Farmhouse Journal March 2011

Well, it's no use waiting for the weather this year. We are still sloshing about up to the ankles in mud beneath white, dreary skies, so the birds and animals on the Reserve are getting on with spring anyway. All the mallards on the black swan pond have dispersed to find their own breeding grounds, battle-scarred robins are a regular sight, as they scrap for a mate and the first frogspawn has appeared. We also have seven newborn lambs in the field. Everyone seems surprised that they should have come so early, but our sheep breed naturally, like wild animals and follow their own instincts without human intervention. And you can see their logic.

This way the lambs have to be tough to survive the cold weather, but they can rely on their mothers' milk and body warmth for protection. They then benefit from the longest possible time to grow fat on grass before they have to face a winter alone. It is a joy to see them, black, cream and brown, chasing one another along the hedgerows at dusk, so sturdy and free.

As for the rest of the reserve, the long walk beside the big pond is awash with snowdrops in full bloom, and spreading pools of primrose and purple crocus. The weeping willows are breaking bud and the deep green spikes of arum lily and wild garlic leaves are spearing the drab leaf-mould in the woods. If only the sun would put in an appearance, we would really believe the brown days of winter are behind us.

A survey taken last week by Shaun McCullagh, a local ornithologist, registered 33 species of birds on the Reserve in a single assessment. Shaun does bird counts for the British Trust for Ornithology and has run the BTO bird census on the Isle of Mull for several years now, so we are delighted to have his help and his findings have exceeded our hopes, confirming the presence here of nuthatches, fieldfares, redwings and many other birds which we have not had the time or skill to spot. It is encouraging evidence that our little haven can support a good range of wildlife, even through a harsh winter.

Here we are rapidly running out of dry wood for the Rayburn. Michael seems to spend half the day sawing up old fence posts and dead branches and we have running battles over which items belong to the beetles and woodpeckers and which are fit to burn. Some sticky pine the other day gave us a chimney fire at supper time. An ominous crackling in the Rayburn flu alerted me and I called for assistance. Michael, a veteran fireman of 33 years service, looked at it quizzically and pronounced that it was only soot burning and would probably do the chimney good. "Shut everything down and see what happens", he said. My efforts to continue cooking were hampered by falling sparks and molten cinders and when the chimney plate began to glow I made a larger fuss: "You know, this really is on fire!" Michael considered the matter. Pottered outside to inspect the state of the chimney pot, rummaged briefly in his veterinary box and handed me a water pistol. "You could try squirting that up there if you like. There are no flames coming out of the top." The water pistol produced an angry sputtering and dribbles of tar, but gradually did the job. Apart from a few smuts in the risotto no real harm done. Of course we should get the chimney swept more often. 'Grandmother's Household Hints', an old American manual recommends dropping a live hen down once a year. The fluttering descent will dislodge soot most effectively! No mention of chicken's rights! More prosaically, Sussex lore advocates a holly branch. I might simply settle for calling in the sweep!

This week we open to the public once more and everyone is trying their hand at the new self-service drinks machine to see whether the filter coffee really lives up to its name. Verdicts are good so far, so we are hoping this will add an extra pleasure to the end of a walk round the park for visitors.

One sad note. We lost dear old Charlie the donkey. Heaven knows how old he was,as he was already elderly when he came to us and that was over 16 years ago. This winter he became slower and slower at eating his food and Michael spent many long hours standing over him in the snowy weather, to fend off the cows who gobbled their rations so quickly and came foraging for more. We find ourselves still looking for his pale shadow and quiet welcome at the gate.

No more news for now, other than to put it on record that the sun shone yesterday and it felt, at last, like spring!