Three weeks and counting

I've now reached the stage where we've been back in the UK so long I've forgotten what San Francisco is like. We've spent a quiet and civilised week with Tom's parents in Ironbridge, a loud and rambunctious week with alpaca.farmer and her lovely large family of boys, a greedy gourmet weekend with my cousin Jack and his large family of girls, an all too brief visit to friends Wally and Jeannine in Plymouth and now we're back with my mother in Hampshire. The girls have had a great time adapting to each situation in turn. Emilia has ridden a horse for the first time, they have both run around with the boys and the alpacas, chickens, scooters, and then they have painted their nails and put on 3 minute shows with four changes of costume with their friends and cousins. Tom has managed to find somewhere to connect himself to his work and his publisher though I wish I had taken pictures each time to show the different locales. In one case, he was studiously working on a sofa, surrounded by two fighting boys, another watching TV and a puppy trying to get friendly. The second edition of The Book is on course for delivery tomorrow.

We have had a great time. In particular we were so pleased to see our friends in Wales who we haven't known that long, but who have now turned into old friends and seemed reasonably happy to see us too. And I still feel that the Usk valley is where I want to be in the long run (sorry SF but I think I'd already left my heart somewhere else before I got to you). Not that I haven't missed SF. And I know there are people I am looking forward to seeing again there. We have one more week here with a quick visit up to London to see friends and our old house. Then we are westward bound once more and this time goodbyes have not been tearful which makes leaving so much easier.

Birds

Warning: No good pictures accompany this post. I'm not a wildlife photographer, never have the camera with me when I need it and anyway they'd just look like blurry dots. So you're stuck with badly lit pictures of a book.

When you live in a city it is easy to overlook the wildlife around you. For most of the years that I lived in London, I rarely saw anything more interesting than a sparrow or pigeon and it was only at the end of my time there, living just across the river from the Walthamstow Nature Reserve, that I came to appreciate the wildlife that can be found near the centre of such a large urban area. We had herons, kestrel, greater spotted and green woodpeckers as well as wrens, tits and finches.

Of course on moving to the country and to a National Park, what we saw and heard changed. Owls at night never failed to charm me. And I particularly love raptors - the buzzards which were common around us in Crickhowell, and the occasional red kite.

Now I'm back in a city, but it's a city on the other side of the world, with very different birdlife. What is common for the San Franciscan is anything but to me. And San Francisco is a lot less built up than London, so there are opportunities to see hawks even when you are quite a long way from the nearest park. One flew straight past our deck the other day, pursued by some crows of some kind. I have bought myself a book: Birds of San Francisco and the Bay Area. It's not huge or terribly detailed but it covers enough to give me a shot at identifying what I see around me.

So far I've seen this (a Stellar's Jay) up in Twin Peaks


and this (Anna's Hummingbird) in a tree in the back garden


and lots of these from the distance which is a good thing as they are ugly things close up (Turkey Vulture). My Californian guide (a friend who puts up with daft questions) tells me they are called Buzzards by locals, and they do look similar when in flight apart from the colouring.


Unfortunately the only owls I've seen so far are models used as pigeon scarers on the roofs of houses. And I haven't seen a chicken for weeks - at least not a live, egg-laying chicken with a name. Wonder how the girls are doing?

On the move

On Friday, Tom received notice of approval for his visa application.

So that's it. We're heading west. A lot further west to San Francisco, somewhere I have never been in my life. In fact I worked out recently (probably while twiddling my thumbs and waiting for the visa approval to arrive) that I have spent less than 3 weeks of my life in the United States, and most of those weeks were spent in rather dull offices or conference centres or in New York and on one occasion a dull office in New York which was saved by being on the 44th floor - leading me to spend all day looking out of the window with my mouth open. I do love New York.

