TURKEYS LOOK FORWARD TO CHRISTMAS

..But not so excited about Easter

HAPPY WANDERERS: Ant, Dec & Little Boots

 CHRISTMAS is not, traditionally, a happy time for turkeys but the 'Season of Goodwill' holds no trepidation for my birds ... especially Ant, Dec and Little Boots the Bourbon Reds who strut their stuff freely around my farm in the Scottish Borders.
 It's not because I'm a Muslim; in fact like many converts to Islam I still go to the family Christmas lunch but can't eat the turkey because it's not halal.
 Ant, Dec and LB, pictured right, know they're quite safe because they've managed to wangle their way into my heart with their personalities.
 As visitors to the farm know, if an animal has a name it's usually safe and while some stock may have been originally been destined for the pot their journey to the kitchen has been diverted because relationships are forged and then before you know it a pet status and reprieve follows.
 This has not been lost on hubby who started to complain that we're probably running an animal sanctuary and not a working farm. Thankfully the Scots Dumpys did earn their keep recently after being 'spotted' by an animal talent scout who needed some of the rare breed hens to feature in a TV film production (more of that later). They earned a four figured sum and have more than earned their keep so far. So now I've decided to keep turkeys for the table and recently bought nine Norfolk Bronze poults, pictured below left, from a vet in Northumberland. They'll not fatten up in time for Christmas so now I'm going to focus on Easter and resist forging any relationships with the cute little things.

NORFOLK BRONZE POULTS: Six weeks old arriving

in their new home

 I can't guarantee that they will be organic turkeys because I've no idea what they will be feeding on at times since they will be free range but I imagine they'll turn out to be really tasty birds. They are being fed on mash, corn, pure olive oil, sunflower seeds and a variety of other seeds and oats in a rich mixed feed I've developed myself.
 And, if we are what we eat, then when the time comes my birds should be delicious. I chose to start off with Norfolk Bronze turkeys because the meat is succulent, high in protein and low in fat ... healthier in many ways than beef or lamb. The turkeys will be slaughtered halal so should appeal to Muslims as well as anyone else who wants to eat a nice plump bird around April 2014 and I will be taking orders and even offering a delivery service to the door.   If this all works well I will keep the programme rolling and then next Christmas converts to Islam, like myself, should be able to provide their non-Muslim families with a bird for the table and be able to tuck into turkey because my birds will be halal.

ADULT Norfolk turkeys nearly ready

for the table

 And of course there's nothing to stop Muslims from buying halal birds as a gift for their neighbours regardless of faith or beliefs.

 It should all be very straight forward ... as long as I avoid giving any of them names!

RATS ... HERE COME THE CATS

... And a case of different strokes!

 WE HAVE some new additions to the farm and, as with everything else, the arrivals have already made an impact forcing others to pack their bags and go!

 I'm happy because the newbies have seen off some of the farm's original, more undesirable residents who were making a nuisance of themselves ... 

rodents of all kinds and lots of them.

 The patter of their tiny feet kept me awake on a night time as they ran riot in the attic room above my bedroom.

CAT SNAPPED: A rare photograph of one of our feral cats

 While I accepted that the nearby river would always ensure the presence of the odd water rat, some of the four-legged freeloaders were quite frankly getting beyond a joke in terms of numbers and sheer brazened behaviour when it came to nicking the chicken feed.
Hubby said he would sort it out with traps but that idea didn't float when I pointed out the free range nature of our hens, turkeys, geese and wild birds. He then sought the advice of the local gamekeeper and went off into his workshop developing some home made devices which would lure in rats. I was quite impressed with his ingenuity and positioning of his pipe traps but we both underestimated the intelligence of our foe who became wise as soon as one of their number took poisoned bait.

 The answer was, of course, cats but not just any sort of cat would do. I needed a good ratter and went on to various animal rescue website in search of an independently minded outdoor cat that would take on the task. It's not as easy as it sounds as many adult cat are already quite settled but in the end a solution was provided by the RSPCA over the border who pointed me in the direction of some volunteers from the Cats Protection Charity Shop on Tyneside*.

 They had, by chance, three Geordie moggies, half feral, and in need of a good home which would understand their anti-social nature and nocturnal needs. It was a match made in heaven - their old derelict home had been demolished and they needed somewhere else to live which would give them the freedom to come and go as they pleased.

 They duly arrived back in June and after several weeks settling in, I released the two queens and a tom from a stable to wander freely. I wasn't sure if they would still buzz off and head south but within days, while still leaving out food they returned the compliment by leaving me dead rats, mice and other four-legged furry things like voles and moles. However, just the other day - the only white feral I've managed to give a name to - hung around long enough for me to snatch this photograph above. I still can't get anywhere near her and her other two companions are even more elusive - but they've done a cracking job. The rat population has vanished.

 I named the cat in the photograph Tia although when I shout it out I think the other two respond just as enthusiastically knowing there's food around. 

 And just as pleasing, despite the absence of ready prey, the cats seem disinterested by the local wild bird population, my white doves or the red squirrels. It has been a perfect working relationship in many ways but the sad thing for me, being a cat lover, I wasn't able to show my gratitude with cuddles and strokes because as soon as any of them saw me they would sprint away or vanish up a tree.

ZENOBIA: Settling in to her new home

SHEBA: Queen of all she surveys indoors

 Despite this I know they're around because I continue to get little gifts of dead animals and the food I leave out is gone overnight.  However, as a cat lover, I still began to yearn having a feline wrap itself around my ankles and so I went in search of more rescue cats that would hang around the home. I came across this website: http://www.ragdoll-rescue.co.uk/ and before I knew it I was being interviewed as a candidate to foster a pair of Rag Doll cats.
 They were actually from a loving home but the arrival of an overly curious baby had raised concerns and so volunteers from the Rag Dolls Rescue centre set about finding a suitable person to adopt them. He-who-should-be-obeyed-but-rarely-is was quite bemused by the rigorous interview - such things don't happen in his native Algeria, although he did comment that if people took as much care looking after the welfare of children in Britain as the Rag Doll Rescue volunteers do their cats then cases like Baby P might not arise.  

