My last day in Herefordshire was as busy as I predicted. I fed the chickens and discovered a wasps nest in one of the poultry houses. This was the fourth wasp nest that had been found in outbuildings around the farm and I wrote a warning on the chalk board in the kitchen as the egg collectors will need to be a little wary if they have to go into the house. After I fed the chickens I went to milk the goats again and got on slightly better this time, although I think my slightly arthritic thumb joints might let me down if I had to do it every day! Then it was off to the dairy kitchen to start the goat cheese - unfortunately it wasn't due to be ready until Saturday when I would be somewhere in Shropshire.
Later in the day, when I was weeding in the asparagus beds, I heard the tractor and baler start up. I was completely unprepared for the wave of nostalgia and regret that swept over me when I heard the 'thunk, thunk, thunk' of the old Massey baler - it was the same model that we had, and I just stood in the garden and wept for everything that I had lost. It just brought home to me that I am still running away - am I actually moving forward at all? I was very glad that, as it was mid-week, I was alone in the garden. Later, I emerged from the garden and went to help haul the bales home which was a lot of fun with so many helpers, but then the baler broke down (inevitably) and so we all went off for our communal evening meal, where I felt quite welcome and at ease, in marked contrast to my first shared meal.
The next morning I packed up the trusty Peugeot and, promising to return later in the year, drove in a slightly zig-zag fashion (I took a couple of unintentional diversions!) to South Shropshire and assignment number three.
I can't keep saying how blown away I am by my first views of places, but I was delighted with my first view of the smallholding. It was reached up yet another long, winding uphill farm track but then I rounded a corner and the most beautiful thatched house hove into view. The owners are obviously still having a lot of work done on the house and it's surroundings but I have a pretty bedroom with a pitched ceiling and double-aspect windows and a bathroom next door. There was another Wwoofer here when I arrived who had the other bedroom in this part of the house, but she left on Saturday and another girl came on Sunday and has left today.
I thought that there had been a misprint in my wwoofer handbook as it said I was only required to work four hours per day, but this is true, so it has been very much like a luxury holiday with delicious meals cooked for me and I am not even allowed to do the washing up! I realise that I can't fall on my feet at each place I go but the last two have been fantastic!
In return for this luxurious accomodation (it's a bit like something out of Grand Designs) I have been 'budging' thistles in the five acre hayfield. "What is 'budging'?" I hear you cry, and that's exactly what I asked . Because this is an organic smallholding, no chemicals are used and getting rid of perennial weeds has to be done manually. Thistles are not really wanted in hay as animals tend to waste a lot trying to eat round them, so Sylvia, the Chinese wwoofer, and I were given a budger each, which is like a narrow sharpened hoe on a long handle, so that we could work our way across the field and cut the thistles off at ground level. Apparently, over a period of a couple of years, this continuous cutting of the thistles will kill them off or at least greatly minimise the number occurring. I have also fed the pigs and sheep and helped load a sow into the trailer for her last ride to the abattoir. It was very sad as she was not an old sow, but she had suffered a stroke a few days after having her last litter and although she had successfully reared all nine piglets to weaning age her mobility was severly compromised and she was obviously not going to get any better, so the decision had to be made.
On my day off (yes, I get those, too!) I climbed to the top of a nearby Iron Age hill fort. It was quite a hard climb following the sheep tracks through thickets of gorse but the view from the top was spectacular. I had chosen a particularly clear day with blue skies and a gentle breeze, and from the top I could see hilltop after hilltop in all directions. It was so peaceful up there with just the bleating of the sheep on the hillside and the lazy buzz of insects, and when I looked up I could see two red kites spiralling effortlessly in the thermals. It reminded me so much of lying on clifftops on family holidays when I was a child that I was almost surprised that I couldn't hear waves breaking on the shore below me. I stayed up there for quite a while, loth to come down to earth again and face reality once more, but there are always more thistles to 'budge'!
Later in the day, when I was weeding in the asparagus beds, I heard the tractor and baler start up. I was completely unprepared for the wave of nostalgia and regret that swept over me when I heard the 'thunk, thunk, thunk' of the old Massey baler - it was the same model that we had, and I just stood in the garden and wept for everything that I had lost. It just brought home to me that I am still running away - am I actually moving forward at all? I was very glad that, as it was mid-week, I was alone in the garden. Later, I emerged from the garden and went to help haul the bales home which was a lot of fun with so many helpers, but then the baler broke down (inevitably) and so we all went off for our communal evening meal, where I felt quite welcome and at ease, in marked contrast to my first shared meal.
The next morning I packed up the trusty Peugeot and, promising to return later in the year, drove in a slightly zig-zag fashion (I took a couple of unintentional diversions!) to South Shropshire and assignment number three.
I can't keep saying how blown away I am by my first views of places, but I was delighted with my first view of the smallholding. It was reached up yet another long, winding uphill farm track but then I rounded a corner and the most beautiful thatched house hove into view. The owners are obviously still having a lot of work done on the house and it's surroundings but I have a pretty bedroom with a pitched ceiling and double-aspect windows and a bathroom next door. There was another Wwoofer here when I arrived who had the other bedroom in this part of the house, but she left on Saturday and another girl came on Sunday and has left today.
I thought that there had been a misprint in my wwoofer handbook as it said I was only required to work four hours per day, but this is true, so it has been very much like a luxury holiday with delicious meals cooked for me and I am not even allowed to do the washing up! I realise that I can't fall on my feet at each place I go but the last two have been fantastic!
In return for this luxurious accomodation (it's a bit like something out of Grand Designs) I have been 'budging' thistles in the five acre hayfield. "What is 'budging'?" I hear you cry, and that's exactly what I asked . Because this is an organic smallholding, no chemicals are used and getting rid of perennial weeds has to be done manually. Thistles are not really wanted in hay as animals tend to waste a lot trying to eat round them, so Sylvia, the Chinese wwoofer, and I were given a budger each, which is like a narrow sharpened hoe on a long handle, so that we could work our way across the field and cut the thistles off at ground level. Apparently, over a period of a couple of years, this continuous cutting of the thistles will kill them off or at least greatly minimise the number occurring. I have also fed the pigs and sheep and helped load a sow into the trailer for her last ride to the abattoir. It was very sad as she was not an old sow, but she had suffered a stroke a few days after having her last litter and although she had successfully reared all nine piglets to weaning age her mobility was severly compromised and she was obviously not going to get any better, so the decision had to be made.
On my day off (yes, I get those, too!) I climbed to the top of a nearby Iron Age hill fort. It was quite a hard climb following the sheep tracks through thickets of gorse but the view from the top was spectacular. I had chosen a particularly clear day with blue skies and a gentle breeze, and from the top I could see hilltop after hilltop in all directions. It was so peaceful up there with just the bleating of the sheep on the hillside and the lazy buzz of insects, and when I looked up I could see two red kites spiralling effortlessly in the thermals. It reminded me so much of lying on clifftops on family holidays when I was a child that I was almost surprised that I couldn't hear waves breaking on the shore below me. I stayed up there for quite a while, loth to come down to earth again and face reality once more, but there are always more thistles to 'budge'!
If you are using a 'budger', in order to 'budge' thistles, does this make you a 'budgee'?
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