Today was Open Farm Sunday. The idea behind this fantastic initiative is that we, the general public, can visit the places and people who produce our food and care for our countryside. We headed out to a farm near us, deep in a Devon combe, and had a lovely, lovely afternoon. Little Owl climbed haybales, stroked lambs, and made a clay snail. We bumped around in the back of a trailer, on a tractor tour of the farm. Here is a fabulous Oxford Sandy and Black Pig (also known as Plum Puddings!) enjoying a snooze in the sun.
My favourite part of the day at the moment is early evening, just after the kids have gone to bed. I leave a drippy trail as I lug the watering can from the water butt around all my precious fledgling plants. Occasionally the air is punctuated by the vrum of distant traffic or the laugh of a passerby in the street, but mostly it is full to bursting with the sound of birdsong. The light is mellow and the air is soft. I crouch down to consider the progress of one of my botanical protégés and my mind starts to drift. Ten minutes later I straighten up and walk slowly back into the house. I couldn’t tell you where my mind has been for that time but wherever it was, it was pretty good. I replace the watering can next to the water butt and gently close the back door behind me, somehow a little more human and a little more whole than when I stepped out to start the watering.