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.