 The upshot was earlier this month I took possession of Sheba and Zenobia with strict instructions to keep them in a child free and dog free home and not to let them outside under any circumstances. The Rag Dolls you see have no fear and just as you'd not let a child wander outside unsupervised for a stroll around the M25 you can't let these cuties wander around willy nilly!

 Unlike Tia and her crew, Sheba and Zenobia don't appear to have any hunting instincts although they do watch the wild birds and doves with some mild disdain while looking on quite horrified when the turkeys and geese get too close to the lounge windows.

 However the girls are incredibly affectionate and love being groomed and tickled. I can't imagine they'd want to swap places with Tia but at the same time I imagine Tia couldn't think of anything worse than being kept indoors and pampered. 

  * I can't praise the work of the Cats Protection Charity Shop enough and have already made a small donation. Please feel free to do the same, the details are below.

Cats Protection Charity Shop
162-166 HIGH STREET
WALLSEND
NEWCASTLE
NE28 7RP

WHAT A PHEASANT SIGHT

Or... white brace make a right pair

HARD TO BLEND IN when your snow white

SITTING ON THE FENCE: Cock pheasant

surveys his surroundings

EARLIER this year a close friend of mine bought me a pair of white pheasant at an auction after I'd expressed an interest in breeding unusual birds. Since I was limited on housing I put them in with my rare breed Scots Dumpys and hoped for the best. 

 No great friendships were formed, in fact my chooks seemed singularly unimpressed by the young arrivals and made clear, in the hen house pecking order, these two were way down the ladder of importance and privilege.

 Just recently, despite the occasional sighting of a young dog fox at night, I've taken to let the birds roam freely during the day as long as I'm around to supervise and ahead of dusk they usually return to the hen pen. I really thought the pheasant would do a runner as soon as the gates opened but they too return before dusk. 

 I'm not sure if the pheasant have become institutionalised or are aware that atleast the hen pen gives them cover ... after all when you are as white as the driven snow it's very difficult to blend in with the countryside, unless there are blizzard conditions! 

 Although the pheasant shooting season is well underway, I'm told white birds, which are extremely rare, are usually not targetted as on some shoots there's a £250 penalty for hitting one though I think the price and rules vary depending on the shoot.

 I've so far not named the pair - so any suggestions would be most welcome, but here's pictures I took of them today. The cock pheasant has a red mask forming across his face and, although a tad mucky, he is developing a striking set of tail feathers whereas the hen (above right) is rather dowdy by comparison.

SILO SNIPPET

 I've just taken charge of nine Norfolk Bronze turkey poults from Northumberland marking the start of an enterprise dedicated to good, quality stock which can grace any table and satisfy the most discerning taste buds. Watch this space.

GETTING IN A JAM

..Or how to go scrumping

 When I was knee high to a grasshopper I used to lark around with a group of kids who would get up to all sorts of mischief ... nothing major league in terms of crime but clambering over walls to retrieve fallen apples from trees heavy with the fruit.

TEMPTING: Wild apples picked by moonlight & spread on

toast by dawn

 Since none of us were really tall enough to pull them off the trees we would gather those that had fallen on to the ground. Occasionally the more acrobatic amongst us would clamber on someone's shoulders to try and pluck a nice looking apple but more often than not they would topple over and fall.
 Afterwards we would gorge ourselves on the forbidden fruit knowing that stomach pains would soon follow, so bitter tasting were the crab apples.
 Hardly the stuff of the Lavendar Hill mob but trying to take some of Mrs Brown's apples was our way of adding some exciting to the day. Kids now rely on something called an X Box for their kicks but I can't see how that gets the adrenalin going by sitting at home transfixed to a screen.
 The funny thing is, Mrs Brown was such a nice, sweet old lady that had we knocked on her door she probably would've invited us all in but where would have been the fun in that?

APPLE & GINGER jam treat

 I was reminded of this episode of misspent youth just the other day when me and my neighbour - I shall call him George for that is his name - went off to pick some apples from a nearby tree. We must have looked a highly suspicious pair clambering around a hedge, wading through mud and hidden dips into a field just as dusk was falling and the pair of us giggled away as we wondered if anyone would spot us.

 George is in his 80s and I am old enough to know better but there we were scrambling around the ground picking up apples and pulling down the low branches to relieve them of their burden of fruit. Before you dial 999 George is already known to the farmer and has permission to help himself; nevertheless our little escapade intoxicated us with merriment as we recalled our days as naughty nippers.

JAM TODAY: And tomorrow and for

the rest of 2014 as well

 However, having filled some bags with the fruit we then headed back to home base and set about making Wild Apple and Ginger Jam using an old Irish recipe by kitchen goddess Darina Allen. Mrs Allen has revived kitchen skills long forgotten by the microwave and cook-in-a-bag generation. Reading her book on these old methods so inspired me and that's how George and I came to go out foraging for apples at dusk instead of waiting for the morning. It was a seize the moment plan and there was no time to wait. It was also the first time I'd ever made jam and it has subsequently triggered a craze! By the end of the week alongside the apple jam was raspberry jam, plus jars of apple and plum jam followed by  an orange, lemon & grapefruit marmalade, a strawberry conserve and some lemon curd.

