Somewhere in Shropshire

I've arrived! The first Wwoof placement since Lockdown. Getting here was surprisingly easy. I anticipated an inability to function - purely on my part. I went to the post office the other day and just couldn't get my act together. The guy behind the desk was obviously a very efficient worker. He asked rapid fire questions which, for a moment, threw me. Furthermore, stringing a sentence together proved challenging. I don’t know if anyone else has felt this way, going back in society after such a long time? Maybe, it's the onset of dementia?

From the comfort of my Dad's place and his friends, who I've now adopted as my own, lucky/unlucky for them, I've travelled West, to Shropshire. 

After a bit of a wobble at Coventry I boarded the train and took a table seat next to the window. The carriage was empty and the views glorious. My oversized suitcase - from now on I'll refer to her as  "the beast" - and I, arrived at our destination. This time, my host Julie, was not remotely phased by the beast, as I humped and wrestled it into the back of her car. We made our way over to the supermarket for supplies. 

She explained that because of Covid 19, it would be safer for me to have one week's quarantine, so as not to risk the health of the hosts and the other Wwoofers. 

First impressions are more than positive, the farm is almost a secret, tucked away behind a myriad of twists and turns. The landscape resembled a patchwork quilt of greens and golds. The landscape rises and falls, and rises and falls. Upon arrival and after a brief introduction to everyone, I'm shown to my place, I say  "place" because it's spacious - bordering on palatial really - well equipped and comfortable. Environmentally friendly, and built using sustainable building methods, the education centre - come small flat - overlooks the Clun Valley.  And, as I tuck into a pizza and a cold cider, I sit and watch the Hereford cows roam the field below me. As the sun sets, I set myself up for an evening of stargazing. And wonder what tomorrow will bring.

My first night was a restless one. Sleep is not something I find easy to do, or if I do, it's at the wrong time. 

Around 5am, the surrounding countryside is waking up. I can hear sheep, cows, a cockrel and a quad bike, all from the comfort of my bed. Needing the loo gets me up and I open the front door. As I walk along the veranda to the toilet block, the sun already seems to be at full capacity and in the hazy morning sunshine, I spot a small herd of cows sunbathing in the top left-hand corner of the field in front of me.  

I start work today at 9am. After a little while longer in bed, I get up and fix myself a breakfast of coffee, poached egg, toast, spinach and tomatoes. I sit at the table by the open door and enjoy the view and a gentle breeze. Heaven!

At 8:55am I make my way over to the farmhouse, making a beeline for 'Rocco' the dog, on the way.

I meet Julie and she shows me her favourite calf and a sickly lamb - which she hopes to revive. 

We come back to her garden and she explains the work she has in mind for me. I begin weeding the boarder, below the hedge, armed with a stool, trowel, and the blunt blade of a butter knife, for the small delicate weeds, masquerading as the poached egg buttercups Julie wants to keep. 

I worked through the morning. Lunch time arrived and Julie said I could go and get something to eat. By this point, the top half or me was under the hedge and my arse was working on it’s tan. I got up with a groan. As I straightened up I looked out across the valley, it was very hot but there was a strong, cool breeze. The Hereford’s from this morning were slowly making their way down to the next field with calves in tow.

At 5:30pm Julie takes me over to the polytunel to show me what to feed her two guineapigs. We discuss the night-time routines. And by 6pm I’m finished for the day. Nothing to do, but open a can of cider and enjoy the view. My arms sting from a run-in with some nettles and my body aches, but it's a good ache. I can't help but think "I could be stuck in an office right now or sat on an overcrowded, hot bus. Instead, I’ve been outside all day and now I’m able to enjoy this beautiful, undisturbed view. Wwoofing, perhaps, is one of the best decisions I ever made"

The weather changed over the following days and with it, the location on the farm. I worked in the polytunnel and went to war on Grass. The vast majority of the raised beds were festooned with the stuff. I had everything I needed - tools, my portable speaker,  a spare jumper and a full bottle of squash - all the essentials. ABBA took me through the mornings, ACDC for the stubborn, hard labour stuff and various playlists filled in the gaps. I'm crap with music, I can't remember the names of tracks or bands as a rule, but music does play a huge part in my life, now I come to think of it, I pretty much always have it on. 

