The time is near for Baggins Bottom to pack itself away. It has served me well, since 2005, across Blogger and WordPress. But things change, move on. And so have we.
I have two new blogs that will probably cover everything that Baggins Bottom used to. One of these is a joint venture with the poet, the alphabet adventurers, which is a project whereby we visit as many places of interest as we can, from A to Z, and starting in Yorkshire. This blog will also showcase some of the poet’s wonderful photography, and there’s a YouTube channel to match.
We’ve decided to include other travel, days out, walks, etc, on the alphabet adventurers’ blog, which reduces the amount of content that would otherwise appear on Tales from Baggins Bottom.
Please consider following the alphabet adventurers if you enjoy tales of our travels, please subscribe to the YouTube channel, and please like and follow our Facebook page. And please do consider changing your links and bookmarks.
Here are the links to our alphabet adventures so far:
We may still be on our Easter holiday at the moment, but we’ve not been idle. Please pop on over to see where the Alphabet Adventurers have been, and then have a look to see what I’ve been up to in my writing life.
We had heavy snow again on Monday, and the first lambs arrived. They’re gradually being moved into the nursery field next to our gate. There are still a lot more to come, though. The weather has been so bad, we’ve not had chance to take any pictures yet – the ground has been ankle-deep with mud.
On the farm, two of the chicks they rescued have turned out to be cockerels, so it’s quite noisy here now – all day, not just at the crack of dawn. All of the pea-chicks are growing well, too, and they’re not the quietest of birds either.
We’ve had a new office delivered too (you can see more of this over on Words Worth Writing), and now the office is the warmest room in the house and we never want to leave it!
Hope you had a good Easter. We’re both back to work on Monday.
The first time, we were snowed in for 5 days. The snow came on Tuesday, blocking us in from Wednesday until Sunday.
On the Friday, we did make it to the end of our (private) lane and we caught a bus into the nearest town to do some shopping, as the main roads were fairly clear.
We would have walked to the main road, but the farmer saw us and ran us up there in his van, which has snow tyres on. We caught a bus back but walked to the house from the road.
The poet started a new job in January and for the first 6 months his *company* car is a hire car. When the snow came the first time, he had a Ford Galaxy, a people carrier – or the *bus*, as he called it. And it was terrible in the snow.
On the Sunday, after being stranded since the previous Wednesday, he dug the bus out and then made his way carefully down our drive to leave the bus on the farm.
He thought he’d have more chance of getting out the next day.
He did get out the next day, but coming home again he got stuck. Fortunately, the farmer, his friend and the farmer’s son were on hand to help give him a push.
Mid-week the week before last, we had another very isolated snow dump. At around 4am or 5am, we had around 3 inches (7½cm) in just one hour.
He was able to make it out and off the farm, as he was parked at the bottom again. But getting to work was a struggle. As soon as he got to the motorway, though, the snow was gone.
Later that week, on the Friday, the poet picked up his new hire company car … and this time it’s a Jaguar 4×4. Top of the range. (He won’t be allowed to keep this one for very long!)
It took him a week or so to get used to where everything was. But by last weekend, he’d sussed it.
On Saturday, we had another snow dump. Another very deep one. This time we were in fact able to get out because he has this very posh, top of the range 4-wheel drive.
We didn’t go far, though, as more snow was forecast … and after we got back, more snow did indeed come.
Yesterday morning, the poet decided to take a few pictures to show how there are worse places to be stranded.
We live very close to the River Don. It’s only a short stroll across one of the farmer’s fields.
The river actually comes much closer to us, but we’d have to cut through the farm to get to it.
The main farm field is like a pond at the moment. It means the farmer hasn’t been able to let his cows out yet this year.
There’s a drain in there somewhere, and they usually leave a slab over the top of it so they can find it and open it to let more water out.
It’s just not doing the job at the moment and, in fact, most of the farm is muddy or full of puddles.
Yesterday morning, I didn’t let the chickens out of their coop because they’re a bit stupid and don’t realise it could give them hypothermia. (They stand out in the rain too until they’re absolutely drenched.)
The snow was so bad, though, that it had drifted inside the coop. I opened the chicken house but put food in the coop, then closed the gate to keep the peacocks, the guinea fowl and the ducks out.
I did give them some food too, but if they get inside the coop, they bully the chickens out and then the chickens have to go and find somewhere else to shelter.
We’ve not taken the dog out either while it’s been snowy. He has lots of fun in the garden already, but to take him on a several-mile walk when he’s already quite close to the ground is, in our opinion, a little cruel. And he would have disappeared in some of our snowdrifts.
So long as we have food and milk and plenty of pet and chicken food, we don’t mind the snow at all.