SHELVES STOCKED with Darina's

homemade jams 

 I only stopped because I'd ran out of jars but a new batch arrived today and so now I'm in peeling, pulping and boiling mode all over again. I've virtually exhausted Darina Allen's supply of recipes  in her book Forgotten Skills of Cooking so if you have any old family recipes you want to hand down I now have an embarrassment of riches in terms of apples plus I bought some additional fruit from the local shops including loads of oranges, persimmon, and tangerines.

THREE TYPES OF MARMALADE: Orange

grapefruit & lemon

 In fact I'll do a deal - share your most precious family recipe with me and if I make it I will send you a jar through the post, special delivery. Now there's an offer you can't refuse. Additionally, if you have any jam stories from your childhood days or special dos and don'ts you want to share please send them to the Soho 2 Silo blog. I look forward to hearing from you - and if the recipe turns out to be special please also give me permission to publish the details in this forum.

CHARLOTTE'S FIRST EGG

.. A small triumph

AS YOU ALL know, my Scots Dumpys hens are very precious to me, not just because they are an endangered species,  but because they are also great little characters which is why I write at length about their milestones large and small.

CHARLOTTE: Relaxing with her brothers and sisters recently

 One of my youngest is called Charlotte and she is a beautiful black hen with an amazing bottle green undertone shining through her ebony feathers. Her tragic mother Josephine is still missing, almost certainly the victim of a fox strike, but I'm happy to say her legacy lives on through the six eggs she hatched earlier this year.
 Charlotte emerged from one of the hen houses this morning looking mildly surprised and a little coy; the reason I noticed her is because all of the others had left the hen coop some minutes earlier for their morning stroll. There's usually a feathered stampede for the gate when it opens so I was surprised she had lagged behind.

SMALL but perfectly formed

 But when I went and checked her hen house there was a shiny, newly laid egg ... still beautifully warm. Furthermore it's the first egg I've had from the girls in the last three weeks as some are moulting while others are unhappy at the chilly weather conditions. And it is, without doubt, Charlotte's first.


 OK, so it might not quite fit into the egg cup pictured right, but the start of every journey begins with one step. Well done Charlotte, may this be the first of many and here's hoping you will go on to become a wonderful mother just like Josephine. If she was here today she would be so proud, I'm sure.

THREE OF A KIND

..Or playing hide and seek

VICTORIA & ALBERT: Trying to keep a low profile

  THERE'S lots of comings and goings on my smallholding, such is the nature of the farming business and the tally at the moment is still heavily weighted in my favour despite the best efforts of the local fox and badger population.

  However he-who-should-be-obeyed-but-rarely-is has been trying to stamp his authority by banning the purchase of anything with a pulse until 2014 arrives and normally I would agree but this wonderful opportunity came my way just the other day to buy some peafowl.
 I'd already bought two Indian peafowl - Victoria and Albert - and sneaked them in to the hen pen hoping he wouldn't notice; and we got away with it for a few weeks after he gave up trying to collect eggs from my beloved Scots Dumpys who seem confused by the concept of laying an egg.
 Even when Albert made a dreadful echoing honking sound and some death curdling screams, hubby just thought our cockerel Napoleon was over-reaching himself in the cock-a-doodle-do stakes.
 Then he nearly blew a gasket when he spotted Albert parading around showing off his magnificent array of feathers and there's no mistaking a peacock so I had to 'fess up to the purchase. I was going to feign shock and declare: "How did that get there?" and instead I opted for: "Oh those old things, they've been there for ages. Didn't I mention them before?" And as I attempted to blag my way through a breeding programme I was developing for the birds next year hubby walked away shaking his head in dismay ... the man can smell cabbage boiling in Manchester so he wasn't going to hang around an listen to anymore BS.

IT'LL BE ALL WHITE ... playing a game of hide and seek

 Thankfully he's not one to hold a grudge and since we're embroiled in the middle of renovations, builders and bricks he has had more important things to think about.
 However, as I was saying, an opportunity presented itself the other week when I had the chance to buy three white peacocks and so I snuck out on an errand returning at night with the birds.
 They've been living in the stable with the other peafowl and the turkeys because it's warm, out of the way of rotten weather and prying eyes! They will also take around six weeks to settle before I can let them out.
Now in the meantime I have several dilemmas ... the first is what to say to hubby if he does happen upon this stunning trio, secondly how do I ensure they don't cross breed with the other peafowl and finally what names should I give to them? There are two peahens and one peacock so any suggestions would be most welcome.

CELEBRITY CHICKENS

.. And the usual tantrums from the turkeys

 AFTER A great deal of thought I produced a line up of Scots Dumpys who will feature in a new TV series based in 17th century Britain ... their star quality was picked up by a company which specialises in sourcing and locating creatures for big TV and film productions and, as an endangered species, there's not many Scots Dumpys around these days.

Here is the final line up of chickens who will make their acting debut headed by Horatio who, as you can see, has all his tail feathers and looks quite the part. Poor old Napoleon, the alpha male in the hen pen is in the middle of moulting and would look more suited to a Hammer House of Horror movie than some bodice-ripping costume drama.
 I carried out the auditions on the front lawn and the hens really seemed to enjoy themselves as they out pecked and out performed each other for the parts of 17th century poultry. I just hope there's no nerves tomorrow when it really will be lights, camera, action!

 Afterwards I should be able to tell you more about the TV series, who is making it, what it's called and who is starring in it. I'm really excited since I've never worked on a movie set before. Naturally a full report will follow in a few days time.

However not everyone in the farm is pleased as you can see above - poor Ant and Dec turned up for the audition looking absolutely magnificent but the truth is Bourbon Red turkeys didn't emerge until the 19th century and even then only in America in Kentucky, Pennslyvania. I wonder if I could get them a part in Downton Abbey?