Each Wwoofer here is responsible for feeding the animals, in the evening and at night. I looked after the chickens, quails, the guinea pigs and soon, the ducklings were added to the list. Thankfully the hosts, Tom and Julie took care of the wayward adult ducks, which enjoyed disappearing at bedtime. Until finally, they got them into a bedtime routine which, enabled me to put them to bed myself. This however, would vary in it's success. This particular breed of anti-establishment punk duck, had not lived here for very long. Therefore, they had not quite worked out their circuit.

The farmhouse overlooked the pond and duck house, and as soon as the little white spots starting making their way towards the pond, Tom and Julie would appear. The ducks always made a beeline for the water, so it was a case of getting them to swim in the right direction, towards the duck house, and finally encourage them to climb up the bank again. Wire was put up next to the door to prevent them from walking past their house and back into the pond. 

Sounds pretty simple right?

The pond sat on a small hill, the pathway around it was a kind of ridge, which fell away a bit on the other side. At one end, another hill with a little stream coming through it. Here, the grass was very thick and the ground uneven. It's a bit like when you walk on the moors, at one point, you're quite high up and then, with another step, you're up to your knees in water.  Getting the ducks in the right area meant walking around the pond and hopping over the gap, where the water came through. In most cases, I managed this successfully, apart from one evening where one leg disappeared through a crevice and left a juicy bruise.

Some evenings, it was textbook, the ducks went exactly where they were supposed to go and happily quacked their way to bed.

On other evenings, not so much. They were now used to my strange noises and arm waving. I had to resort to more extreme measures, to spook them up the bank and into bed. I had a net with a long handle, which I used to splash the water, when that stopped working, I waved the net a made hissing noises. When that stopped working, I used the net to flick water at them. Eventually the net flew off the handle and into the water. The ducks did nothing. With every evening, the they got braver and I got more desperate. 

It wasn't just the ducks for company however. Swarms of mosquitos hovered above the pond which enticed bats. Splashing and waving would disturb the mosquitos and in turn the bats, which zoomed at lightning speed past my ears and over the water. The ducks seemed to enjoy the show. What was this creature without any feathers, frantically waving her limbs, whilst hissing, and trying to avoid the small black missiles around her head?

The jury's out on whether I'll ever keep my own ducks one day. I certainly won't keep anti-establishment punk-ducks. 

I often took my time with the bedtime routines, watching the animals, enjoying the landscape and looking at the sky. On one particular evening, light from the setting sun made it's way through the clouds, which had sat heavy for the entire day. Only now could I see blue sky with a pink glow through the gap, I felt lucky.

 A cold snap and poor weather meant work in the polytunnel or woodshop. The fireplace I'd been eyeing up at home became incredibly inviting and, though it was June, I felt fully justified in having one. The simplicity of making the fire brought me so much happiness. Going down to the woodshed to fetch more kindling as the sun set over the hill felt great! And I reflected how this whole experience felt so natural, normal, simple. Working the land, making the most of the natural resources, noticing subtle changes in the weather. Watching animals work their way around the fields, paying attention to the varieties of plants in the pasture. Everything here made sense to me. As though it was ingrained in my DNA.

The Gather

Outside, it was blowing a gale, and the grey clouds threatened another dollop of drizzle. Inside, I tried on my new coat, feeling very smug. Spinning, swishing and talking to myself, loudly. As you do.

It rained, heavily, all day yesterday. And my pack-a-mac was about as useful as a chocolate fireguard. The new coat (Didrikson - A Scandinavian brand, established in 1913 - Originally made clothing for the local trawlermen in Grundsund, on the West Coast of Sweden) is a perfect fit, the right length and I'm convinced, will protect me from the elements.

