Ambitious Child

There comes a time when a parent feels a little redundant; my time came recently when Amy decided she wanted to dry her own hair, a job I have always done. But when she came into my room with her newly styled hair, looking far better than I have ever managed, I decided that I would let her do it in future. Her ambition is to be a hairdresser when she grows up, I'd say she was well on the way. I sometimes let her cut doll's hair, to style it how she likes after she's washed it in the bathroom sink. I think it's good that she already has a goal in life and I will support her as much as I can. She is a determined child. There's no reason, just because she has autism, that she won't be able to achieve all she's ever wanted. Of course it will take a lot of hard work and dedication, not least from my part, but who am I to stand in her way? She deserves a good life, just like the rest of us, and all I can do is make sure she has one.

Amy has many fads, her recent one being about the height of buildings. I've spent hours scouring the Internet for information about the Eiffel Tower and Big Ben, just so I can come up with a fairly intelligent answer when she asks me "did Big Ben evolve, or did someone build it?" I looked at her this morning and wondered if she'd grown another inch; she had wellies on compared to my slippers, but still, she seems to be evolving before my very eyes on a grand scale. And after I had come back down to earth, realising that my baby was no longer, I caught sight of her giving a large piece of ham and lettuce sandwich to a waiting Sparky. She put her hand to her mouth and pretended to chew, as though she had a mouthful of food and was unable to speak. Her craftiness made me smile and I made the comment "I wasn't born yesterday you know." When she had finished chewing the invisible sandwich in her mouth, she took a drink to "wash it down". "I know you weren't born yesterday, Mum," she replied, with a very serious face. "You were born in 1969".

There has always been an issue of how society accepts a mind different from their own. I would imagine, being in the hairdressing business, one has to have a certain degree of patience and a large level of understanding to someone's needs. Amy's patience levels, at her current age of 9, are very low. She gets frustrated at the drop of a hat. I would hate her to turn into a female version of Sweeney Todd. But who knows what she will be like in another twelve years time. I was hoping she might want to be a farmer, but then again, she wasn't born yesterday either...!

Canny Collies & Photos

Having four dogs on the farm is such a pleasure. I sat on the kitchen floor the other day with Molly by my legs, Bonnie and Meg on my legs and Sparky snuggling up to me under my arm. A camera would have been good at that moment but of course there was no one about. Molly is slowly getting used to the puppies now, she doesn't mind so much when they go in for a kiss, or try to suckle from her rather flat chest. It's quite comical to see, and hilarious to watch Sparky run away in the hope that she won't be accosted next. Molly gives off the odd growl and puppy moves away but on the whole, it looks like all four dogs are getting on very well indeed. We are obviously still having the odd accident, usually wiped up by me, but as we have got them into the routine of going straight outside after a meal, they are beginning to learn that once dish is emptied, so should bowels. And it generally works. I jump up and down on the lawn, praising each pup as they crouch amongst the grass, while they look at me as though I'm a woman possessed.

I can honestly say it hasn't calmed Sparky down at all. She's still mad. But I see her in a different light now; she's a mummy, like me. She might be a four-legged-furry-mummy, but she's still brought new life into the world and nurtured it beautifully, and for that she deserves our respect. I haven't worked out yet which puppy is the quieter one. Meg seems a little more like Sparky in the way she runs the other way when we shout her name, whereas Bonnie always comes running towards us, excited at the prospect of having a cuddle, or perhaps something to eat. She's definitely the greedier of the two. We've had to tell her a few times about pinching Meg's food only to dash back to her own dish when Meg moves away.

I haven't worn clean clothes for weeks. I put something fresh on and within minutes it's full of dirty paws and puppy drool. Of course I don't mind in the least. Here's a few photos taken recently:-

A Selfish Mind

Things have been very doom and gloom at Jigsaw Farm recently. Saying goodbye to four puppies started the tears, raising emotions leaving a strange emptiness about the place. Then money worries hit home, a realisation that we have to cut back considerably, not only on the farm but in our pockets too. I haven't been able to pick myself up for the last eight days and now I'm just angry. A part of me feels angry with myself for letting all this get to me, the person who is constantly piping on about having all the riches in the world. I only need to look at my family to know how well off I am. But at the end of the day, I am only human and this low phase I am experiencing is just a part of life. That doesn't make me feel any better however. These last few days I have been sick to the stomach, worrying myself silly about the lack of funds now coming into the house. It's a dire situation, one I can only hope will get sorted out.