MY DUMPYS HAVE GOT THE X-FACTOR

..But their feathers are falling out

THERE is much excitement in the hen pen these days as stardom beckons my wonderful Scots Dumpys, a rare breed of hen which were once a common sight in Bonny Scotland.
 My efforts at saving this endangered species were finally rewarded in an unexpected phone call last week when an agent asked me if I was the dumpy woman in the Borders.
 At first I thought he was being a little personal, one of those cold callers trying to sell weight loss products, and then I suspected hubby had got one of his friends to phone and indulge in some leg-pulling.
 Thankfully the polite man carried on seemingly oblivious to my rather chilled and abrupt responses. It transpired he runs an agency booking animals to feature in films and on TV so I took his number and returned the call a while later.

COCK SURE: Horatio finally out of 

the shadows

 It emerged there's some huge bodice-ripping 17th century drama in production that will be bigger than Game of Thrones and the director needs my heroic little hens to play a role.
 I can't say too much about it at the moment, or mention the big name stars who will be there, but next week I will set off north (beyond Edinburgh) with 10 of my best hens so they can make their acting debut.
 Sadly alpha male Napoleon, who you can see and hear by clicking on to the 30 second video (below)  may have to be sidelined for this series (yes, this could roll on) since he's started moulting and last week lost his magnificent tail feathers.
 And a few other veterans have also started to shed their feathers so there are some unsightly bald patches. However the loss of feathers means an unexpected bonus for some of the birds ... step forward Horatio who has always played second fiddle to Napoleon and remained in his shadow as a result. Now his moment has come but I'm not sure he's ready to step up to the plate. When he gets stressed his lovely red comb turns purple and the younger hens don't appear to take any notice of him.

  I have 25 Scots Dumpys now so I should have some fine examples from which to choose. Auditions will commence at the weekend and I will select ten of the best on poise, feather quality and temperament. The best bred Dumpy has short legs and a long, boat-like body forcing it to almost waddle as it makes its way through long grass.
 I have to say I am well impressed by the film researchers who insisted that the only hens to take part in the farmyard seens should be Scots Dumpys. I really didn't realise that so much time and effort was spent in getting such minor details historically correct.

Dumpys were much loved and valued by the Celts and the Picts for their remarkable hearing and, should any tresspassers wander by, they would be the first to alert the camp. Would be invaders and English Border raiders cursed them because of their ability to raise the alarm on hearing an alien sound.

 In this blog: http://soho2silo.blogspot.co.uk/2013/03/scots-dumpys-unsung-heroes-of-nation.html I call on Scotland's First Minister to make the Dumpy the nation's new mascot.

 Unfortunately, in this age of cloning, accelerated breeding etc. Scots Dumpys have literally died out as high volume egg production became more favoured by farmers than amiable characteristics.
 They are still an endangered species but there is a Scots Dumpy Club http://www.scotsdumpyclub.org.uk/ made up of a few folk like myself who are determined the keep the breed going. Of course once mine hit the big screen I think there could well be a revival of interest in the breed.

STARLETS: Celebrity chickens or mere bystanders? Waiting 

patiently for the auditions

 Hubby is often complaining that the cost of their feed is much higher than their output but even he is well impressed that they're going to earn some dosh. I won't go into details but it's above the minimum wage - that's showbiz!
 Stay tuned for a full report - and possibly pictures - of our day on set. If all goes well my girls will be required for three more
shoots in the next four weeks.
 And no longer will I be known as the woman who fell off a donkey in Afghanistan - from now on I'll be known as the Dumpy woman!

UGLY BUGS

..But their mother loves 'em

 NOW I know in this world of celebrity there is often a drive to objectify people and I am one of the biggest critics of this display of shallowness among folk.

UGLY DUO: But one day they will become 

beautiful white fantails ... let's hope!

 However I have to say I was taken aback today when I looked inside the dovecot to check out the two new arrivals which in my previous blog show up as a couple of little fluffy, yellow cutsies against their mum's beautiful white plummage.
Imagine my shock when I saw these two boggle-eyed chaps photographed on the right, staring back at me this morning. Furthermore, there's nothing cuddly or fluffy about them - they feel like spikey little hedgehogs to touch.
 In fact I thought the mother had abandoned them as she didn't seem to bother going near the dovecot all morning, but apparently this is what week old doves look like.
 I will keep you up to date on their progress but I would appreciate feedback from anyone who has experience of doves. This morning the flock of seven took off, I'm not sure where, and didn't reappear for nearly an hour.
 Is this normal behaviour?

CUTE CHICK

..Or Baby Dove

AS PROMISED, here is the first picture of proud mum and one chick ... I think the second is hidden behind this cute little fluffy yellow baby dove
at the bottom left of the shot.

CLICK & CHICK: If you look closely this curious little

dove is sticking his beak out from underneath his mum

He or she is far too young to sex, and in truth judging from the other fantails in the dovecot I haven't a clue how to tell the difference anyway.
However, we can all be sure that the white fantail in the picture is female and she looks a lot less frazzled than she did last week.
 In fact if you look closely I'm sure there's almost a hint of a smile around her visage or am I just imagining it?
 I'm told the chicks will remain safely tucked away for the next two weeks and will be fed from a dilute solution produced from the parents' crop called Pigeon Milk.
 Apparently the father will share the duties of rearing the fledgling pair although I've not seen any evidence of this so far; and I'm not sure who is the daddy, either!
 In about 10 days time the chicks will develop porcupine-style quills and by about four weeks they should be old enough to feed on their own.
 Then, apparently, the frisky parents will be ready to start the whole process all over again! Oo-er, I've a feeling that if the rest of my doves begin to pair off there could be a population explosion of white doves in the Borders.