Yes, the poet has to get to work, but if he doesn’t have any appointments or if the meetings can be postponed, it really isn’t an issue.
When we were snowed in for 5 days, he even had a Skype meeting with several of his colleagues.
We weren’t able to go out and do our letter “C” for the Alphabet Adventurers at the weekend, but perhaps we can do it this coming weekend. We’re in Birmingham on Sunday, though, so it will have to be Saturday.
The Beast from the East is supposed to be back in time for Easter, when we’re planning on having a week’s “stay-cation”. We hope to do some more work for the Alphabet Adventurers while we’re off, but if he still has the Jag, we’ll probably be okay.
We’ve been a bit busy here in Baggins Bottom since the year began, and we’ve decided to start a new adventure on a new Facebook page with a new Twitter account and a new page.
This new page will eventually turn into a website with blogs (weblogs), vlogs (video logs), photographs, pictures, suggestions for great days out and walks, and possibly sponsored pages and adverts. It’s something we can do together, and it consolidates the poet’s photography and my writing with our love of walking, the great outdoors, our country, local history, sightseeing, and so on.
The eagle-eyed will have already noticed a new link at the top (or in the menu at the bottom if you’re reading this on a mobile phone), but it really is in the beginning stages at the moment. We need to get three weeks’-worth of posts in the bag to ensure continuity, and to make sure we have the stamina and staying power. We don’t want it spluttering to a standstill.
Tales from Baggins Bottom will still be here, and Words Worth Writing will still be there. The poet’s photography/art website will still be there too. And this blog post will appear over on Words Worth Writing as well. But this is a new joint (ad)venture that we hope will run into several years. We also hope some of you will come along with us for the ride.
Watch this space for updates and more information!
Yes, it’s been a while. Far too long. Well, we haven’t disappeared off the face of the earth since November, but we have been very busy. Hopefully, things are once again settled down.
It’s not just the blog that’s been neglected either. We just haven’t been out. Not even for a day trip.
Well, last weekend we put our foots (feet!) down and decided to have a couple of days off … hmm, and still I ended up working for half of Saturday and half of Sunday. Sacrilege! I didn’t give up the rat race to work at the weekend!
On Sunday morning we woke to snow. The poet knew I had work to do, so he ummed and ahhed about maybe mucking out the chickens. We had to go out for milk, and we wanted to go before the snow got very bad.
And so I suggested we grab his camera and his new video camera and take some pictures of the snow while it was here. The video camera was a Christmas present and he’d not really had much chance to give it a try.
We went to Langsett Reservoir, a favourite haunt and one that looks lovely in the snow. We didn’t walk all the way around it. We didn’t really have the time, we had to go and get the milk, and I had to get back and do a little work at least. So we parked in the barn car park and walked across the dam head.
The poet took some scenic video images, then he set up the tripod at the opposite end of the dam. There were road works in the middle of the dam, so the road was closed to traffic.
Rufus thought it was bostin (boss-tin – Brummie for “a bit good, like”) as he was allowed off his lead. He had lots of fun galloping up and down.
We had a few funny attempts at a team photo. The poet had left his remote control behind and the timer was somehow set to 2 seconds. He worked it out in the end, though, but we had so many goes at it I think you can see in our faces which number shot this one was!
It was as cold as it looks, and so we didn’t stay for very long. Just long enough to get some reasonable footage and a couple of shots.
Back home, the poet edited the video film, and he made quite a good job of it too. It looks just like the old cine film people used to take in the 1970s, but a bit more modern.
I’ve left it such a long time to write up our camping holiday to North Devon, that it wouldn’t be realistic now to break it down day by day. Therefore, here’s an overview and some pictures to whet your appetite.
This was the poet’s first visit to North Devon, so the first day was spent giving him a bit of a tour. We drove along all of the coast, down as far as Woolacombe. It was very windy. Gales were recorded at over 60mph in our neck of the woods, but they were much, much stronger in the north of England at the same time.
The first night was dreadful with those winds. It’s quite ironic that we weren’t able to put the windbreak up and by the time the wind dropped later in the week, the end of the tent that the windbreak usually went around was so damaged, it was held together with guy ropes. So the windbreak stayed in the roofbox on the car.
We lost the only pole that goes with our tent. It snapped in a couple of places and had to be repaired with gaffer tape. Fortunately, we had a spare pole back home so we could leave this one in the bin when we left. We also lost at least one guy-tab, so that will need repairing before we take the tent out again.
We stopped off at Ilfracombe to get something to eat, a few supplies and to take the first photographs. Back in the day, when I used to go to North Devon with my parent, we’d spend almost every evening in Ilfracombe, where my brother used to fish from the pier.
