrow, even a cross-bow. If you want to go a-hunting you need a licence , a pretty fierce draw-strength bow and you need to be on mainland Europe - Germany, Italy and some of France, I think. We are definitely just playing at it. It is just more entertaining to go 'hunting' between the trees, than to spend 2 hours lobbing arrows down a Badminton hall.

Pastures new. The sheep are back in the orchard. 

What ever way about it, I was 'on fire' on Sunday and it seemed I could not miss those targets. After my first try out 3 weeks back when I scored just 65 as a combination of 13 'hits', no wounds and no kills, I was suitably humble and knew my place - the beginner/new boy/trainee. On Sunday, for some reason, I found myself transformed into Dead-eye Dick. I got 2 kills in the first group and hit several other 'animals' more than once (you get 3 arrows per target). I had surpassed my 65 one third of the way in! I must admit it did not go as 'deadly' as that all through and I still missed my due portion of targets with all three arrows (of course, I have still not bagged 'log rat') but I ended with a score of 145, over twice my first one. No pressure for next week!

Liz (in orange) gives the sheep strict instructions not to eat
or break off the trees. 

The sheep, meanwhile, Have razed the front lawn to the ground and left only a few grass-flower stalks and some now obvious nettles and thistles. The lack of rain has no doubt contributed and the grass has stopped growing. We do not want to let them back into the East Field yet as that is resting, so we have rather bravely moved the gang into the orchard tonight. This is with some trepidation as we know what damage sheep can do to young trees by browsing and by scratching their itches by rubbing at them. We are hoping our trees are that bit bigger and taller so that they can afford to lose a few lower leaf-clusters (raising their 'skirts' or 'Savannah-ing' we call it here). They are also in some cases still guarded by the tree guards we originally fitted when we used this field before, several years ago. We are hoping that the sheep will focus on the lush grass and buttercups and leave the trees alone. Liz has read them The Riot Act.