SILO SNIPPET

NEW ARRIVALS always cheer me up and this pair are no exception. They're fluffy, yellow and look cute as far as I can see but their mum is not letting me anywhere near her newly hatched doves at the moment. As soon as I can sneak a picture I will so we can all share in her pride and joy.

HACKED OFF BY CHAINSAW

.. It's just not cutting edge

 THE other day a certificate and skills identity card came through the post reminding me I am now proficient in the art of chainsaw maintenance and cross-cutting following a two-day course in the Borders.
 Receiving an award should fill one with pride but in truth, I'd forgotten all about my course; it was an unpleasant experience which I'd pushed to the back of my memory for several reasons and I doubt if I'll exhibit this newly acquired skill on my CV nor pick up a chainsaw again.

EMINEM sporting a chainsaw like mine ... the similarity

ends there

They are, without doubt (in my humble opinion) the most badly designed piece of kit I've ever come across and personally I believe that they should not be sold to anyone over the counter who has never worked with one before just in the same way as you'd never sell a gun to anyone without a proper licence.

 My first day was spent dismantling my brand new chainsaw made by some Scandanavian company and popularised by the US rap star Eminem, pictured left.

The last time I was taught to dismantle and reassemble anything as lethal was a machine gun, but that's another story for another time.

We were then taught by our instructor how to sharpen the said saw using a large file and some square nut device. Each tooth of the saw had to be sharpened individually and since my blade was particularly long try to imagine giving a dental flossing to a crocodile. As a left hander I always find these sort of tasks difficult since manufacturers rarely think about us southpaws. I told my instructor I had a self-sharpening electric breadknife at home and couldn't understand why some bright chap had not invented a self sharpening chainsaw. His facial expression was a picture.

 Then I learned that the fuel that goes in to a chainsaw is a concoction of two liquids. Why? Wouldn't it make more sense to sell the final solution in one bottle or make a fuel that didn't have to be combined with another? Just asking..

PROOF: Chainsaw certificate

 In addition, although hubby had bought me a top-of-the-range chainsaw, there was no starter button on the damn thing either and although I wanted to pull the starter cord in a standing position, I was told the ONLY way was to put the machine on the ground and, knees kept straight while holding steady with right hand to pull the throttle/cord/whatever/thingy with the left.

 This is fine if you have the spine of Soviet gymnast Olga Korbut and the biceps of Charles Atlas, but I have neither and all my natural instincts told me to either kneel down or put the damn thing on a waist height table and pull the bloody string.

 "You can't," said my instructor. I asked why not and he replied: "Because you can't." Again I asked for a reason and was told: "Because you can't, there's only one way; there's only ever been one way." I did want to continue my line of questioning but felt to do so would have created an even more unpleasant atmosphere and further alienated me from my fellow students (all blokes from farming backgrounds) who seemed to have well bonded with their own chainsaws.

SUITED & BOOTED: Safety clothes like these are essential

 The next day before we were actually set loose with our kit we had to wear protective clothing which was inspected and cleared by the course instructor. The cost of such clothes plus hard hat will set you back a couple of hundred quid and we were left in no doubt that if any of ours did not meet the required safety standard we would not be allowed near a chainsaw.

 Once we set about sawing stuff I could see why. These saws are absolutely lethal and one twist or turn the wrong way could cause serious injury or worse. I don't mind admitting here that I was terrified by the blade, the noise and losing a limb - and that was before I got near any wood.

 Cross cutting is back-breaking work and I now look at lumber jack types and forestry workers with much more respect.

 A friend from Texas was greatly amused by the fact I'd enrolled on this two-day course; Texas is synonymous with the 1974 slasher film about a murderous maniac armed with a chainsaw. Neither he or anyone else in Texas goes on a safety course, apparently.

 Which brings me back to my concerns that any nutter can go in to a shop and buy a chainsaw without proper training, the correct clothing and hard hat.

 In the meantime hubby says he is still waiting for a return on his investment and keeps pointing to a fallen tree which he wants me to reduce to small logs for the fire. So far I've resisted and suggested he call Slim Shady!

NEW ARRIVALS

..Cause a flutter with more new arrivals!

DES RES: Home sweet home

for the new doves

 DESPITE a pair of Peregrines taking out three of my four Indian fantails, I decided to buy some more birds since the falcons should be heading off for sunnier climes as part of their annual migration.
 And the recent arrival half a dozen more beautiful white doves really cheered up the lone fantail who will hopefully pass on his rapidly acquired 'avoid and detection' skills to the newbies making them falcon-aware before Spring is sprung.
 They're all still very young and more than happy to hang around the house although they don't seem to have taken to the dovecot lovingly painted and erected by hubby a few months back.

SITTING PRETTY: This dove has just

laid two eggs

 Instead, the newbies are attracted to a beautifully crafted dovecot recently bought as a gift by my mother.

The trouble is it is pretty much lying where she left it and now the backyard resembles a builder's emporium as we have proceeded with long-awaited house renovations.

 He-who-should-be-obeyed-but-rarely-is has been dragging his heels over installing the new dovecot and now one of the doves has made a nest and laid two eggs. 

This makes any installation difficult until they hatch ... that's his excuse anyway although it will not wash with my octogenarian mum, as he will soon find out. Watch this space for a future article on Algerian men and their English mother-in-laws!

KILLER QUAIL

..Or mystery drama as small bird turns psycho

 ONE of our quail has turned psycho and started attacking the remaining hen quail for no apparent reason. I've now had to seperate the two as I fear he will really kill her next time they're put together.
 And while I know very little about the habits of quail, this is more than just rough and tumble in the straw or some sort of elaborate mating ceremony. He really wants to kill his partner and she has a terrible head wound to prove it as you can see on the picture immediately below left. That dark patch is her head wound!