And I have heard very good things about San Francisco and California. This will be an adventure for all of us, with hopefully less culture shock than if we'd chosen other destinations. As Emilia very sensibly put it, "I'm glad we're not moving to China because I don't speak Chinese". We have determined to grab the opportunity with both hands and to that end wrote a very long wish list of things to do in the United States. In fact it's so long, we're not sure Tom will have time to go to the office.

And I know we'll be coming back to Wales, indeed to Crickhowell or thereabouts which has been home for the last two years. Leaving is not without its sadnesses and will involve giving up (for a period) some of the dreams we made in London which led us to make the move to a country life. I am assuming that chickens will not feature greatly in my life or the blog from October (don't worry, they will be here safe and sound with our neighbours). Also I suspect that parsnips, thermal underwear, sheepskin slippers and wearing a woolly hat in the house will also stop being subjects of note.

For the next two months, expect either no blogs at all or hysterical (in a tearing-hair-out rather than ha ha manner) blogs about furniture, paperwork and visits to the US Embassy in London.

Walk up Corn Du and Pen y Fan: Pictures not words

Limbo - patience is a virtue, just not one of mine

I am suffering from blogger's block. Have been for weeks now. And the reason is that I decided for no discernible reason that I wouldn't write about something which has been dominating my thought processes. To whit, we are in limbo. I know it looks like we've made a wonderful move to a beautiful rural idyll complete with chickens, garden and preserving pan. And this is of course all true. However, we are also waiting to hear whether Tom (and the rest of us) are going to get a visa to live and work in the States for the next three years. Now while I am fairly decisive - never known to hesitate over a menu, can choose a new car in an hour or so - the US Immigration Service is slightly slower. Which is of course understandable and just as it should be, but also, rather frustrating.

So here we are in limbo. I don't know if I'll be here or in San Francisco, in November. I haven't bought anything for the house for weeks and weeks, I debate over whether to book the girls into after school classes in September, I even wondered whether to plant another row of parsnips. Mind you, my friend Nicki, now resident in Canada but previously of N16 London fame, reminded me that she was in limbo for over two years. Rather put things in perspective.

Random thoughts on a weekend away

We travelled back in time driving for two hours on A and B roads, quiet ones, through leafy hills, past small villages and towns. No motorways, no large service stations, no juggernauts, no traffic. Just glorious green Wales under a blue blue sky in golden sun. Trecastle, Sennybridge, Llandovery, Lampeter (lampeter, lampeter all down the road).

What is the collective noun for twenty red kites? Is there one? Driving over a hill, we suddenly saw a cloud of kites, swirling, diving even into the road. Stunning. Apparently a local farmer feeds them so they come in flocks, gaggles, whatever.



Cardigan Bay is stunning. A great sweeping bay with long beaches, views of Anglesey and Snowdonia to the north. Cliffs rising up, green hills, woodland. almost to the shore line in places. Ignore the horrible mobile homes that infest the landscape. Just look at the view.





Why is it that after a shower on a campsite you somehow feel cleaner than you ever do at home. When clearly you're not. Or not for long. Must be something about the way fresh air feels on skin.

Midgies are not a good thing.

And nor are mozzies.

Ice cream, especially Honey Ice Cream from Aberaeron, is a very good thing. Though perhaps not chilli and chocolate ice cream for a four year old. Another case of Lottie determined that she knows best, until she finds out that what you were telling her all along is in fact true, and the ice cream is a bit too spicy for her.



Lottie is idiosyncratic. And funny. The bar-man taking the order for a baked bean sandwich certainly thought so.

There are few things nicer than watching two girls running around the beach with their dad.

Perfect campsite in Ceredigion: Outer Bounds Camping

We really fell on our feet this weekend. A reasonably last minute decision to head west based on the weather forecasts, and some careful surfing (on the web - don't do water very well...) found me the most wonderful campsite.


