An in tents experience for the kids
THE children are in their element running amok. They are, to all intents and purposes, feral.
As I write in the dead of night, I miss the four of them camping out in what we call the West End. There are no clubs or theatres in ours – just fields, trees and rivers.
We had a few practice runs first. As their confidence grew they pitched their tents further and further from the farmhouse.
You learn from your mistakes: Too near water and the midges plague you. Too steep a slope and your sleeping bag slides to the bottom of the tent. It doesn’t matter where you pitch – even in hundreds of acres horses WILL find your tent and nibble it or scratch their bottoms on it. Horses are inherently nosy and show up whenever something’s going on.
The children decided they’d go for a ride. Violet vaulted onto Little Joe and Annas perched on Princess’s back. Little Joe is now a senior citizen – greying at the muzzle and a little deaf – but he still has a naughty sparkle in his eye.
Violet held on to his mane as he cantered up the hill trying to keep up with young Della who galloped ahead of the raggle-taggle party.
The weather remains unsettled but we made a few bales of silage for cows to eat in the barn this winter. It’s nothing near good enough for sheep or horses, though.
The effect of the bad harvest this summer will be felt then as feed costs rise and really good forage is in short supply.