Spring is springin on the farm! Woop woop!!

After about 15 months of rain and wind and hail and rain in the 4 months we've now lived here - oh and daily mist on the windiest way to work imaginable outside of the Pyrenees - I now understand deep pagan reverence of the changing seasons. That first splash of sun on that first clump of snowdrops... sorry if I sound like an overexcited punter on Gardeners' Question Time (I still can't stand it), or an overzealous Imbolc celebrant (might be closer to that)... but Aaach, how Fine!

The last week or so has been brilliant. Valentine's Day was truly lovely - picnic in a dune surrounded by blues of sky and sea and estuary; ambles and scrambles in secret coves; crab from the local bay. But it's also been lovely to spend 'normal' weekends at our amazing  shared place, just doing stuff with our friends and neighbours, invigorated, together, positive, happy, cheesy..

Last weekend everyone seemed to wake to the rising sun and sap and whatnot, and start digging the veg patch - and start not-digging mulching (some of wet last summer's hay coming to great use finally) - with a peaceable vengeance. Forgot about the camera that time. So here's a sample of some of the goings on at Trelay this weekend...

 

In the Cornish Hedge by our cabin

Below our reed beds..



... a good sign that the reeds are doing their job
filtering out (eco) detergent from the laundry room's outlet..
Should get a few frogs out of this lot!

Fixing fencing for the return of Mumma Pigs post weaning

We're in Cornwall, so must be Pirate FM.
And we knows what's in our meat ere..

Roger preparing digging out cable for the hens'
new place - bigger space, grass instead of
quagmire, and next year's veg patch;
but requiring electric fencing  for now.
Their old spot near the 'village'
will become a garden

Ollie building his treehouse / army HQ.
Useful for supervising some of us
making the new hen enclosure below.
Also to spot any enemy / pirates

Perfect weather for Cadno and his buddy bach, Gareth, to dry out our
winter soggied yurts...

... and to re-oil the frames,
and reassemble ready for the new season!

Click here if interested! :)

Weaning time for the two sows who've farrowed so well.
Twinkle's led from the barn back to her sea views..

..reacquaints her self with Maggie..

.. and is then reminded who's boss.
Or at least told not to sniff bums. Pigs ain't dirty

With mothers safely away, a new task to be done..
Marie went from pig and hen fencing to ear tagging
the piglets with Ash and James coming away from
their flooring / tiling of the remarkable Old Stables
renovation to help Christine pin the 20+ not so wee babies
against the wall.  Very difficult operation, ear-piercing
to humans as well,  but  here's some results...

..proudly displayed!

Have I mentioned that we've got ourselves a Landy?! Here is our
very own Felix. After much ebay drooling, we finally found the
workaday beast of our dreams, within our communal budget
(helps when lotsof people can chip in a bit and then all
share the larks). He's missing an eye, but hey, it's pirate
country; and no need for MOT etc as we're keeping him
on site for shifting stuff - wood from the woods, and..

..no, not a third cabin, but spare chicken coops
that are still really heavy!
We are trying to be green, honest.
That's me driving our landrover by the way..

And another one down there, hearty lifters all. 

Clare and Marie lovingly carrying the hens down to their new home.
(Not quite so lovingly the cockerels)

A well-earned quick pint at the Wainhouse, and then back for another
fantastic Cadno roast from a previous offspring of dear Mama Maggie

Cheers to a good day

Next morn on Marie's daily sheep check (and now feed, given sodden fields
and impending Paschal Feasts), we noticed that one poor ewe couldn't run
over as she couldn't see - her wool felted over her eyes in one mean dread.
The one in front's now got a not so cool ball cut, but seems happier.

After that, I attacked brambles by the cabins,
exposing more snowdrops and clearing 'curtilages'; and
then relaxed in the hammock for the first time this year..
before its wire relaxed and dumped me to the floor.
Need to find some good rope for that end..
It's getting chillier and will be bitter yet, so good to have
one last load of wood (possibly maybe the last ever
delivery now we can harvest our own woods more??)
Marie, Jackie, and Christine all somehow appeared separately,
as everyone in so much else this weekend,
to get tasks done more easily together.

Polytunnel
(Margot's away for the weekend, but her convening spirit is there now too),
sheep,
sunset..



.. over Bodmin Moor and Tintagel way..

.. and lighting up the other way.

Morwenstow

Open fire. The smell, sight, crackle, warmth; the taste, even, of homely heavenly...

“Aah, good morning!” Gill, our host, through another door. Just the two of us, and her, in this truly wonderful dining room. A great oak chest from the Far East, a great golden gramophone, a great giant camera, a great rug under a great table under great crockery for but two, a great array of cereals, yoghurts, berries, juices...

“Did you sleep well?” Well, no. Warmer than we're used to, creaks of doors and floors, wild dreams of psychosis, softer than we're used to. Yet, yes. Filled with some different spirit. “Yes. Thank you.”

Great gothic windows, looking up to the great church of Morwenna with its Saxon font and older

well. Coffee, egg, bacon, sausages, mushrooms, paper, England won, and on and on. Portraits, music, ceilings, things. The hats, caps, helmets of the porch, looking over the great triangle of sea. The drawing room, study, billiards room, lead piping, deaths or murders of countless souls wrecked and dragged up the cliffs, up the valley, by Revd Hawker and his gin strong men.

This morning: mist, rain, heavy grey, a hint of awful happenings long ago. Yet, yesterday, even in his timber hut: sun streaming in as we sat, eating cheese and apple, watching gulls soar, hearing waves roar, sweetly; windy sun as we walked, and lay on cliff altars and tufty grass, high above the Atlantic blue. He left his parish twice in thirty years; Tennyson, geese, corpses, hymns, brownies, wives all came to him.

Go to The Vicarage at Morwenstow. Go from afar, or from near like us. It might help heal you too.