#Sundayblogshare – Sam Russell

Chewing the Cud, Inspiration, Rustic Guests

Rustic Guest Neil Quinlan ~ Free-Range

June 4, 2017May 30, 2017by Sam RussellLeave a Comment

Neil farms in Cheshire, rearing dairy heifers, and returned to the industry after a break from farming (you can read more about that on his blog – Quinlan and Cows. Or find him over at twitter @neilquinlan)

I’m sharing a post he wrote earlier in the year which I first enjoyed when I read it on Haynet.

I hope you enjoy it too. Free-range milk in your tea?

Free-Range

The free-range debate still seems to be rumbling on over on twitter….

I fall into the category of free-range farmer I suppose. Our heifers “went out” in April 2016 and we still had some out in January of this year! We were feeding silage outside as the grass doesn’t grow at this time of year. It was also frosty, but the cows were happy. How do I know this?

Well if they weren’t happy they would be stood at the gate mooing their heads off!

So free range milk. A value added product in the age of a volatile market. Great I thought. That was until I watched Friday Night Feast on Channel 4 who were promoting the product.

The connotations and insinuations that were made on the programme were very misleading. Housed cows are unhealthy and unhappy was the impression I was given. Not taking anything away from Jimmy Doherty as I think he has done a great job promoting British agriculture on the whole.

I take umbrage with this because, if done correctly, housed cows have been some of the happiest I’ve seen. Also due to the grass growing season of the UK “free range” cows will have to be housed for a portion of the year. So saying cows are unhappy when housed is damaging to the free range brand and the industry as a whole.

It’s not the system that defines the health and wellbeing of animals. It’s the person managing it. Same applies to organic.

So as a free range farmer what authority do I have to speak about housed systems? I visited America last year. I have to say I was concerned about what I would see on arrival at the farms I was visiting but my fears were unfounded.

This was typical of the farms I visited and the cows were happy, contented and in peak health!

Here is our winter housing. A light airy barn in which we get very few health problems Again if these animals weren’t happy they’d literally shout about it! They are cleaned out twice a day and get fresh straw every day and as much silage as they can eat! What’s not to like!?

So my point is not to persuade you away from free-range. Far from it. I want people to have a choice. I just want it to be an informed choice.

In the UK we produce quality, antibiotic and growth promoter free, sustainable and traceable products. So if you see the red tractor on something you pick up in the supermarket you know this is the case as that farm has been inspected.

Anyway. Back to the day job.

Inspiration, Rustic Guests

Rustic Guest Frances – Shopping in Røros

April 30, 2017April 26, 2017by Sam Russell2 Comments

I stumbled across this lovely pictorial post whilst browsing over at Haynet and asked Frances if she would mind me sharing her enchanting pictures in the Farmhouse Kitchen.

Frances is a horsewoman and photographer who blogs about everything Shetland from her home there, including the Shetland ponies she rescues, the Icelandic ponies she breeds and her three pet sheep. Do visit her site, My Shetland, to see more of her fabulous photographs.

This post, originally shared on myshetland.co.uk, is about her visit to Røros in Norway. I think a glass of gløgg is in order… can I tempt you?

Shopping in Røros

So, yesterday, you know how I said we didn’t do crowds? Well, today, we did do shopping – the people had mostly dispersed.

The morning was spent wandering about the streets of Røros, looking at it all.

There were many stalls selling just about everything (I love this sort of thing).

We sampled.

I tried not to mind.

We admired.

(eeek – Moomin cardigans – just eeek!)

In the various little alleyways off the streets were courtyards with folk who had come up with their sleighs and horses.

Singing and story-telling.

Oh, wow. The atmosphere. The décor. The everything. I soaked it all up. Norwegian chic at its best.

Røros is not a large town (Wikipedia says 3,718 so half the size of Lerwick), but everyone had made an effort.

What a beautiful place with amazing buildings …..

…. and innovation.

The horses, who had taken part in the Opening Ceremony, were mostly out of bounds and that was good. They deserved their rest but there were a few stabled in the courtyards dotted around who we could talk to.

And so we wandered.

Now was our opportunity to go into Røros church.

A place of peace and tranquility.

(and curtains too – I mean how beautiful is that?)

