Ryedale | Archive | 2003 | August | 06
From the Gazette & Herald, first published Wednesday 6th Aug 2003.
VERY cheerful, albeit mucky, faces in the yard. One brilliant day's combining under their belt and the prospect of a week of hot, dry weather has meant that John and Geoff are both examples of that extremely rare commodity, a happy farmer.
At this precise moment they are servicing the combine ready for an afternoon and evening's work in one of the wheat fields. The corn is coming in very dry, and with all the dust in the engine and innards of the combine, the whole gubbins needs to be blown clean of dust with the air compressor to avoid any possibilities of a combine fire. John is desperately hoping that they can get away with not drying any of the wheat, and the other job on hand at the moment, is the wheat going through the dryer to cool it down before storage.
Gradually, the farmyard and house are returning to normal after the wedding. The piles of washing from all the visitors and over night guests have been dried and folded, but not yet put away. The ducks and hens have reinstated themselves in the farmyard, leaving behind the unsightly plops and poos that Jo-Jo was determined would not be present on her wedding day, or dress. "If I catch so much as a sight of one of those hens in the yard," she said, "they'll be instant chick lit, and I don't mean reading matter to take on honeymoon either."
We have heard once from the newly-weds in the Maldives. Deep-sea snorkelling, petals on four posters and Adam and Eve massages made up most of the conversation. "I'm so brown, Mum, you wouldn't believe it." They sounded very happy. We had upgraded their flights for their wedding present as otherwise the company could not guarantee that they would be sitting together on the flight. At 14 hours, that was too long to be apart for Jo and Matthew. However, they had decided to take the boat trip to their island holiday destination. After two hours in the boat, and Jo being sick watching Matthew being sick, they have booked a sea plane flight back to the airport. Can't say I blame them.
Back in sunny England, our dogs are enjoying the start of their holidays with teatime trips down the fields. As soon as they catch a glimpse of the basket of teatime drinks and sandwiches, they go mad with excitement and all four are prancing round the back of the Land Rover waiting to jump in for the ride. I have to be careful letting them out when we are in the field, as in their joy they might dash under the knives of the combine whilst it is still working its way towards us. Last night, I took them down to the pond to cool down with a swim. Meg (the labrador) and Holly (the spaniel) both ignored the water and dashed into a clump of grasses at the water's edge. Seconds later they emerged with a baby water hen clutched between them, a wing in each of their mouths. "Dead. Dead," I shouted. Unfortunately, by then it was, and the pair of murderers proudly dropped an extinct bird at my feet. "Don't the pair of you realise you're breaking the law hunting?" I asked them. Funnily enough they didn't answer me, just wagged their tails.
Our friend's year-old labrador puppy is proving to be even more adept at thinning out the local bird life than Meg and Holly. Bertie, the dog in question, prances along the hedgerows like a well-bred dressage horse. He literally takes the birds out of the air as they fly out of the hedge. My friend's wife keeps hiding all the pheasants that he brings back home, as her husband, who has bred most of them, would be reconsidering the dog's life expectancy if he knew. Two birds in a bush may well be worth more than a dog out of hand.
Updated: 11:44 Wednesday, August 06, 2003
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