Category: farming

Farmer Fisher’s Farmyard Friends

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.

For Leanne’s Monochrome Madness.

Monday Portrait: a Vosgienne

In my head, I’m still on holiday. In my head, I’m processing all the new sights and experiences of the last few weeks. Among those sights was the Vosgienne. A smallish cow, black and white with a pronounced white stripe along its backbone, it has short delicate horns. And you’ll find it – of course – in the Vosges mountains. Locals value its creamy milk in cheese production, particularly of bold-flavoured Munster cheese.

My header image is of one we saw on our trip to the Transhumance celebrations. I bet she was glad to get rid of that weighty cowbell. She’d have had one on her mountain pastures too, but it would have looked more like this one here:

Postcard from Alsace: Fête de la Transhumance

We know that over in the UK you are battling with Storm Amy, so I’ll keep quiet about the fact that though it is raining here, it’s the only expected poor-weather-episode in our holiday. So we’ve decided to have an afternoon off, allowing me to send lots of postcards from the Fête de la Transhumance in nearby Muhlbach which we visited this morning, ahead of the deluge we’re currently experiencing.

Transhumance is the practice of taking cattle to spend the summer grazing in the lush upland pasture, before bringing them back down to spend the winter in their home community, Both ends of the season are times of celebration, and here’s transhumance in Seix, from our days in the Pyrenees.

The first people we met after we’d arrived were a group of three people in kilts tuning up their bagpipes. We greeted them in French, then reverted to English, assuming they were Scottish. But no! They come from Strasbourg, speak not a word of English, but are Passionate about Bagpipes, and here they were, ready to play their cornemuses for everyone’s bemusement and delight.

The Alphorn was originally used to call cattle. These days it’s the province of musical folklore enthusiasts and there were several bands of them playing today.

Then it was off to visit the donkeys who would be part of the procession of cattle (Don’t ask. No idea why).

On our way up to view the procession we found the tractor that carried so many of the cowbells the animals wear when in their summer pasture, to keep tabs on them.

Then finally, we could hear all those cowbells clanging away, announcing that the cows were on their way. In truth the cows weren’t happy, and many of them skittered nervously about. I don’t know how much the leading cows enjoyed their fancy headdresses either: but they didn’t complain. By now it’ll be over, and they can forget all about it till next spring, when they’ll be off up the mountain again.

We didn’t stay for the highpoint of the event for many of the locals, the large communal meal, thankfully under canvas. But before we went, we looked round the market: local cheeses, sausage, sweetmeats – cowbells too.

And as we were leaving, something else extraordinary. A procession of people, each holding a large cowbell, which they knocked on each knee alternately as they walked forward, producing a rhythmical cow-bell-dirge. Ouch! Poor knees!

After yesterday’s experience at Colmar, which was Tourist Central, jammed with visitors (like us …) it was good to be at a local celebration: crowded to be sure, but almost exclusively with locals, many of them chatting away in Alsatian, which is widely spoken here, particularly among the older generation.

We feel as if we’ve properly arrived here now.

P.S. WP’s AI suggests the following tags: technology; art; cats.

A Serene Stroll

I have thought hard about how to respond to Egidio’s Lens-Artists Challenge: Serenity. This word always calls to mind an early evening I spent, content and alone, in l’Albufera lagoon, near Valencia. The utter peace and serenity it delivered has provided me with material for several posts, including this one.

So my serenity this time will be more humdrum, more local, but restorative too. It’s a local walk I take at any time of day. The other day it was an evening walk, not long before sunset. I had only sheep for company.

It’s a very domestic sort of walk, and under three miles long. Along a quiet lane; across sheep pasture; the grounds of a spacious country estate; fields of crops; and then, turning homewards along a different path, the River Ure; and finally a stretch of woodland .. and home. Varied enough to be quietly interesting as I enjoy the changing seasons, but with positively no drama.

Indian Friday: BASIL

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?

BASIL

Not a particularly early start, so time to try to book journeys onwards, exchange travellers’ cheques etc. Then the bus. The outskirts of Mysore soon became dusty towns, and in the countryside beyond, stalky straw-like crops were laid down in thick piles for us to drive over and thereby help in the winnowing process.

BASIL exists to promote biodynamic farming, investing heavily in teaching small farmers.  They were very convincing about their techniques of using cowhorn etc and certainly have fine results.  They showed us a film which went on far too long, and then, as we’ve come to expect, offered us a wonderful lunch.  Discussion afterwards, then a tour of the farm and the vanilla packaging works.  A whole shed full of vanilla pods, many being quality and size-graded by a band of women.

A lazy late afternoon, then an auto-rickshaw to Simon’s choice of restaurant, Park Lane Hotel, which I found noisy and not much fun.  Until sundry Indian families all took a shine to this strange group of English and tried to make friends, asking our names and pinching our cheeks.  M took photos of the event.  Oh, on the way there, Simon and C’s rickshaw got seriously lost, and had to be guided home via Simon’s mobile and the man at the gate.

Indian Friday: Kracadawna

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?


Indian Friday: The Wildlife Day

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?

The Wildlife Day

Friday 16th November

What a wildlife day so far! Rat snake at breakfast, pond heron in the trees in the rainforest, and a rufous-bellied eagle (rare).  Lots and lots of different frogs – not bright coloured but fun to see anyway.  L  and I had had fun shining our torches to see those on lily pads very late yesterday.  Immense spiders safely attached to their webs.