The next photo-stop was Woolacombe, which was where my family pitched their caravan for six years on the trot. We visited Little Roadway Farm, where we used to take the caravan, and we went down to the beach, where it was still incredibly windy.
When we were kids, this beach at Woolacombe was always, always packed. It’s a massive stretch of sand that goes a very long way out to the sea when the tide is out. There were several Land Rovers that patrolled the beach throughout the day collecting lost children. Lost children used to gravitate towards my dad too, for some reason. If it were today, he’d probably be arrested!
From the beach at Woolacombe you can see Lundy Island – sometimes. Rain used to follow my dad everywhere he went. It still does. And when we were in North Devon we had a saying: if you could see Lundy, it was going to rain; if you couldn’t see Lundy, it already was raining. It was no different on our visit this time. But we could see Lundy on the two days we were in the right place. Our problem wasn’t the rain, though. It was the wind.
The next day I took the poet to Watersmeet. This is where the West and East Lyn rivers meet, and I knew he would love the picturesque beauty spot where salmon and dippers can be seen on the babbling waters. It did rain today and there was such a massive queue to get into the tea rooms there that we abandoned the idea and carried on with our journey.
One of my most favourite places on Earth is Exmoor. I love the wild-ness of it. I love the heather in the summer. I love to be able to see the sea one way and miles and miles of moorland the other way. Even when it’s foggy or raining I’m happy to park up on Exmoor and just gaze. Naturally this meant a drive around Exmoor, and I hope the two pictures I’ve shared demonstrate at least two of the aspects I love about the place.
After Exmoor, we dropped down into Putsborough late one day. Because the beach at Woolacombe used to get so busy, Putsborough was where we headed as a family “in the old days”. There are rocks there, and lots of places that can act as markers for children finding their way back to their families from the sea.
One half of the beach at Putsborough was virtually empty with absolutely no dogs on there. So we took Rufus down there and took him off his lead. He had a whale of a time … it was only when we were climbing back up to the car park that we saw the sign:
← DOG-FREE BEACH THIS WAY
DOG-FRIENDLY BEACH THIS WAY →
Yup, you guessed it, we were on the dog-free beach. Oops. Ah well, at least he had a good time, and he behaved himself very, very well.
Back up on Exmoor, we had to pay a visit to Lorna Doone country in the Doone Valley. Lorna Doone was, of course, a figment of RD Blackmore’s imagination. This doesn’t stop a small church in the middle of the moors claiming to be the one where “the shooting” took place. When we were little, there was a patch of “blood” on the floor of the church where the victim was alleged to have bled out. By the time I took the poet, this little stain was actually rust from a leaky radiator!
We camped at the Camping and Caravan Club camp site above Lynton & Lynmouth, a small town right next to the Valley of the Rocks. Here there were such spectacular sunsets that we had to have a few goes at photographing this beautiful place. So after tea at least twice we went down there to take the pictures.
Possibly one of the most southern places on this north coast of Devon is the small fishing village of Clovelly. Here a cobbled road takes the pedestrian (vehicles aren’t allowed) down a steep and winding hill to the harbour. There’s a car park at the top of the hill and an extensive visitor centre through which an admission fee is paid. There’s also a Land Rover that takes those visitors that need or want a lift down the back way to the harbour.
We walked down into the village, but we jumped on the Land Rover to come back. And as we were in that part of the country, when we got back to the car we continued to drive to Hartland Point where there’s a lighthouse. Unfortunately, public access to the lighthouse was closed while we were there due to them doing some land-moving work. We did, however, get a cracking view of Lundy Island.
On our last day, we headed back to Ilfracombe for a wander around the town and harbour. I was most disappointed to see that the pier there is much smaller than I remember when my brother fished from it. I’m not sure if it was made bigger in my memory or if they’ve shortened it. It’s still, however, a very lovely place.
Back in Lynton & Lynmouth, we had a final wander round and a trip down the Lynton & Lynton Cliff Railway and back, and we had fish and chips for tea.
I hope you’ve enjoyed this sneak preview into a part of the country that I love very much. And now the poet loves it too. I also hope the selection of pictures I’ve made does it justice. He took several hundred! So I was unable to share them all. However, you can see more on his Instagram or on his website.
The last time I posted about life on the farm, it was August and it hadn’t stopped raining for a long time. We’d not been able to do much, and we hadn’t even managed to get out a lot either. When it finally stopped raining, things finally changed.
First of all we had 4 peachicks hatch. Three were lost, but one has survived and is getting quite big. We called him/her Parker because we called the mother Lady Penelope.