I moved to this farm in August 2001. I knew it wasn't going to be a bed of roses, especially after I moved in and realised how difficult it was living with my late father-in-law. But I put up with him for six years before he passed away, leaving no will and a heap of shit for the Farmer and I to clear up. His stupidity has left us in difficulty; he never thought about his son working his butt off to keep this farm afloat or that him not making a will would jeopardise the family business, the one his own grandfather started in 1919. I lived with him because he lived here first, and even though his son married me he never once thought we needed any privacy in our own home. After having to part with a very large sum of money recently, in order to pay off the Farmer's brother, it has naturally dredged up some very unpleasant memories from those six years of living with the most selfish man I have ever known. Two and a half years in the ground, and he has still managed to reduce me to tears. The message in this post: if you haven't done so already, go and make a will. It doesn't cost a lot and will save your family so much when you've gone.

Inspiring Actors

I was reading a post a few days ago about someone writing their book and linking the characters to well known actors. I totally related to the post as I do this too. Having not even found a publisher yet I am a little premature as to fantasising that my book will one day be screened using the actors I have in mind to play the lead characters. Some of you will know about my obsession with David Tennant (Doctor Who), one that is wearing thin, whilst some of you may know I am besotted with Martin Shaw (Judge John Deed, The Professionals). Therefore, I have decided to put Mr Shaw playing opposite the lead, whilst Mr Tennant will play the role of Angus, a rather arrogant yet quietly sensitive Jack-the-Lad. Obviously, these two actors will be far too busy to read my book "when" it is published, but a girl has to have a muse.

During the summer holidays it is impossible for me to concentrate on any serious writing as I have Amy at home. Now that she's getting older she doesn't need me to sit with her constantly, but she does still need me of course, and as she talks constantly from the minute she wakes up until the minute she goes to sleep, concentration is hard for me to find. I had good intentions of staying awake after she had gone to sleep, perhaps writing for a couple of hours. But my brain is usually mash potato by then. So for four weeks now, I haven't written anything in my book and I'm starting to get frustrated. I have ideas swimming to the surface, a character with a mixed up mind, spirit activity bursting through the walls and forty thousand words desperately needing to be typed. My aim is to finish the book by Christmas. If I can reach that goal I will start editing in January. But in the meantime, I need to have some potential recipients to send the manuscript. I don't know how many I will send it to; I don't know who they will be, but I am hoping my work will somehow find its way to a shelf, preferably in a book shop.

A Walk with Granddad

I needed to get out of the house, just for a short time; a stroll to blow away the cobwebs which had been spun throughout the week. Stress levels had risen, farming worries failing to subside. The ever growing bills continued to prey on my mind. When I am alone I tend to think more, but then, I was entertaining my beautiful daughter, yet I had never felt more alone with even her loving smile and cheerful banter. She walked on ahead, catching up to the dogs as they pottered amongst the tall grasses, their determination to catch the sound which frustrated their ears. I heard the silence; tranquility amidst the countryside. I spoke to him, my father. I asked him to help us in these difficult times of disappointing harvest and mounting expense. My new found, and perhaps childish enjoyment of finding four-leaf clovers tempted me to the first field; a cluster which bares its soul to my superstition. As I felt the tears piercing the backs of my eyes, I put my head down to shield myself from sadness. Through blurred vision I caught sight of the one which stood out, the one planted in my minds eye, by a gentle soul. I was no longer alone.

I think my eyes lit up as a smile appeared upon my ashen face. I felt a sudden positivity lifting me from my saddened state. Amy had reached the gate, a milestone to mark the turning point. She hugged me, perhaps feeling my change of heart, glad to see my eyes shining once more. I told her about when she was a baby, when Granddad lifted her from the bath in his loving arms, when he said about her cheeky face and incredible smile, when he predicted how close I would be to my baby. His love for her was strong enough to reach the stars from the sky, to wrap them in gold paper before offering her the world. She giggled, wanting to hear more; and I looked down once again to find the second four-leaf clover staring at me from below.

I pulled it from the ground, thanking him for his presence, thrilled at the knowledge of him witnessing the child as she kept her Granddad's memory alive. We reached the house, the dogs trailing at the thought of their walk being over. Amy played on the garden. I opened the back door, eager to put the four-leaf clovers in water. As I reached for a glass, the excited child dashed towards me. "I was thinking about Granddad and how much you must miss him, mum," she hurried, "and I found this.." Another four-leaf clover, falling limply from her hands.