So now I'm telling you all about it which is clearly foolhardy as there are only six plots for tents (no caravans as no access, camper vans a possibility I think), but the site is so great that the owner (Peter, laidback, conscientious, unassuming) deserves to be busy. It's called Outer Bounds Camping and it's just near Llanrhystud, up the Cardigan Bay from Aberaeron (or south from Aberystwyth if you prefer). Down very quiet lanes you finally end up at this rural idyll. There are lovely touches everywhere - the communal eating area (long wooden table and benches under a tarpaulin), a home-made (but really well as Peter was a mechanic and is clearly very handy) children's play area, sites for fires, garden furniture to borrow, barbecue equipment, and a really well organised recycling area including compost heap.


There are hedges made of currant bushes, raspberries and blackberries everywhere, hawthorns, bamboos and so on. There were loads of butterflies and both days we saw red kites flying overhead. The kids loved exploring the small paths that led to other plots or to the stone circle with glimpses of Cardigan Bay in the distance. It's all done with real love and care and attention.

We're going back. Definitely.

Wet day at the Smallholders Show

You know it's wet when even the ducks have umbrellas. Yesterday we headed up to Builth Wells for the Royal Welsh Smallholders' Show. Last year this was our first experience of agricultural shows now we live in Wales. This year we have chickens so feel a bit more part of the scene as it were. And we wore our wellies which was a good idea as it was wet. Very wet. Which meant the outside events were uncertain and the inside stalls were packed.

I particularly liked the green section which was much bigger this time with lots of displays for solar/wind/eco energy companies and of wool suppliers (including Woolly Shepherd whose blog I read).

We bought honey, Drunken Dragon Cheese from Cothi Valley Goats which is one of the best cheeses I know, some mutton (currently stewing in the oven for supper) from the Elan Valley Mutton and several copies of the Smallholder magazine. Well I can dream, can't I?



And after that, we stopped in at Suzanne's for a cup of tea, some cake, and a viewing of the new cria. Very white and very lovely at only one day old. Fancy red satin coat too - what all the best alpaca are wearing, apparently.

Spring

Someone I read recently on a blog (heinous crime, I can't remember who it was...sorry) said that this spring was making them feel more springy, and I know what they mean. Perhaps it's because the seasons have followed some kind of order this year with a cold winter followed by a warmer and wetter spring. I have loved looking at all the flowers, the blossom. And maybe because last year was my first spring here in the country (London springs are there but can be missed amongst all the concrete), this year I am looking forward to seeing particular plants reemerge - the forget-me-knots on the terrace, with soon the lovely orange poppies, the daffodils of course, and the apple blossom. Dandelions and now buttercups are coming out in the field. (Unfortunately dandelions are also coming out in my herb bed where they set off the chives beautifully but will be a bugger to pull up.)

So here are some lovely things from around my garden and the field next door, some already gone, some still here.

Bluebell woods: pictures not words

Wake up call to action

So what's wrong with this? Sheep in a field in Wales.



Ah. But these sheep are in the chicken field. And they are not my sheep. I don't have sheep. Well not until this morning when nine escaped through a kissing gate opposite - hindsight assumption of escape methodology. They could have dug their way out but we didn't find a spade. So this morning having thought that the sheep were rather loud today, we found they weren't louder, just closer and in the wrong place.

Fortunately the owner lives not too far away and we have his number so the whole drama (well we thought it was dramatic but then we're from Hackney and not used to woolly dramas before breakfast) was over by 8 am.

Bumblebees - the whys and wherefores, mostly the whys

So today, apart from fending off far too many four year old tantrums, getting a mohair jumper wet in the rain (wet sheep is oddly not a scent you see advertised by Guerlain), and following the Amazon glitch, I have also released three bumblebees into the wild.

The thing is I don't know where they came from. The windows were closed. The doors were closed. The first bee was ENORMOUS. The second was a bit stupid. The third left quite quickly. But where are they coming from. I like bumblebees. And I do know that they live in holes, they burrow, and they are solitary. But three in a kitchen in one day is more than carelessness.