Yes, we did shop but mostly we browsed, tasted and chatted to the traders.

There was old and new to look at and want. Oh yes, I wanted!

(I even looked for a bell for Lambie – he needs a bell!)

This is an old horse-drawn snow plough.

I asked permission before I took this photo – a kind Sami lady in full traditional costume.

Shopping in Røros is an experience and now I need to go back!

Do visit Frances at her site, My Shetland, to experience more of her fabulous photographs.

Chewing the Cud, Farm and Family Life

A Tale of Two Dogs (Episode 4) Don’t read while eating your supper…

February 12, 2017by Sam RussellLeave a Comment

Oh, the gore!

The terriers followed the farmer into the grain barn. It was always one of their favourite places. There’s a tunnel which runs through the middle of the barn, and at the end of that tunnel, a massive, industrial fan. The job of the fan is to blow air up through slats in the wooden floor, to dry the tonnes of grain which (we hope) are heaped upon it after harvest.

So, quite a meaty fan then. This fan means business. It also comes into use when we’re cleaning the barns pre-harvest – blowing mice out of the channels which run beneath the floorboards. It blasts those poor little mites up and into the air! Great sport, I’m sure you can imagine, for two little pest-control terriers. The sound of that fan firing up was a siren call to work for them. Heads up, and they were off.

Now, I quite like mice. I can’t say the same about rats, but mice are pretty with their cute little faces and twitchy whiskers. I console myself with the thought that the mice who live beneath our barn have a pretty jammy life; making their nests and rearing their pups in the warm and dry, with more prime feed-wheat than they could ever eat dropping through the ceiling.

The ones the terriers catch get a swift and efficient end to their lives too. Not for them the slow decline of poisoning or the panic of being trapped. You’ll know this if you’ve ever watched a terrier working. One shake is all it takes. A toss of dead mouse over the shoulder, and on to the next (although Nutty Meg was inclined to hover behind Russ and eat the dead ones that he threw back).

The dogs would return home knackered and proud. But, on one occasion, Russ didn’t come back at all. The Farmer went to find him, and I knew something was wrong from the tone of the Farmer’s voice when he carried Russ into the farmhouse. The poor little man was in a terrible state (the dog, not the Farmer, although he wasn’t doing so well either). The blood and froth spraying from Russ’s face propelled us all into the truck for an emergency trip to the vets.

He’d followed the Farmer into that tunnel, and when the door was shut behind him he’d tried to find another way out. When an industrial fan spins at several thousand rpm it gives the illusion of disappearing into thin air, and Russ tried to jump through it. The thought still makes me wince.

We thought he was a goner, but no. He lost about 4 mm off the end of his nose, and I spent three weeks delicately inserting a cotton bud into each of his nostrils (several times a day) and rotating it to stop them closing up.

The things we do for love, eh. He was right as rain in a few short weeks, but forever stumpy faced.

Chewing the Cud, Farm and Family Life, Writing Romance

Training (or taming?) my Dragon

July 31, 2016by Sam RussellLeave a Comment

I’ve had a very productive month. Not on here – you’ll know that, if you follow my blog regularly (or should that be irregularly?) The blog has suffered from my rush of productivity, but the FINAL DRAFT of A Bed of Brambles has at last been dispatched to my editor! At least, I’m calling it the final draft… she may think otherwise.

It’s a relief and a delight, to get rid of the words I’ve been hunched over for the last six months. Rather like handing your homework in, and knowing you’ve done a good job, because the book is so much better for the editing. All the same, I’ve become rather jaded with re-reading, and re-writing. We needed this space; me, Hettie and Alexander, so that we can learn to love each other again. And my apologies to all those readers who’ve been clamouring for the second book and would rush at the chance to read more about Hettie and Alexander. I’ve been keeping you on tenterhooks for far too long, but we are getting there now – really!

With the chasm of time that losing the book freed up, I motored through the farm’s end of year accounts. Numbers are so much more obedient than words, aren’t they? The numbers are either right, or they’re wrong; no shades of grey here (pun intended). And at last I got around to submitting new plans for the barn we’re hoping to convert on the farm. It’s all go on the land. The combine is rolling, harvest is on us again: long days, weary men and an endless supply of refreshment to be produced from the farmhouse kitchen.

As I write, the sun is shining, a siren call away from my desk and the four walls of my office, but book three is calling too… It’s a habit, this bloody writing, that is hard to resist. So, I got to thinking, why can’t I have both? Outside, moving and writing a book. Uh oh.

I’m a devil for coming up with ideas which swallow hours of time when I find myself with ten minutes spare. And I’ve already learnt that Dragon dictation is going be one of those. Hours already spent learning how to work it, and I haven’t written a word yet (can you still call it writing if you’re actually speaking?) Oh well, I don’t have to worry about that yet, because so far my Dragon hasn’t listened to a single word I’ve said. No, I tell a lie! As I’m typing here Dragon has just opened the dictation box I asked it to open forty minutes ago. And this is meant to increase your word count?

I’ll let you know how I get on, but don’t hold your breath… I’m busy, taming my Dragon. I think we’ll both be spitting fire by next week.

Chewing the Cud

So, are you In or are you Out?

June 5, 2016June 5, 2016by Sam Russell2 Comments

It rained, Monday through Friday, in our patch of England. Proper rain, with barely a break to shake off the drips. Nice weather for ducks. And farmers, so I’m not complaining. In fact none of us are complaining as much as we usually do: The weather has lost top billing as a topic of conversation. We can’t blame it on the European Union, you see. Although, thinking on, that wet weather front did come over from France… hmm.

“So, are you In or are you Out?” That question is our new conversation opener.You might be in the pub or at the supermarket checkout; everyone’s asking. How strange, and how very unEnglish. I’ve had proper, frank discussions with the postman, and taken part in a group debate in my pilates class. I think we’re trying to fill the dearth of frank discussion and debate coming from our ‘leaders’. They’ve become our weathermen, spouting a lot of forecasts that we don’t believe in. Except they’re calling them facts, and even the weathermen know better than to do that.

Me? I’m both, or neither. It depends which moment you catch me in and I know I’m running out of time to make my mind up. I suggested to The Farmer that one of us vote ‘In’ and the other ‘Out’. That way, whatever happens, it won’t be our fault, you see.

My highly suspect, unofficial straw poll, would indicate that the majority vote will go to “I haven’t got a bloody clue.” Will we get that option on the ballot paper?

Inspiration, Writing Romance

Mood setting – painting a picture in words #amwriting #amediting

May 29, 2016by Sam RussellLeave a Comment

As writers, we have a rich selection of words we can use to set a mood; an emotion; a moment. The art of good writing (and the joy of good reading) takes us right in to a time and and a place – and sets the mood of the moment – without telling us.

There’s a scene in the novel I’m editing (A Bed of Brambles – the sequel to A Bed of Barley Straw) where the hero (Alexander) is sitting above cliffs, recovering from the hurt of an emotional upset, and being soothed by the landscape around him. So, that’s me telling you what’s happening.

Amidst her pleas of “Show us!” My editor queried my choice of words in this scene – “would he be calmed by the waves crashing against the rocks?”

Good point; crashing and rocks are hard, angry words. How about “calmed by the waves washing across the pebbles on the beach?”

Here’s one picture of the landscape, similar to that which I’m seeing when I’m writing the scene:

It is angry isn’t it? The waves are crashing against the rocks. It’s moody, and melancholy; in turmoil. Blacks and greys and an unsettled sea – all very Poldark! Passionate, oh Lord, there’s all sorts of angsty words I could use (and a risk of becoming clichéd)

Here it is in sunnier mood:

Now I’m uplifted. The sun warming the cliff-face, ripples on the grey-green water… and I could talk about the clouds, but I mustn’t overdo it. I’m falling into that cliché trap again (frothy and fluffy, the ocean tumbling over the rocks).

The same coastline, different angle – let’s do serene:

I’ll let you chose your own words, I’m not sure Alexander is ever quite this peaceful, still, enticing. Oh, hang on, he is enticing, just not in such a clean way 😉

It’s a maze and a labyrinth, feeling your way to the right words. And that’s before I’ve even told you how he’s sitting on the bench… Is he leaning forward with his head in his hands? Is he lounging back against the salt-bleached wood with his long legs stretched out in front of him…

It’s a mood, a moment in the novel. It’s why editing fries your brain.

