Country diary: Rescued hens are among the spring arrivals on the farm
Attention now turns to spring and new life. We hopefully start lambing on 12 April, but before then the sheep pens must be disinfected and set up in the shed as a sort of hospital ward for yows who have a difficult birth or find it hard to bond with their lamb. Most yows have a strong mothering instinct and immediately care for their newborns, but we need to have a backup plan for any who struggle.
As I wrote last month, we have been waiting for the other half of a sustainable farming incentive scheme agreement, and thankfully that came through. But the latest shock from the government is that it is closing the scheme. It was only luck that I submitted the latest application when I did (I was going to wait until after lambing, but changed my mind).
Several of our friends and neighbours hadn't submitted theirs and now are at a loss as to how they will fund environmental work on their farms. A new version of the scheme is supposed to be coming, but to close a funding scheme with no notice (there was supposed to be six weeks' notice) makes it very stressful for everyone trying to farm in a nature-friendly way.
We have just collected some hens that had been rehomed by the British Hen Welfare Trust. These are ex-commercial hens that will have a home for the rest of their lives on our farm, where they can be ridiculously free range and entertain us with their antics, dust-bathing in the farmyard and digging up the garden. They will also provide the three generations of our family that live on the farm with tasty eggs for breakfast.
Under the Changing Skies: The Best of the Guardian's Country Diary, 2018-2024 is published by Guardian Faber; order at guardianbookshop.com and get a 15% discount
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Hens looking for a 'bit of TLC' after spending lives in cages
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The Guardian
20-05-2025
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Country diary: A fly is never just a fly
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The Guardian
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A good year for apple blossom
The alarm call of a blackbird makes me look up in time to see a magpie hurtle into the branches of the apple tree in our garden, hotly pursued by two adult blackbirds in no mood to compromise. They shriek and display their displeasure until, after a minute or so, it gives up and flaps away over the hedge towards the fields. The blackbirds have many scores to settle with the much larger predator, most recently the attack on their nest where a magpie made off with at least one egg – which I found empty shortly afterwards on the path, eaten rather than hatched. In the collision with the tree, the magpie causes a flurry of falling blossom, a pale starburst of petals against the darker foliage, but most of the recently emerged flowers are still firmly rooted to the boughs. It is a good year for blossom – very welcome after last spring when Storm Kathleen ripped the flowers away before pollination had taken place, leaving us with our poorest apple crop for many years. I look with fresh eyes at the apple tree. Now grown to three times my height, it bears little resemblance to the bare-rooted stem I brought home about 30 years ago. I'd found it languishing in a high street store that has long since vanished, and bought it on a whim for a penny under two pounds. Planted to fill a gap at the edge of the garden, it largely had to fend for itself – except when an early storm knocked it out of kilter and I propped it to avoid collapse. It leans outwards to this day, but has grown into a fine, strong tree and is usually a good cropper. Bumblebees, mostly common carders yellow with pollen, fossick around the blossoms in the warmth of the sun, and hopefully this will translate into a good harvest for both eating and cider making. Later, in the twilight with a gentle breeze beginning to stir the leaves, the flowers shed a drizzle of petals – while the male blackbird, having recovered its composure, delivers an evening song from a high branch. Under the Changing Skies: The Best of the Guardian's Country Diary, 2018-2024 is published by Guardian Faber; order at and get a 15% discount