BATTERED quail: In recovery

and clearly unhappy

BRUISER: Male quail 

silent and violent

 They've lived quite happily together for some months now but all hell broke loose just a few days ago and several attempts to reunite the pair has ended in disaster with more fighting.
 And they don't seem that happy apart either; she has stopped laying eggs and he just spends most of his time sulking in the corner of their cage. While they clearly can't live together they appear to be quite miserable on their own as well. The only new factor in their lives in recent days is I've changed the bedding from wood shavings to straw. Their diet is mixed corn and a fat ball to peck.
 He-who-should-be-obeyed-but-rarely-is has come up with the usual response when there's trouble with the livestock: "Why don't we just eat it?"
 If you know much about quail please contribute to this blog and share your knowledge because I'm at a complete loss as are my hen and turkey friends. I've checked several quail-related websites but other than warring, rival male birds I've been unable to find any reason why my little quail has turned into a killer.

COLONY ONE DOWN

.. Bees lose out to wasp invasion

 HIVE NUMBER ONE has always had a troubled history but the final chapter was sadly written today when I made what turned out to be my last inspection.
 Compared to the other hives, there was no sign of life when I approached it and my worst suspicions were confirmed when I looked inside ... the struggling colony was no more and all of the bees were dead.

HAPPY DAYS: The pioneers from Colony Number One in July

just after they arrived after being captured in a swarm in Ayr

 The only sign of activity came from a few wasps which have tormented the hive on a daily basis in recent weeks, plundering it for its honey.
 Regulars will remember that this hive produced my first ever colony which originated from a swarm of bees in Ayrshire. Then we had the dilemma of trying to find the queen and once we'd found her she did something bees never do, or aren't supposed to do, she led another swarm.
 Within weeks the thriving little colony was much reduced in size and despite a successful attempt to introduce a new queen the worker bees never fully recovered. If only we'd had a few more weeks of sunshine I think they might have overcome their difficulties.
 We closed the entrance down to such a narrow opening that only one bee at a time could gain access and this made it difficult for wasps to enter the hive and raid the honey supplies.

A BEE'S eye view of a wasp courtesy of 

http://www.microscopy-uk.org.uk/

The wasps though were unrelenting in their mission, and with the ability to sting many times, any worker bee which confronted them didn't last long.
 Having virtually sealed off the entrance to the hive I then put out a jam jar trap which caught a few wasps but not enough to stop the onslaught of raids from sunrise to sunset. At one point I spent more than two hours with a fly swat trying to repel the wasps but 20 dead ones later they were still coming in droves.
 Last week I even put in an extra frame a sealed brood from another hive in the hope this would give the colony a chance to expand more quickly and repel the black and yellow invaders.
 Today I intended to add a sugar-syrup-based feeder to supplement their food gathering, but it was too little too late. The hive was empty of honey and most of the colony lay lifeless across five frames, some buried inside the honeycomb as if to extract the last bit of food they could find.

JAMMY DODGERS: Despite 
narrowing the hive entrance
& planting jam jar trap, the wasp
still succeeded

 It was a terrible, pitiful sight and now I feel wracked with guilt wondering what more I could've done. I'm constantly told less is more in the beekeeping world so, having poked around the hive last week adding a natural-based Varroa mite treatment, I decided to wait a full week before adding the feeder.

 I've been told wasps can strip a hive bare very quickly but seven days ago Hive Number One seemed to be turning a corner at last.

 My mentor Alex assured me nothing could've been done and he was quite shocked by the rapid deterioration of the colony as well.

 I guess I am now going to have to make daily trips to the apiary and observe the comings and goings of the remaining four hives through the winter. All, apart from the Warre, have feeders inserted containing the sugar-based feed and I will do the Warre tomorrow.

THE PRICE OF FREEDOM

..Sly fox strikes again

 TWO of my favourite hens have disappeared - Josephine seen below in the video just five days after she hatched her chicks and Beryl, another black Scots Dumpy.
 Both of them were stunning specimens and now they are no more.
 I can only assume they were nabbed on consecutive days by a fox as there was a mature cub seen stalking around in the afternoon on the day Josephine went missing, according to a neighbour.
 In many ways I blame myself and once again I am
 in direct conflict with the need for security and
 the birds' need for freedom.
 The residents in the compound loved to go out for a morning stroll and rut around the place, with the stragglers usually making their way back by around 4pm which is well ahead of dusk when the creatures of the night, like foxes, usually emerge.
 While the hen pen is about the size of a netball court and there's plenty of room for everyone, I've now taken to keeping it locked up.
 I really have no idea how organic farmers operate without losing their stock, but I just can't see the sense in losing more of my feathered friends.
 Josephine, who I bought along with the cockerel Napoleon, from a place in Northampton in September 2012, had a special place in my heart. She was the first to go all broody a few months back and started sitting on a bunch of eggs successfully hatching six chicks.
 They made a wonderful sight as they foraged around during the early summer months and were a tight little group until a couple of weeks ago when she pushed them into venturing out without her close supervision. The Young Ones seem oblivious to the absence of their mother but Napoleon appears to have changed in temperament and seems less ebullient.

TOGETHER ... but not forever. 

Napoleon and Josephine

 The trouble with Josephine is that she was a bit of a loner and probably, after spending the last few months sitting, hatching and rearing chicks she was enjoying her own space. I keep hoping she will re-appear but deep down I know that is unlikely.

 And Beryl, who was extremely aggressive and not disimilar in temperament to Josephine,  disappeared 24 hours later.  I bought Beryl, along with her soul mate Ruby,  at a farm on the edge of Saddleworth Moors near Manchester. Both of them  were wonderful examples of their rare breed species but now Ruby is alone and I can tell she misses her best friend.

There is a sadness hanging over the hen pen at the moment which is largely caused by the fact the happy wanderers are now confined to quarters and are limited to what they can get up to within the pen.

 Egg production is down slightly which could be due to this change or possibly the weather as the days are much shorter and there's a chilly, autumnal feel about the place. if any of you have advice on how I can bring some cheer back please let me know.

 As for the young fox, well he's not been seen for a few days now but I shan't feel sad at all if any of the local gamekeepers catch him in their sights.

SILO SNIPPET

 Broody hen Madge rejected the turkey chick she hatched last week but he is now being cared for by an Algerian foster dad in East London. Meanwhile she has just hatched the first of her own eggs and seems content being mum to a tiny Scots Dumpy chick ... one down nine more eggs to go. It's going to be a long night methinks.

FEATHERS FLY OVER FALCONS

..Or a real conflict of interests

PEREGRINE: Searching for prey

WHEN I first moved to the Borders and heard a high-pitched screech overhead I became quite excited because I knew we had birds of prey nearby ... to my delight, a few months later, I caught sight of a pair of nesting Peregrine Falcons. I felt so privileged to share the same space with these magnificent, protected birds and congratulated myself on being so lucky as to be able to view them on an almost daily basis as they played the thermals and circled overhead showing their shallow but impressive wing beats. However, the harsh reality of living with one of Nature's most efficient killing machines is now coming back to haunt me. The Peregrine is a big and powerful falcon, and the pair that live nearby have viewed my beautiful white fantails as food!

FLYING SOLO: Feeling a tad

paranoid ... the last fantail

This picture on the left, taken shortly before sunset last week, is the last shot of my family of snow white fantails together. They had just gotten used to their dovecot and were enjoying short bursts of flight around the garden after spending the last few weeks under a protective net.

 They looked so eye-catching and dramatic and it never occurred to me that this amazing spectacle was also being followed closely as well ....by the Peregrines!

 Two mornings in succession a bird disappeared and I couldn't work out what had happened since there were no tel-tale feathers of a struggle nearby.

 I mentioned this to a veteran fantail breeder and he asked me about birds of prey ... as soon as I mentioned the Peregrines the penny dropped.

 Now I have a dilemma on my hands. The last remaining fantail has taken to the dovecot and ventures out other than to peck the corn I sprinkle by the entrance. He/she looks so solitary and alone and I fear depression is setting in because they are flock birds by nature. So do I risk bringing in more birds only for the Peregrines to view them as a regular source of food or is there anyway to get fantails and/or white doves that are more savvy about overhead predators?
 Someone suggested I get an eagle to scare off the falcons!
 Any sensible tips would be most welcome.

SILO SNIPPET

 MY WONDERFUL broody hen Madge has just hatched a turkey egg which was originally abandoned by his mum who got fed up with sitting around waiting for her chicks to arrive. Not sure what long term psychological damage this is going to have on the young 'un when he realises he's not a hen but he looks very happy and content at the moment and Madge looks as proud as any new mum.

LADY-IN-WAITING

..Or, yet another Queen Bee!

 I'VE MET some queens in my time ... from when I worked as a royal correspondent following the saga of the Windsor clan for the Sunday Express to watching in awe as Freddie Mercury performed with the last word in rock bands at Newcastle's St James' Park ... and then there are the friends I've made with some of the more flamboyant folk who've strutted their stuff in the most fabulous way when I lived in Soho.
 However mention 'queen' now and all I can think of is the elusive madame who controls the beehive, the mood of the brood, the flow of the honey and the smooth running of any apiary. Without a queen the future of any bee colony is in jeopardy.
 As regulars of Soho 2 Silo know my relationship with the five queens who run my hives has been anything but simple.

RED QUEEN: The regal bee with a red dot clearly marked, top right

 The first colony I owned came from a swarm in Ayr but after a brief meeting with their Queen she was off swarming again. Unheard of behaviour and certainly not text book, but at least she had the good grace to leave behind enough eggs for the remaining worker bees to create fresh queen cells. A new queen should have emerged and mated by now and I did see pollen going in to the hive which is a sure sign she exists and, more importantly, has started to lay eggs.
 However I've resisted any temptation to sneak a peek after being advised to give it another seven days before I go poking around the frames trying to find and mark her.
 The colony in my Warre hive is controlled by a magnificent queen I've seen only once - pictured above right with a red dot on her back. The colour of the dot signifies she is a 2013 queen whereas the swarm queen from Ayr had a yellow dot on her back indicating her reign began the previous year.
 I've not seen queens in the second and third National hives but evidence of eggs and larvae tells me all is well. However the fourth hive has caused great concern in recent days because the queen located and marked by my mentor has disappeared without trace.
 It is possible while inspecting the frames we've somehow managed to lose her or even squash her. Occasionally there are casualties when inspecting any hive, no matter how careful you try and be but to lose a queen is bordering on recklessness. However, it does happen and whatever the story in this hive the queen has not laid eggs for several days - eggs, looking no larger than the size of a comma, are laid and remain in that state for three days before changing into larvae.
 If this had been the start of the season we might have just let Nature take its course and the worker bees would have quickly transformed the eggs cells into queen cups and raised a queen. But the whole procedure from start to finish, including the mating and commencement of egg laying could mean a month which would take us into the latter part of September just in time for winter shut down.

ROYAL BOX: waiting to be inserted into the hive,  the new
queen and her courtiers

 So we took the decision to intervene and buy a mated queen - again, because of the extraordinary challenges encountered in the bee world, there has been a run on mated queens and every phone call I made to suppliers drew negative responses until I got through to The Beeman of Corsock.
 Hubby and I jumped in the car and headed off on an 80 mile journey past Gretna, Dumfries and beyond and two hours later we arrived at a tiny hamlet near Castle Douglas where I met Mike, The Beeman. Ref: http://www.britishqueenbees.co.uk/british-mix-mated-queen-bee-98-p.asp He handed me a small yellow plastic cage about the size of a box of matches and said: "She's in there with her attendants. Put her on a brood frame for about two days in the box. Once she's been introduced to the colony she will start laying eggs like a machine gun."

LADY-IN-WAITING: The new queen secure
in her yellow box, top left, between frames

Deal done for £35 we set back off to our apiary but not before receiving a few more wise tips and pearls of wisdom from The Beeman who produces upto 3,000 mated queens a year for some of the UK's beekeepers.
 Our new queen is Scottish and among her qualities is a low tendency to swarm, possible hardiness against the dreaded varroa mite as well as an inbuilt hardiness for the harsh weather conditions often thrown up on this side of the border during the winter months.
 Another 80 miles later, we arrived back at our apiary just ahead of dusk and, after donning our protective clothing, inserted our precious cargo in between the brood frames. The plan is to leave 'Her Maj' hanging there for the next couple of days before snapping off a plastic tab at one end of the box. The entrance into her chamber is sealed with candy and the worker bees will eat their way in as she and her courtiers eat their way out.
 By the time they meet in the middle they should all share the same odour and the workers will greet their new queen as one of their own instead of an intruder. And, if Mike is right, she should then set about laying eggs in the brood box with the rapidity of an AK-47.
 If the wonderful weather continues for the next few weeks that means the occupants of National No. 4 should be in a good position to face whatever challenges the Scottish winter throws at them thanks to their sturdy new queen.
 After removing the plastic tab I will not be going anywhere near the hive for at least a week so that the colony can get on with its business undisturbed. Mike reckons any prodding or poking about (the professionals call it manipulation) by beekeepers could unsettle the colony which in turn could start plotting to overthrow the new queen and I really can't be doing with another coup or regime change at this stage!

SIGN OF THE TIMES

.. Or a warning to happy wanderers

  WHEN I lived in Soho I used to occasionally hear about unhappy punters who would walk in to hostess bars and several hours later be stung by enormous drinks bills and extras. However now it seems I'm in danger of being stung in my own backyard in the Borders ... not from slick operators but by my lovely honeybees.
 Just the other day I was stung twice in the face - once while I was wearing my protective headcover. Somehow I managed to get a bee stuck between the folds of protective mesh underneath my chin and as I leant over to inspect the inside of a hive the little critter got me. Tragically she will have killed herself in the process.
A bee sting is barbed so once it goes in it will not come out and as the bee pulls away she is forced to leave part of her abdomen behind and that segment continues to pump poison from the sting into your system.

OUCH: A new meaning to bee sting
lips after being stung many time

 Removing the sting should be done quickly with a side flick otherwise if you go in and attempt to pull it out you will almost certainly squeeze any remaining venom into your body. I could do neither unless I removed my protective head covering which would have been crazy since hundreds of bees were buzzing overhead. After wincing I just moved and and carried on with the business in hand.

 The second sting of the day came about an hour later as I was walking past the apiary where my mentor was still working. Wearing my civvy clothes I quickened the pace as some bees circled overhead but before I could start sprinting down the drive a kamikaze bee got me on my jaw line.

 People react in various ways to bee stings and, until then, I managed to wince and carry on but this time my face really flared and began to swell. Not as badly as the chap in this picture (right) but believe me, that's what I imagined my face to look like. By late evening the following day - with friends from London visiting - I was starting to look a bit like a female version of John Merrick, the famed elephant man.

TUNING SERVICE: Colin starts

healing with his special forks

 Knowing my dislike for the pharmaceutical industry, one of my friends Colin who is in to all types of alternative medicines, produced a pair of tuning forks and set about doing 'stuff' to my face. I have to say it didn't hurt, was not unpleasant and I'm not sure if it did any good but it certainly did me no harm.

STUNG: Vera (right) steers Bluebell

around the apiary out of danger

 Apparently our bodies are 80-90pc water and sound therapy ala tuning forks can do something or other; I wasn't really paying attention to the science of it but that night I slept well and the swelling had reduced considerably the next day. It was more effective anyway than hubby's solution which was to slap toothpaste on my face followed by a pack of frozen peas!
 The next day Vera, one of the female geese, must have crossed the flight path of our bees and suffered for it - as a domesticated Toulouse she can't fly but she very nearly became airborne under attack.
 But these recent dramas got me to thinking I needed to put up some warning signs to protect members of the public from experiencing the same pain and misery after a close encounter with my beloved honeybees.

IGNORE AT YOUR PERIL: New sign warning of apiary 

 Since ramblers in Scotland have the right to wander willy nilly a "trespassers keep out" sign wouldn't work - in fact it could have the opposite effect with the locals who have a history spanning centuries of reacting in a hostile manner to bossy english folk.
 So I went on to the internet to try and find an appropriate sign which could withstand the harsh weather conditions Nature chucks out in the Borders - I'd never seen horizontal rain 'til I moved north of Newcastle. I also needed something which would not offend ramblers, bimblers, walkers and the plain curious. In the end I stumbled across Safety Signs & Notices in Derby http://www.safetysignsandnotices.co.uk/  and spoke to a nice bloke called Simon. I explained my dilemma and he and his team of designers came up with the sign above. Now I have one at either end of the apiary approach warning those determined to take up the 'right to ramble' of possible dangers ahead. The team at Safety Signs & Notices have now added the design to their catalogue for other beekeepers who may share my concerns and if you ask them nicely, I'm sure you can incorporate your own design and words.