Funny thing, Love

A quick kiss on the first date was all I allowed. I could tell he wanted more but there was no way. I wanted romance, and attentiveness, not a quick wham-bam-thank-you-mam. So I led him on; gave him a taste of what he could have if he played his cards right. I realised, on our fourth date, that I couldn't resist him. His boyish good looks and his gentle approach were too much for a girl to turn away; so I stood still, raised my tail, and let the pleasure begin. It didn't last long I have to say, the pleasure that is. I thought the deed would have been over in no time but what felt like a life time later he walked away, leaving me to shake myself and make my way to the nearest basket. I watched as he jumped into the car, not a care in the world, his job well done. I doubt he thought about me after that. Nine weeks later, I realised what the fuss had been about. Six miniature me's made their way into my basket, all black and white which wasn't too bad as their father was such a handsome devil. I licked them clean, watched as they grunted and shuffled their way along my belly. I felt a strange sense of attachment to them, as though I was meant to nurture them, allowing them to snuggle beneath my fur. Each and every one beautiful; eyes closed tight, clumsy paws fumbling on unfamiliar ground. Mummy, Daddy and Amy kept coming in, a little frightened to touch, Amy talking unusually quiet. It was all quite bizarre, but I felt important.

As my babies grew, so did their teeth. Getting nipped was no joke; quite painful in fact. Nell was always the leader, Molly so quiet as she observed from the pillow. Snap lived up to his name whilst Ali remained cute, the smallest of my brood with the darkest coat. Bonnie and Meg joined in the play, learning their names quickly, getting to know their new home on the farm. Big Molly stayed away, aware of the little beauties which were slowly taking over her territory. When the babies got a little older, Mummy and Daddy fed them on dog food, twice a day, keeping me out of the way much to my disgust. I really wouldn't have pinched their food, they just needed to trust me. Mind you, it did smell nice.

I guess I realised they were ready for their new homes even though my eyes failed to focus on theirs. I kept thinking about the uncomfortable razors around my teats, hoping my thoughts would prevent my tears. But I needed to say goodbye. I had no choice. They had new homes to go to, new families who would care for them as I had done. I have Bonnie and Meg with me now, my little family at the farm. I do hope the others will do well. I know I shall see them again some day. These past eight weeks haven't calmed me down but they have made me realise one thing: I can't buy love, but I sure can make it.

Emotion at Jigsaw Farm

It was a particularly sad day on the farm yesterday when we said goodbye to Ali*, Snap*, Molly and Nell. Eight and a half weeks is a long time in a puppy's life, even though it seems to have gone all too quickly for us. Sparky gave birth on Saturday, 20th June, to six beautiful, healthy puppies, all of which we instantly fell in love with. Trying hard not to become attached to the four we sold, it felt almost impossible not to love them equally. In fact, it was impossible. I don't want to be sad because I know they have gone to excellent homes where they will be loved and cared for as if they were staying here. I have often looked at them, snuggling up to their fluffy little bodies, hoping they understand how much they are adored. Both males have gone to local farms, families with children who will dote on their new addition as we have. Nell has also gone to a farm, again local, where she too will be a working dog, while Molly has gone to a good friend of mine where she will get endless exercise and totally spoilt rotten. I'm so pleased for them all. The best thing is I will be able to see Nell and Molly whenever I want. And as Ali and Snap are with people well known to the Farmer, I'm sure there will be an opportunity for me to see them too. Of course, Bonnie and Meg will live here. And you can follow their progress via the blog. In the meantime, here are some photographs taken recently of each one.

ALI

NELL

MOLLY

SNAP

BONNIE

MEG

* Ali & Snap are names chosen by Amy and will most probably be changed by their new owners.

Ranting Recession

Something farmers talk about often is the financial state of their farm business. Over the years, farming has been an up and down concern, profit being something that only appears in the heads of those who have time to think about it. Unfortunately, we've been stung, as per. I've been thinking about this post and wondering if I can write it without any expletives but on the whole, I'm well and truly pissed off. The disgraceful price of fertilizer which we have had to pay in order to grow barley, has prevented us from making any profit at all. The reason for this is simple. If we don't use fertilizer, we get less yield from the crop and less chance of the barley being used for malting. Let me give you an example: a ton of standard, good quality barley is worth around £80; a ton of malting barley is worth around £150+. We have molly-coddled our sodding barley so much that we were convinced it would pass for malt. Out of five 20 acre fields, only one field has passed. Which means our healthy profit after fertilizer expenses is now non-existent. That's the arable side. Shit. Absolutely, completely and utterly shit. And somewhat worrying in the bargain.

Then we have the sheep. The price for lamb has been better and the price of wool is so bad we might as well do the shearing ourselves with a knife and fork. Another example for you: It costs approx. £240 for two shearers, plus approx. £50 for an assistant. The wool which we sold this year fetched a measly £160 give or take. There's a saying in the north, and probably known elsewhere too: "Where's there's muck, there's money". What a load of crap. Believe you me, there ain't money. I wonder when we will stop eating meat, stop using milk, stop wearing jumpers, stop frying food, stop drinking whisky, stop eating cereals. And I wonder when farmers will stop being penalized for working every hour sent. That's it. Rant over. Now I'm off to the cutlery drawer...

Center Paradise

I have been fortunate enough to enjoy many wonderful holidays but my recent five days at Center Parcs was truly sensational. Only two hours from home, 123 miles door to door. We arrived mid Monday afternoon to a wonderfully organised arrivals point where each car was recognised as it passed through electronic glass doors. From then on, we were treated like we were the only two people who mattered, ever. Armed with map and directions to our accommodation, we set off along the one-way single-track road which leads around the Parc, tree-lined, cottages hidden amongst the forest and people carefully roaming on their hired bikes. As everywhere is so well sign posted, I found the Lakeside Apartments without any problems which is an achievement for me. We parked the car, unloaded our kitchen sink, then took the car to the huge car park. Cars are only allowed to drive around the Parc on Monday's and Friday's which are arrivals and departure days, of course with the odd exception of disabled access. We had hired a bike each but I decided it wasn't to be when I realised how street-wise some of the other kids appeared to Amy's lack of road sense. But shanks pony was perfect, we walked our socks off and got more exercise in those few days than I have probably had in a full year.

What can I say about the pool? Subtropical Paradise certainly lived up to its name, it is beautiful. Huge sections of clean and clear waters, some for non-swimmers, a lot dedicated to those whose ancestors were fish. Fortunately for us, both Amy and I are good swimmers and were able to take full advantage of the fantastic waves, rapids and the slides, A-Mazing! Horse Riding; excellent instructors walking with us, Amy got the best pony she could have wished for called Digby. Tree Trekking; walking the tightrope at around 40 feet up, from tree to tree under caring and patient supervision. Roller Blading; great activity, but not really for us as Amy was a little frightened of falling and I couldn't even stand up! Owl demonstrations; totally awesome, where the best guide told us everything we needed to know about these magnificent creatures. Falconry Club; Amy held a beautiful owl and a buzzard on her gloved arm, before we watched other birds of prey devour a full chick. The restaurants are child friendly consisting of American, Italian, French, Indian and English cuisine, all excellent taste and good value for money. The Parc itself is a little gem in a tranquil setting; red squirrels everywhere, badgers and deer to spot at the right time of day. Our apartment was clean, spacious, well equipped and in a perfect location close to central amenities.

In summary, I really can't fault it. Not that I would want to but I genuinely couldn't find anything to complain about. The staff were well mannered and friendly, patient and understanding to Amy's needs, always willing to go a step further. We met parents who were there with their autistic children, all agreeing that this place is very "autism friendly" too. I've decided to book again for next year and even request the same apartment. When we had to pack up on Friday morning I felt a little emotional at leaving the place behind, as did Amy as she said goodbye to just about every item in the apartment. We spent a fortune of course, it has to be said that it isn't the cheapest of holidays, but it was worth every penny. And I genuinely mean that. Thanks to Bonnie and Kevin and all the lovely people who have made our holiday so special. See you next year!

Off the blogosphere 'till weekend. At Center Parcs in Cumbria, hopefully enjoying myself.

CJ xx

Inquisitive Minds

Amy is really interested in astronomy. I have always been fascinated by our planet, its history and the incredible vast array of eternity of which we simply use a mere fraction. We have books on the planets, earth's purpose, the incomprehensible amount of space between our world and the next, and many other interesting factors which have captured a young girls mind and filled it with fantasies and dreams. She is currently digesting some text I have recently recited about the surface of the sun being around 5,500 degrees centigrade, able to melt any object. "Could it melt Big Ben?" she asks. "And the Eiffel Tower?" I smile and nod as she interrupts with, "what about people, can it melt us too?"

We have been fortunate to experience clear skies these last few nights, able to see the beauty of the moon through strong lens binoculars, craters visible, our arms tempted to outstretch and reach it from the sky. How wonderful it would be to hover in space, watching our earth from afar, just a few steps from landing on the moon. I wonder if the occupants of the space stations look across at our planet and think, "will it still look like that in a hundred years? Will we be living on Mars, or spending holidays on Venus, soaking up the nearby sun?" I wonder if they can see the combines in the fields, people waving from the Statue of Liberty, the beauty of the Great Barrier Reef, the statue of Christ in Rio, the Great Wall of China. So many questions, for a rainy day.

Combine Puppies

The puppies have got wise. They stand at the kennel door and bark, or yap if you like. They come out to play a few times during the day and are being fed solids twice a day so I guess being cooped up in a smelly kennel is becoming too much to bear. Unfortunately, Sparky is getting sick of them. Expected and predicted but when she growls at them during milky-feeds they don't seem to take the hint. She's gentle with them so we doubt she'll ever hurt any of them but she does sound quite scary sometimes. They're really quite big now and are definitely almost ready to be re-homed. I'm taking Amy to Center Parcs next week, just Monday to Friday, and my sister is looking after the animals. Bad timing on my part, generous offering on my sister's. However, Nell and Molly go on Tuesday 18th and I'm hoping the two boys will also but we haven't heard yet.

Meg knows her name, there's no doubt. At nearly seven weeks I think this is quite impressive and we could have a super-dog on our hands. I'm hoping I won't come back to this post in a few months and eat those words. Bonnie seems a little more feisty than Meg and could be more like Sparky. Fingers crossed Meg will be like her father who is a champion sheep dog trial collie; One Man and his Dog - you never know, it could be One Woman and her Dog...... I feel a plan coming together.....

The combine has broken down twice since we started harvesting. Very annoying because not only does it halt the job when the weather is perfect, but it costs us money to get it fixed. We can't afford a new combine which are in the region of £100k, for a second hand one. New ones start at around £150k. Silly money. The Farmer has managed to cut two fields of barley (hopefully malt) and was about a quarter the way through the third field when kerplunk, and the engine came to a grinding halt. I know you wrote some wonderfully kind words on my previous post, but if you have any spare positive vibes could you perhaps send some my way.

CJ xx

Baling the Future

The weather has been kind, barley sways in a gentle breeze; ripe. John Deere once more makes his journey to a field of awaiting corn. The roar of an aging engine swiftly clears the barley waves, leaving rows of crisp, flattened straw; soon to be rolled into bales of profit. Bessie stands alone, flash of red trailer hanging tight, filling up with harvested barley; plays a major role in a bid to deliver and fill up a swept clean barn. Distant engines sound, farmers keep themselves entertained on the CB, always a joker, a little gossip amidst conversation between friends. The farmer's wife travels to and fro, flask and bait; no time to stop. Collies watch with hopeful eyes; will they be allowed in a cab so tall, next to a master they miss.

This struggling farm needs a perfect crop to compensate extortionate fertilizer prices of this year. Last year was slightly better than the year before; we are holding onto optimism. Profits get less, expenses rage; wages no longer exist. As I look towards the land, my eyes scanning every corner of life as we know it, I wonder what will become of us in future years. In this business, we cannot think about the next five years; the here and now is important if we are to harvest our future from a perfect crop.

Morning Call

I guess we've been lucky so far. The spell was broken over the weekend when Sparky woke me up at 3am on Saturday, barking and yapping. The Farmer naturally slept through the noise, he could fall asleep on a washing line, which meant I had the job of getting up to see what all the commotion was about. Cladding myself in dressing gown and slippers, I crept downstairs, trying to make as much noise as possible, grabbed a torch, kennel keys and Sparky's lead. I was too tired to be annoyed. The thought of getting back to my warm and cosy bed kept me going. As I approached the kennel, the noise was deafening. Six puppies wanted out, as did a very impatient Sparky. In my haste to get the lead on Sparky, our only deterrent to her charging off, one of the pups escaped, eager to fumble its way into the abyss of night. I had no choice but to let go of the lead in order to rescue the furry fugitive which gave Sparky enough time to disappear into the blackness of the garden. Even my calls through the silence did not wake the Farmer. Or maybe they did...

After returning the reluctant pup, I caught up with Sparky and walked her round the garden where she did indeed confirm her need to bark furiously at a ridiculous hour. Relieved, I took her back to the kennel, locked the door and walked back to the house. The problem was, Sparky didn't want to be in the kennel. She wanted to be in the house. So she continued to bark. And by then I was wide awake. Realising I wasn't going to get back to sleep in a hurry, I decided to go on Facebook, see who was lurking, if anybody, at a time when I should have been dreaming about David Tennant and my ride in the TARDIS. She stopped barking after twenty minutes or so but it was 4.30am when I finally started feeling tired again. And just as I was drifting off to the planet Gallifrey, the damn dog started again. This time I made sure the Farmer woke up.

Upon feeling refreshed after a couple of hours dozing, I began to feel rather sorry for Sparky, being cooped up with six hyper puppies all night, six rather big puppies, with teeth.