One of the first picture books to come into the house – oh gosh – more than 45 years ago, delighted all three of my children, and the adults who read it with them. It’s still sought after, this early edition, but you’ll have to shell out about £25 to get a copy. The book was Farmer Fisher.
Farmer Fisher had a fine fat truck. You couldn't see the colour for the farmyard muck. In the front was a rabbit and a chicken and a duck - On the way to market.
Well. I won’t be showing you a rabbit. I haven’t got a shot of one. Or a chicken. Or a duck. Elke, for this week’s Monochrome Madness would like us to show farmyard animals, so I’m sticking to four legged examples.
Like cows …
… and sheep …
… and pigs …
… and a goat …
… and not forgetting donkeys. Not useful, but easy to love.
And here’s a little library of livestock to finish with.
This week’s Monochrome Madness, hosted by Elke of Pictures Imperfect, takes pets as its subject. We don’t have one of those, though we are required to provide daily chats and cuddles to Newt, the dog next door on one side, and catering services when her owner is away to MiMi, the cat next door on the other side.
So I’m taking you to Bamburgh in Northumbria, where we were walking recently on the best sort of afternoon at an English seaside, with bright sun, breeze and gentle warmth. It was an afternoon for beach strolls and games … and for taking the dog out to play.
I rather enjoyed re-visiting India via my blog the other week. So I went and dug out the diary I faithfully kept. The events it describes have never yet seen the light of day. For the first ten days I was with the group of people my ex-brother-in-law had put together, to explore aspects of rural Indian life, focussing on small producers working in traditional and organic ways. We had no internet access during that period.
I’ve decided to share my diary with you. This will take several Fridays. I’m pleased that I kept such a detailed record of a piece of personal history, and of a country I’d never visited. I wonder how dated this account would seem to the current traveller?
Kracadawna
Sunday 18th February
But at 5.00 a.m. there was a great hammering at the door anyway. I lay in bed for 20 minutes, then thought I’d get up for a walk.I wandered down to reception, and found the jungle lot still waiting. So I joined them.
Much bounding around in the jeep off-road, but we saw a young elephant delicately feeding from young leaves, two mongooses haring across the road, a herd of bison, warthogs, and so many spotted deer we became quite blasé.
The main point of the day was to visit Kracadawna organic farm. What a place! The couple, Julie (Indo-American) and Vivek met at university, and decided, against parental opposition, to realise their dream and to farm. They’ve built it up with their two sons and daughter (home educated), and now farm a rich variety of crops, from fruit and veg. to spices and cotton. They are virtually self-supporting: what they sell is not fresh produce, but manufactured in some way. Julie makes wonderful jams, chutneys and preserves. She’s researched traditional plant dyes. They produce their own cotton, hand-dye it and with a small team of local women, produce quality organic garments. Sadly, I couldn’t find anything I wanted – they have little left so late in the season.
They farm biodynamically, and after all their scepticism are thoroughly convinced of the results.
A completely stunning lunch – bright crisp salads, greenish hummus, a great red rice dish, lots of chutneys and veg. dishes and a milky red-tail millet pudding.
Then a hairy – and I mean hairy – drive into Mysore and the Green Hotel, and a room each. Quiet evening, and to bed …
My featured photo shows the family cat we saw that day. Unusual, eh?
I rather enjoyed re-visiting India via my blog the other week. So I went and dug out the diary I faithfully kept. The events it describes have never yet seen the light of day. For the first ten days I was with the group of people my ex-brother-in-law had put together, to explore aspects of rural Indian life, focussing on small producers working in traditional and organic ways. We had no internet access during that period.
I’ve decided to share my diary with you. This will take several Fridays. I’m pleased that I kept such a detailed record of a piece of personal history, and of a country I’d never visited. I wonder how dated this account would seem to the current traveller?
Moving on to Cicada Kabini
Saturday 17 th November.
Early to rise. I’m on the water tower, where I’ve been watching the sun rise from 5.45 a.m. I even heard the whistling thrush.
By the way, they eat so well here, and nobody is overweight.
From 6.30 a.m.: coffee and tea, and bananas and fruit to ‘put you on’ if you need it.
10.00 a.m.: cooked breakfast.
1.00 p.m.: ‘light lunch’ (cooked)
5.30 p.m.: tea – masses of fruit and a few snacks – biscuits and savouries like Bombay mix.
9.00 p.m.: dinner: big cooked meal.
Breakfast and lunch is served to 40 – 50 people, dinner to the core ‘family’ and whoever is staying. Unsurprisingly, there is a team of women cooking all day.
And then – what a morning! We left before breakfast of course, so we had that en route. Parathas, roti, all kinds of puffed breads served with various dishes of vegetables. Great stuff!
Then Prince, under instructions from Supi took us to a textile shop so I could choose several plain lunghis to be made up by a tailor in Mysore into salwar kameez. Ch and C joined in the fun.
Then the journey! Wow! Even 4 x 4s might find it a challenge in what passes for roads in the National Park. We could perhaps have walked more smoothly. But it was fun, even though we didn’t see all the wildlife we hoped for, Two wild peacocks, spotted deer, two elephants – not wild.
Elephant spotted on the way to Kabini
Checking into Cicada Kabini was a rude culture shock: a sort of Centre Parcs for the Indian middle classes. Staff all in Securicor type uniform, & individual chalets all around the stunningly beautiful River Kabini, which looks like a lake at this point, it is so wide. But eco it isn’t. Nescafe in all the rooms, jacuzzis and all the trimmings we had become unused to.
Outside our bungalow
The afternoon though brought with it a boat safari. We nearly all went, with a few other guests, and we set off in the noisiest motor boat ever, frightening off any wildlife for miles. But the bird life was stunning! From things we all knew about already, such as cormorants, to the gorgeous Brahminy kite (brilliant glossy chestnut apart from a pure white head, and five – FIVE – kingfishers, some of them Indian varieties.
Many of the birds roosted, hunted or nested in the skeletal dead trees in the water: lots of ‘Kodak moments’, as M would put it (on the whole, my camera wasn’t up to the job).
Not so many animals though. An elephant silhouette distantly glimpsed drinking on the shore, some wild boar, spotted deer, and positively no crocodiles, as virtually promised. Coming home, a truly wonderful sunset.
Then dinner (the food is very good here) and an early night all round. I decided, as did most of the others, not to do the Jeep safari early next morning, with a wake up call at 5.45….
We don’t have a pet, though we’ve had cats in our time. I admire their independence, their insistence on setting the terms of any relationship they choose to establish with you.
My daughters have cats though. They would agree with this piece of street art in Brick Lane.
Miquel passed the test with Emily, and forthwith got his own cat, the supercilious Lulu. Who does not get on with…
… Emily’s Archie.
Archie likes to hide in boxes … or carrier bags … or baskets …
At least they have a home. On our travels, we’ve met plenty of feral cats. We’ve learnt not to feel too sorry for them. Clearly they are loved and cared for by some people in the community. Cádiz has its feline shanty towns, constructed with human help, on the rocks by the sea. Dinner is served here every evening by willing waiting staff. Probably breakfast too, for all I know.
Thessaloniki has its bed and breakfast accommodation sorted.
And a siesta is easily come by.
Dogs though. Dogs just want to have fun. As I found out on the beach at Bamburgh last October…
… unless they’re waiting for their owner…
… or swimming in the river, as my friend Dilys is doing in the featured photo. Though she, like the beach dogs, is having a pretty good time.
From Pyrenees to Pennines 
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