About 3 weeks after those chicks hatched, another 3 peachicks arrived with one of the other peahens – we don’t know if it was Tenille or Claire – and we called those Huey, Dewey and Louie … and so far they’ve all survived too.
Many of the sheep have gone to market now, but the farmer bought a new ram and this morning they’ve been selecting the “girls” to take to him on Bonfire Night, apparently. We still have 2 of the 3 cades (orphans) we had, plus 2 more have been added. They’re all still in with the new ram.
Two families of ducks have been very successful, with each hatching around 10 ducklings. And 6 of the 8 goslings have also survived. There are now 2 gangs of geese strutting around the farmyard.
Over the summer, 2 of our chickens got very broody. Baldy kept it to the chicken coop, but Pauline disappeared, for days on end at times. Both felt much better after around 3 weeks.
What’s known as a “lash egg” appeared in one of the nest boxes in the summer. We thought it was just an egg without a shell, but it’s actually quite serious and, while it can be impossible to tell which chicken has laid it, death usually follows within about 3 days.
ALL of our original 6 chickens are still with us, but one of the farm chickens died of an apparent heart attack in my arms one night. She was in our garden very late at night and quite a long time after dark, which is very, very unusual. Chickens usually take themselves to bed around an hour before darkness.
To protect her from the fox, I took her up to join our chickens in the coop, but she died before we got her there. At first we thought she’d died of fright, and she may have done. But she’s the only chicken to die after the lash egg was laid …
That left just one more chicken on the farm, their Madge, who liked to roost up in the rafters of the small barn. Towards the end of the summer, she started to hang around with our chickens at the end of the day and she gradually insinuated herself into the coop over a period of around 5 days.
At first she’d perch up on the pole that the seed hopper was suspended from, right up in the apex of the chicken house. Now she just makes sure she’s the first in the house at night and she hogs the “best” nest box. I did tell our chickens to be polite to their new house guest, and they did pick on her a bit at first. Now, however, they just let her get on with it … and we have 7 chickens.
Once the rain had stopped we went back to our old lane to pick blackberries, and we came back with over 11lb. There then followed a frenzy of making jam, making blackberry crumbles, freezing portions of blackberries for future use.
Not long afterwards, our plums were ready, and something similar followed. Then, in September, it was our apples’ turn. With all of them I stewed and froze several portions for future use but I froze the blackberries and plums intact. The plums turned out to be a bit “green”-tasting, so while I wouldn’t normally stew those with sugar, when they come out of the freezer I think that’s what I’ll be doing before using them.
We ended up with 9 jars of blackberry jam, 9 jars of plum jam and 4 jars of apple jelly. Yesterday, the last of the outside tomatoes were harvested and 2 large jars of green tomato chutney were made, using the very last cooking apple.
The garden has been producing plenty of food for us. We’ve pickled beetroot and cucumber, we had fresh potatoes throughout the last 2 months of the summer, we’ve had peas, cauliflower, carrots and broccoli, and we’ve had cherry and regular tomatoes and very fat cucumbers.
Hardly anything was discarded with even the chickens eating things like the beetroot tops.
There have been a few failures. We weren’t very successful with onions, swedes, turnips, Brussels sprouts, peppers or lettuce. But now the garden has been put to bed for the winter the planning fun starts for next year. For a man who claims to hate gardening, the poet has done pretty well for himself – AND he enjoyed it. Apparently.
For a few weeks at the end of the summer/start of the autumn, the chickens weren’t laying very much. But they’ve started again and we’ve already had 2 jars of pickled eggs. I’ve started to bake again, and over the past 2 weeks I’ve been using up store cupboard ingredients close to their use-by date.
Aside from fruit crumbles, I made my first Eve’s pudding last week, along with a dozen cherry buns, and this week I started to make cookies again, using the chocolate drops that are close to their use-by date, and I made another dozen cherry buns – to get rid of the cherries that were on date.
I’ve not even started on Christmas cakes yet, but those are yet to come, once I’ve exhausted the supplies in the baking cupboard.
In September we had a week’s camping holiday in North Devon, so watch out for a blog about that in the coming days. Oh yes, and the poet has been building a new website for his photography. You can have a sneak preview here, but do be aware that he is still building it.
A long time ago – well, it was August – we went to Mabelthorpe on the east coast. It’s a place I’d never been before and one to where the poet had long promised to take me. And so, one breezy Saturday, we headed over there so he could at last say we’d been.
I can’t remember much about the day now, other than it was warm enough to eat our picnic outside on a bench. Oh yes, and we looked all over for a letterbox and the only one we found didn’t seem to be in use any more.
He took a few pictures, though. So here, for your enjoyment, is a small and colourful selection: