Daddy's Girl

I’m a Daddy’s girl. Always have been; always will be.

My Dad and I share a love of liquorice, Jane Austen and The Messiah; of walks in the country and Sunday afternoon films.

He’s always been there for me; has always accepted me just as I am; and thinks as much of me as I do of him. Is it any wonder I feel ridiculously blessed?

What‘s more, not only is he the best Dad in the entire world (goes without saying); he’s also one of the most thoroughly decent men ever to walk this planet. And that’s a fact.

So…..Happy Father’s Day to my most beloved Dad. From his girl.

Moving Cattle

Every so often I get called upon to help move sheep or cattle…..from fields they’ve ‘eaten off’ to fresh grazing.

This usually involves positioning myself at a junction or in a gateway…..then a lot of boring, standing-about waiting whilst the farmer and his dog do the necessary rounding-up in a distant field.

Once the animals hove into sight, however, it’s a job I relish.

Sometimes I simply have to wave my arms about to prevent the sheep or cattle from taking a wrong path. Sometimes I get to walk along the road behind them, chivvying them on when they’d rather stop to munch wayside grass. And then there are the times when I’m ordered to run on ahead and halt any vehicles until all things four-legged have passed by…..and I hold up my hand in best traffic-policeman fashion and smile my thanks at disgruntled motorists, hoping to earn their patience.

I think I like this job so much because it links me to the past…..to the days when the only way to move livestock from place to place was to walk alongside them. It smacks of a gentler pace of life; of being more intimately connected to the animals and to the land.

That - and the sense of power that’s mine when I get to stop the traffic!

The Same View: June

As I stand on the rock from which I take this view each month, I invariably feel disappointed.

‘Nothing’s really changed this time. It looks just like it did a month ago. I wish I’d chosen a different view for this experiment…..one with more flowers and deciduous trees. One that doesn’t always look the same.’

And then I get home and load the pictures onto my laptop…..and am taken aback. Every time.

When you’re immersed in a landscape daily, you notice the obvious and show-stopping differences. You realise that the lane is now flanked by cow parsley. You spot that chunky, russet-coloured caterpillars are suddenly walking paths and climbing rocks with you. You see the foxgloves growing tall and watch eagerly for their blooming.

What you don’t notice is how the broad vista of grass is growing marginally greener by the day. Or that the far distant reservoir which glinted in the winter sunshine has gradually been obscured by a tree slowly assuming its summer gown.

Just look at today’s photograph and contrast it with last month’s (below). See how the area in the foreground is finally growing verdant again? Notice how much darker and bushier the trees have become? And look at the fields in the centre of the picture, sprinkled yellow with buttercups.

From now on, I’m withholding judgement until I’ve climbed down from my rock and am sitting at my desk again.

The Same View: May

The Egg Show

Look at this! Ha! I’m grinning like a Cheshire cat!

It turns out there are such things as egg shows. No hens, no ducks…..just eggs.

And it also turns out that someone entered me and my Dixon Hill eggs into one.

Now my girls have had a difficult couple of weeks, one way and another, so they haven’t been laying much. Which means I didn’t have the full complement of eggs I was supposed to have for the competition. Nor were the few I did have up to their usual big, bountiful, beautiful standard.

And yet…..I won third prize!!! Can you believe it? Me! Scoring in an egg contest! I’m cock-a-hoop!

I won the princely sum of four guineas (I LOVE that the prize money is in guineas - such a wonderfully quaint unit of currency); and I received a cheery yellow rosette and a certificate to boot.

Can't wait to tell the girls. Next year we’re going for first prize!

Happy Birthday, Joss!

There’s a new ball to lose on the moors today and there may well be scrambled eggs for tea.

Joss the dog is seven years old.

Happy Birthday, Big Paws!