Look for the ratsnake slithering along the edge of the pond

Sandy took us on a rainforest walk this morning.  He began by the river, virtually a guided meditation, to help us tune in with the natural sounds, particularly by the water. It was wonderful throughout to hear the forest sounds – the water, the trees, the monkeys (macaques and …..) whom we couldn’t see. 

Crossing the river

Some strange plants – the strangler fig lands half-way up its host as a seed, and grows down and up, enveloping and feeding from the host trunk. Eventually the host dies, leaving a tracery of woven branches – which is the fig.  Several of us tried to climb up with Sandy’s help: I was one who failed.

Leeches hugely enjoyed our being there.  They seemed to feast on those who hated them most, while pretty much ignoring those like me, who didn’t care.  The poor bitten victims were pretty bloodied by the end.  Still, I copped for the biting ants instead.

I’m currently on the water tower  enjoying the hordes of dragonfly overhead.

Later.  But then I came down.  Supi had organised another walk.  Down to the water tanks (where we saw two water snakes) and the red rice fields.  They grow old varieties which are slow growing but more nutritious.

Then it was on to the village: no village green around a church (though there was a church) but houses, on the whole well strung out from each other, with crops and land between. During the late 1940s(?) the Keralan Government freed all landowners to sell their land cheaply and all citizens were entitled to 7.5 acres per person (or 15 acres per family).  At first everyone worked the land in a diverse way, growing varied crops for their own use, then selling the surplus.  Now there is more of a monoculture, with families taking whatever subsidy is on offer to plant the latest crop – till it all goes pear-shaped.  A few years back, tea was getting Rs 20+ on the open market: now it’s only Rs 3. And so on.  So we saw tea, coffee, rubber, bitter gourd, banana – various things – all grown as monocultures, and the consequence is that families, without the rich variety of crops, are less well-nourished. 90% literacy means people are fleeing the land too. Young people choose to work in, for example, call centres rather than continue in the family farm. 

Later, M and I offered to help cook.  We chopped onions, tomatoes, okra, and rolled out chapattis, but other than that didn’t feel too useful or learn massive amounts.  But it was fun. 

Later still, M, C and I were taken for a moonlight walk by Lorenzo: rather fast for C’s and my taste, but listening to all our frogs, and stargazing was fun.  Late bed and …. (to be continued in my next….)

Indian Friday: Bangalore to The Rainforest Retreat

I rather enjoyed re-visiting India via my blog last 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 may take a few Fridays. Bear with me. I suppose 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?

Bangalore to The Rainforest Retreat

Saturday 10th November 2007

Here I am, sitting outside our bungalow at The Rainforest Retreat.  It’s 6.40 p.m., pitch dark: and about half an hour ago, the chorus began. I just lay down outside and listened. All those forest sounds – I don’t know what they are, but it’s like some complex symphony.  Suddenly, one group of creatures will become silent, and others will chip in with their own song.  Many multiple groups of course, who suddenly go diminuendo, only to be succeeded by a group of quite different creatures, or an individual bird, or whatever …

It’s been quite a day.  For my part, I hiked all the way to Simon’s hotel, and it WAS a hike, where we shared breakfast.  His hotel was so not-me.  Lots of flamboyantly dressed flunkeys and a big help-yourself buffet, but no nice people making piles of idli, just for me.

Then into the mini-bus.  Bangalore seemed to go on for ages, and even when I had definitively stopped, roadside settlements and shops went on and on. Village shops are a mystery to me.  Even very small settlements have coffee shops, ‘bakery’ shops and a whole raft of others too.  The landscape became more rural though.  Palms; sugar cane;  more and more working bullocks, yoked often; goats; sheep; cows …

Lunch outside Mysore, rather early – a large vegetable thali and a glorious salt lassi.

After lunch, the climb began and the roads deteriorated, and Indian driving came into its own – overtake on a bend?  Why not? Honk and honk till the car in front gives way?  Certainly.  It won’t give way actually, so you will pass it on the other side instead. Oddly, we came to think of this as fairly safe.  For all their bluster, the drivers are careful.

Pepper plantations, coffee plantations, rice in the early stages of growth.  And still the villages came, some with very large markets which only prolonged hiking got us through.  Tropical rainforest scenery … and finally we arrived.

Here we are in the middle of the forest.  Our bungalows – I have one with C and M – are set amongst it all, as are their crops: small crops of beans etc. and others such as vanilla set among the forest trees.  I went for a wander by myself, listening to the exotic forest sounds.  Communal supper outside – all meals are taken in a shelter outside our bungalow.  And so to bed. By the way, I forgot,  Unpacking, I moved my rucksack, and a noisy clockwork toy sprang out.  Only it wasn’t. It was an angry and upset hawkmoth, and it chattered angrily all the time we were evicting it.

My next days’s account is of exploring the estate and surrounding neighbourhood, so I’ll let my photos do the talking.

Just two extracts from my diary for that day …

We enjoyed munching fresh cardamoms, the ‘cherry’ round the coffee beans (sweet and refreshing – civet cats like them too), clove leaves, as well as looking at pepper(spice kind) plants, vanilla, pineapple plants, and all the organic produce they’re responsible for.

Sights on our afternoon walk: a massive millipede; a land crab; an aeriel ant’s nest; a palm whose juice in the morning is given to young children. By noon it’s like beer, and by evening it’ll do your head in it’s so potent.

Here is a link to the Rainforest Retreat. It’s clearly under different ownership now, and much more developed than in the early days when we visited. Though from this year they no longer cater for short term visitors. But it retains its interest in sustainability, biodiversity and organic practices.