Weekends are always busy, but Shift Time weekends were plain nuts, but great fun nuts. For the record I prefer mine with chili or applewood smoked. Then there has been the small matter of catching up with life and paperwork and end of term things. And now I find myself apologising to the unseen microminority who view my little missives (and very welcome you are too by the way) for the lack of updates. Now the photography I have been able to cope with (just as well really), but I went beyond my comfort zone a bit with recording interviews and doing a bit of video work for Shift Time. Which just so happened to coincide with my long overdue defection to a beautiful Mac. This was a bad move for this alone. So, I will deal with it tomorrow…or maybe the tomorrow after that. Reason being that the interviews are worth hearing. Really they are.
In the meantime, our absence and the regular application of monsoon-style deluge has rendered the lower reaches of the farm almost impenetrable in places. This has served to bring nature even closer to our portals than usual. First, there was the late-night photoshoot with the hedgehogwho was minding his own business trundling past the back door when nipped by one of the collies returning from their evening constitutional. I expect he was grateful that I removed the revolting bloated sheep-tick from amongst his prickles in lieu of TFCD. More useful I expect.
And second was the event last Tuesday when my newly adult (well 18 anyway) daughter squealed as she spied a mouse in the living room. There followed a fifteen minute episode taking four adults to catch one young field mouse and repatriate it outside. As evening approached I mentioned this episode to my 7 year old: who seemed to know all about the mouse already. The gist of it being that she had rescued a mouse from the Maine Coon on the doorstep on Sunday because her eldest sister had refused to help and had apparently decided that the cat should win. The stunned mouse was then placed in a toy plastic dog kennel with some Double Gloucester. Naturally it escaped….and she had been leaving it little bits of cheese behind the bookcase since then.
What with that and the fact that that particular corner of the living room is piled with woolsacks for sorting fleece and whiffs gently of sheep and lanolin. Occasionally I question my sanity at having spotted sheep only to have to separate their fleeces into chocolate, grey, and white. After all, they do make black sheep quite naturally.
Carrog: Fast-flowing Stream 