The Archers at The Larches


A preview image life in rural UK.... real life, occasionally funnier...


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The smell of hay. A moment in time.

It was a long day yesterday but I wouldn't have swapped it for the world. With happy, healthy children and similar animals, I can't grumble. The weather has been astounding; blue skies, belting sunshine and the merest breeze just to remind one not to moan about the heat.

After the madness of the alpaca mating, [not sure I'll ever get the picture out of my head of one splendid lad mounting our fawn alpaca, huge sound effects, a thin appendage making its way to the correct spot, my girl's tail held high by the stud owner and my 9yo boy looking on with disbelief,] it was nice to return to the usual noises of the smallholding, a lost lamb calling for mum, the cockerels cock-a-doodle-dooing and our neighbour haymaking several fields away.

We three played cards in the garden, while the cats rolled in the grass and the hens enquired if we had any spare food. Later we sat with the alpaca, petting their dusty coats, we tested some almost-ripe plums and picked the sweet peas for the house. We missed dad; mad-busy in the office in a hot city.

At 8pm our haymaking neighbour brought bales of fresh hay, our winter feed for sheep and alpaca. This is the first time we've bought enough to get us through. I it feels good to be ready and is a much cheaper way to buy, though it feels odd to plan for winter on such a hot balmy day.

With hubby finally home, fed and changed, we all donned gloves and began stacking the hay in a stable, one on top of the other, raised on palates to ensure the bottom bales don't rot. The smell was so amazing, almost bread-like. It was so fresh, so alive, it's wondrous to think of this summer goodness being able to sustain our animals in the bleak months. My babies; the 11yo and the 9yo are so strong now, a small bale being no issue. They are growing up so fast and I must remember to capture more moments with them in this blog, to describe in such finite detail so that I'll be able to return to see them in later years.


Well, I'm off to check on the alpaca, particularly Connie who may, mysteriously, be about to drop a cria, if her rejection of the boys yesterday is anything to go by!

Love to hear from you if you get the chance to comment here. Lou x

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Did you know that there is just one of me? .....

I'm ashamed that I haven't blogged for almost a month. A-Shamed!

I've been busy. You've been busy. We've been busy.

In summary (precis; remember that term from school?) here is my abridged version of the month, the 'Reduced Shakespeare Company' version of events here at The Archers at The Larches.

Following the 'shaved the farmer incident' I have since taken my clip (6 fleeces) to the wool board for weighing and payment. It cost more to take it there than I'm getting in dues. Hmmmm.

The alpaca herd are now naked girls (should get me some additional readers!!!) thanks to the best shearer in the world (other shearers are available) Colin Otterly.

We have had a visit from some sexy boy alpacas! and look forward to more healthy cria in 12'ish months' time. However one of our girls totally rejected the male advances and could actually be pregnant already, NOW! It may have been in her tummy before she came to us. Yikes. There could be a babby on the way at any time....... we'll keep you posted.

Lou's Poo, Dried Alpaca Manure sales are going from strength to strength with several more select outlets signing to sell the product. Yay! website is now being supported by Richard Branson's Virgin Start-Up Team (soooo exciting) and Lou is being Branson'ed with 'Remarkable-ness' [Totally clear if you've read Seth Godin's Purple Cow]

The weather is good, the tomatoes are enormous, the sweet pea insane thanks to Lou's Poo, life is occasionally tricky but hey-ho, that's life.

So, what have YOU been up too?

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Shearing.... never again..

For several years now I have been convinced that I have the talent to make a marvelous sheep shearer. This belief is without basis and indeed without one jot of practical experience. Last year, our first year of shearing, my back decided to ruin my chances of learning, (too much extreme gardening with Lou's Poo Alpaca Poo!) and so I was forced to outsource the stripping of my girls to our kind neighbour.

This year I was fighting fit. I enlisted the help of our long-suffering neighbour again and he, in turn, brought his apprentice; his son. The paraphernalia they brought with them was amazing.

As I tried to construct a pathetic holding pen out of knackered hurdles in a tiny paddock outside the American barn, they suggested simply herding the sheep into one of the huge empty birthing stables. Hmmm, didn't think of that. Then they stood about a bit and looked at the metal joists high above our heads, before rooting about in their paraphernalia kit and hoisting a walloping chain up and over the bar. Next they attached a motor that weighed A LOT, followed by a pipe attached to the motor, and finally the shear.

Then they looked at me.

The hubby, deliberately dressed in his office clothes! the boy, the girl and her pal from school, all stood about looking at me. Oh poo.

I vaguely remember being asked if I was ready to go but clearly I looked so ashen that our neighbour suggested he do the first one, then I could go from then on. Right. Easy.

The first sheep, Cocoa, chosen for her monumental fleece, was naked in no time. There was no blood or histrionics. My turn.

I simply couldn't even remember where to start... was it the bum or the neck? Not. A. Clue.

Apparently it was the tummy followed by the nether regions and one lower side. Then the neck (which is terrifying) up the tummy and over the back as far the spine, plus a bit...... [are you lost yet?..... I was]

So, my victim was Pink. I raised her on the bottle in 2012 and helped her lamb her twins in 2014. Here I was clearly going to kill her.....

In truth, I didn't actually kill her, though I do confess to having nicked her several times. Having almost completed the job (though not well) I had to defer to farmer's son as I suddenly came over all Victorian and faint #pathetic and had to sit down. I was 75% there but couldn't yet claim to have sheared a whole sheep. I strongly suspected that I'd found an activity that I wasn't equipped for.The 11yo sprayed Pink's cuts with purple antiseptic while looking at me with regret. Pink was ushered from the barn, bleating and looking like mobile graffiti.

In my defence I was born in St John's Wood. The issue is trying to juggle a wriggly sheep, a life threatening weapon and a non compliant 48 year old body. So annoying.

The next sheep was thrust into my willing arms. I was determined to complete my quest. This time, bearing in mind that it was 24 degrees outside, I discarded my thick sweater. Now, added to the wriggly sheep, a life threatening weapon and a non compliant 48 year old body was the realization that my bosoms might fall out of my vest. Unfortunately half way through this shear my sheep companion decided to have a hissy fit and, in my desperate attempt to gently restrain it and my lady parts, I accidentally sheared the farmer.

I have now retired from shearing. Thank you for sharing this mortificado experience with me.

[Please note, my apologies for the orientation of the video - clearly video uploads are a mystery to me too.... If you can't see the video, click on the title of the blog post and you should see me butchering shearing a sheep but only if you tilt your head to the side and you're not on an Apple product.... and there isn't a full moon. #offtobedifIdidn'thavethealpacashearerarrivinginanhoursob!]

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