So here is my hypothesis. My admittedly utterly without knowledge of the life cycle of a bumblebee hypothesis. Could a bumblebee have laid lots of bumblebee eggs somewhere in my kitchen and they are now, in spring, hatching or whatever they do? Any bumblebee experts out there?

Dressing up at school

Yesterday was St David's Day. This time last year, I was a bit stunned to discover quite how seriously this is taken in Wales. Luckily, Woolworths came to the rescue (another reason to lament their passing). But I was a bit slow to take pictures of the girls in their outfits so here they are this morning, on their way to school, to join the many other children dressed up like this. A slightly surreal but truly delightful sight is a playground celebrating St David's Day.


And all morning they will be having their Eisteddfod, singing and reciting in Welsh. I've been interested to read Preseli Mags post on her blog Life in the Preseli Hills, on the complications of living in a bilingual world in Wales, with children at Welsh school. Here in the south-east of Wales, very few people speak Welsh and there are lots of English living here, which means we don't face similar issues. And in fact most of the Eisteddfod is opaque to the children and the adults. But I'm glad they celebrate the place and culture that they live in, even if much of it remains quite obscure to them, and certainly me.

Spring is here

The daffodils are coming out. Buds are busting out all over. The Marans are finally laying. The heating is going off completely. The washing is drying outside again. And I'm going a spot of cleaning including the oven. Not saying I only clean once a year, but it does seem more heartening to do it on a sunny breezy day. Somehow I have more energy and enthusiasm for it.

Country House home from home

Sunday was Tom's birthday so on Saturday night we went out for dinner to a nearby country house hotel, Gliffaes, run by James and Susie Suter. It's lovely - a large and beautiful house overlooking the Usk, with a series of comfortable rooms to lounge in and a good restaurant. We know James and Susie through family, so spent the first half an hour or so discussing chickens with them at the bar. I know. Chickens. Everyone round here has them and I'm discovering that it's not just me that has odd egg counting and tallying habits. I keep a record of our daily takings (see bar at the side). Susie lines them up by type/appearance to check how many each chicken is laying. We're clearly both a bit bats.

Dinner was in the restaurant: terrine, delicious tender calves livers and a creme brulee, with a very good bottle of Spanish red, followed by coffee in the sitting room by the fire. I think most other people were guests so there's no formal dress code, the surroundings are elegant and comfortable and you don't feel bad coming in in an anorak. In fact as the hotel is known for its fishing, it seems almost de rigueur.

We had a lovely evening and not too costly, given the comfort and quality. I think hotels are often overlooked as places to pop into for food - afternoon tea at Gliffaes is also lovely. It's a bit like playing house for part of the day.

Of pheasants and prunes

Still no functioning camera. A new memory card is on its way in the post. The pictures of the nativity play were taken, Soilman, and in fact you'd have thought Angelina Jolie was in the play, the number of cameras that were in action that evening. Sadly however they are on the malfunctioning card. We're not yet deciding what to do about it. The more important thing is to get Charlotte as Mary on camera too.

Anyway, this is why you won't have pictures of me dissecting two pheasants for dinner. However if you do require photographic guidance and instructions on what to do with a brace then check out Middle of Nowhere. Last year, my cousin Jack came and did the honours. He's a doctor and a practiced dissector of all things feathered so went into things rather more thoroughly than Middle of Nowhere or me on this occasion. I was quite happy to exit the procedure with two breasts and two legs per bird.

Rather more interesting in my opinion, is the casserole I came up with. Start with a base of celery, carrot and onion finely chopped and then sauteed slowly in olive oil. Then brown the meat. Put the veg plus a couple of tomatoes into your casserole together with the pheasant, some chopped or sliced mushrooms, some prunes and a few strips of orange peel. The last two are my current favourites for stews and I think prunes in particular are underrated in this country. Lastly pour on a glass and a half of red wine. Pop in the oven at c. 170 degrees C for at least an hour and a half. Even the children liked it although dinner did involve a detailed discussion of the rights and wrongs of raising game and shooting it for sport, after we mentioned the possibility that they could come across some shot in the dish.