Farm and Family Life, Inspiration, Our Barn Conversion

Sorting the chaff from the wheat

May 22, 2016August 4, 2017by Sam Russell1 Comment

The chaff house door, and I wonder how many farmers have grabbed that rusty handle and pushed the rickety door. Although it wasn’t always rusty and rickety of course, it was a new barn once, built to house the hand-worked chaff machine, to strip the chaff from the grains grown on the farm.

The barn is charming, romantic and rustic, but that must have been back breaking work. Back in the days when the farm employed most of the men in the village, and a land army of women when the men were sent to war. Heavy horses working the land alongside them, and then the steam engines came along, moving from farm to farm to power the threshing and baling machines. Still loaded by hand of course.

Quaint in the photographs, great to watch at a country show, but my nostalgia isn’t such that I would want to live the farming life of the days before mechanisation and combine harvesters.

We watched a steam engine working a baling machine at our local steam-up. That particular engine had broken records for hay baling, back in the day. The hay it was baling then went to France, to feed the horses who who were fighting alongside the men. That makes you think.

In my time on the farm, our chaff house has stored hay and straw, the clay pigeon pull and an odd collection of random wood and bits of farm machinery. I think there’s some furniture in there too. Right now, it’s a store for the plastics; the spray cans and fertiliser bags which are waiting to be recycled. Which may be it’s least romantic job yet, but that’s progress for you.

Farm and Family Life, Inspiration

May blossom, cow parsley and a flowering horse-chestnut. Rustic romance in rural Essex

May 15, 2016by Sam Russell1 Comment

Lovely day for a walk. And the Farmer promised that the route he had planned would only take 40 minutes. I’m still running in the hip, you see, and I was meant to be editing, but the sun was shining through the office window. No contest really…

May is my absolute favourite month of the year (or it is this month, next month it might be June). Lush is the only word:

May blossom living up to its name, and cow parsley crowding the verges.

An hour and forty minutes (and several good climbs) later, when the hip had “had a good workout” (the Farmer’s words, not mine) we stumbled across (I was only stumbling a little bit) this little beauty…

…right in the middle of nowhere. How’s that for rustic romance. I can always edit tomorrow, it will give me something to do until I’m able to walk again.

Inspiration

A poem for my Dad, and yours if you want it to be

February 7, 2016February 7, 2016by Sam Russell4 Comments

Our fathers

You thought you were leaving

You watched your body failing

And you tried to imagine a world which you did not exist in

You couldn’t, and neither could we

But now we know

There’s a branch on that tree still wearing the heat of your hand

That sand, by the edge of the sea, where those children play; the grains they stir shifted under your foot first

The dog on the riverbank circles back, to the place where you stood

They know too

And we, your flesh and blood

were wrapped in the cloak of you

The dust you left when you walked on earth settled on us too

We see you

You’re still here

Self-publishing, Writing Romance

When you can’t see the wood for the trees

January 10, 2016January 29, 2016by Sam RussellLeave a Comment

I am editing. Argh!

I’m deep in the thicket, with 100k words between me and the timber of my finished novel, and every one of them has to be tested to earn its place in the manuscript.

Do my characters have, well, character? Is the plot believable? Am I consistent with point of view? Have my scenes got structure and motivation. Shit…am I actually writing scenes at all?

If you thought that writing a novel was hard, try a substantive edit. I believe I could knock off 20k words in the time it takes to edit a paragraph (10k of those words will be cut later of course). I’m learning on the job, and I figure I always will be. There may be writers out there who find it ~~a piece of cake~~ (cliché) easy, and wield their cutting pen with stern, ~~orderly~~ (adjective+adverb) precision. Who get that perfect story arc and place their reactions/dilemmas with ~~pin-point~~ (you work it out) accuracy within it.

I’m not one of them (she ~~sobbed~~, ~~wept~~, ~~cried~~, ~~sighed~~ SAID!). This is damn hard work, and right now I really can’t see the wood for the trees (yet another cliché slipped in there).

But it’s also exciting. I’m writing, I’m learning, and learning is good isn’t it?

I’m off to find the path through this forest now.