The pheasants were a gift from the local shoot run by the Glanusk estate, via our landlord Rob. For which much thanks. Today we headed up our lane and came across where they shoot. The views were glorious - clear blue sky, bright red hips on the bushes, silver birch bark shining in the sun, snow on the Beacons. I am a lucky lucky woman to live here.

Wet and stormy - inside and out

I've been out until early evening the last two nights and Wales has been suffering from lots of rain and wind. You are so much more aware of weather and the dangers of it round here. It's all very well to have a lot of wind and rain in London but you're never far from a human, or a phone and there's always reception for your mobile. Driving back through the Black Mountains on a dark and stormy night with two small children in the car, no mobile reception and some flooding, is a different proposition. We got home safely but I had to drive through a couple of big floods last night which I'm not used to. And I don't have an SUV.

What I wasn't expecting, and in fact didn't notice until I was ready to head to bed, was that the rain had come through the back door and had flooded half the sitting room. Thankfully we don't have carpeting, just rugs and tiles. But two rugs, some curtains and the sofa covers were soaked. My neighbours came round to help. And this morning I need to clean some floors and sort out the room.

Dead chicken

I've been away the last three nights at my mother's for my niece's 9th birthday party. And seeing Tom off to a conference in New Orleans. Anyway I got back too late to check the chickens last night, but this morning when I popped out to open the run and let them range, only five came out. The other one was stiff as a board in the nesting box. Our neighbours and chicken-sharers were also away though they did see them all last night and they seemed fine. I suspect that one has been nursing a cold. The temperatures have changed dramatically over the last few days from warmish, to freezing and back up again. There's another looking a bit sorry for herself with a runny nose and a slight wheeziness. A cold seems the most likely thing but any ideas from chicken-keepers out there would be gratefully received. The other four look perky as ever and are roaming all over the place.

I've ordered a liquid tonic and a powder which the vet described as "curry powder for chickens" which you add to their food and it warms them. Pick it up tomorrow. I hope the second one is okay but I'm not sure what else I can do. I did ask the vet if I should bring her in to the house. Thankfully she said no. And everyone I spoke to about it seems pretty philosophical. So that's what I shall aim to be.

Mithering

It is cold. And I have a lingering cold. And the whole no central heating malarkey is seeming fool-hardy. I was told by the Met Office or someone that this would be a warm winter. And yet. Yesterday a small town in Wales had its coldest October day ever on record. It wasn't Crickhowell but it certainly felt like it, particularly because for most of the day we had holes not windows. Now we have double-glazed low e windows which look great but it's still bloody cold and my sinuses hurt.

But I haven't given in on the heating yet. Oh no. Tom is grumbling but as he's buggering off to New Orleans and San Francisco for two weeks (average temperatures in the teens or 50s to 60s), I don't care. I'm going to have to sleep alone with only a small hot water bottle and my possum socks from New Zealand (thanks Sam!) to keep me warm. And he will be in the Jazz capital of the world, eating gumbo.

One thing is really troubling me. I have lost my hat.

This one:



An essential part of my winter wardrobe and I think rather fetching. I have hunted high and low and am going to have to carry on doing so because I can't manage without it. I was thinking the other day as I marched up the field to open the chicken run, that I spend much more time outside in the cold than I ever used to in London. Now I have to do things that involve wellingtons, hats, gardening gloves and so on. And being outside in the cold. Mission for tomorrow morning. Find the hat.

Forecast for tomorrow

A widespread frost, sleet, more snow on the tops of the mountains. And hopefully two carpenters to install five new as yet unglazed windows down the west side of the barn. Not great timing. There is definitely potential for disaster here. Or at least much exposure to the elements. I'll let you know how it goes.