"Well done Liz, you picked the right one there" as I swished around in my socks.

A knock on the door interrupted the carefree swishing. And a confused expression, looked at me through the glass. Bugger!!

Nick, my fellow Wwoofer, opened the door and said nothing about the fact I'd been talking myself, or why I was wearing a coat indoors, done up to such an extent, I looked like the Khaki green version of Kenny from South Park.

"We need help with the sheep. Prepare for a long walk"

The yard, quiet ten minutes ago, was suddenly a scene of hustle and bustle. The dogs, away from their usual stations of chicken run and pig pen, ran rings around Tom's legs, barking excitedly. The quad bike and jeep stood ready, waiting for their drivers. 

Suddenly, and without warning, I felt nervous. I shook it off. "No time for that now, just have fun and enjoy yourself"

Tom, our host, left on the quad bike with the dogs on the back and Dave, his son, quickly installed the new feature in his Jeep. A reclining back seat, held up with rope. 

We hopped in and on the way Dave explained “We're getting about sixty sheep in from the field on the hill, for shearing tomorrow”. Nick enjoyed the reclining seat in the back, but questioned the suspension of the Jeep.

Reaching the field, Dave drove though the gate, and we all bounced and rattled over thickets of gorse and long grass to the desired location. After jumping out, Dave gave us clear and simple instructions. He told us where to aim the sheep and drove away to take his own position. We hung back, waiting for Tom to push a few sheep over from the left hand side. We started to walk, concentrating on the surroundings and the position of our group, making adjustments in response to the sheep, some of which paused, turned around, and thought about making a dash for it. I absolutely live for this aspect of farming, it's so exciting. At any time, a ewe or lamb could break in the wrong direction and it's your job to stop them. 

Both humans and dogs work as a team. The right kind of sheepdog will want to get after the sheep without crossing the line and hurting them. But, they must also be able to stand up for themselves. A ewe with a lamb, for example, will stamp and charge at anything which she believes to be a threat. Or a ram will charge, potentially doing a hell of a lot of damage to whatever is in it's path. Sheep have been known to try and crush dogs, if they mange to corner them. So it's important your dog has the right temperament, level of confidence, stamina and ability to listen to and respond to commands and instructions. Tick those boxes and you're onto a winner. It really does bring a whole new meaning to "man's best friend".

We pushed the flock towards the gate, into the corner of the field. As the flock began to bunch up, they started to turn around with that look in their eye. At this point, the full range of aforementioned noises come out of the humans, myself included. Yelling, hissing, whistling. Personally, I favour the tongue rolling at a full range of pitches, generally a higher pitch is more successful. Arm waving is also relatively effective, the more dramatic the better - all those years studying performing arts came in handy at last.

Inevitably, a few break through, but Tom and the dogs soon have them back in the right place.

On the road, the sheep bleet and baa as they began to walk. It's a beautiful thing to behold. Here, we were smack bang in the centre of the Shropshire Hills and all I could see was a single road, full of sheep amongst a sea of fields. No cars, buildings, and apart from our team not a single soul. As if we were the only people on earth.

By now, the sheep were in front of us and walking on. Tom told Nick and I to jump on the back of the quad and hold on tight. After checking we're ready. He squeezes the throttle and we took off into the crowd. We picked up speed as Tom made his way through the sheep. The dogs kept up the pace and flew alongside the quad, zooming in and out of it's path. As the countryside zipped into a blur, I swung my legs into the air and watched as the wooly bums cleared a path for us. Tom's responses were quick and accomplished. He’d done this dozens of times before and you could tell.

I was having the best time ever and by the time we were in front of the flock, taking our positions to turn the sheep onto the right road, I felt like I’d done shots.

Tom and the dogs went on ahead to open the gate to the farm and the sheep successfully rounded the corner and made their way through the gate. 

To be perfectly honest with you, at this point I was so excited, I wanted to go out raving, but instead, I went back to weeding the drive. Probably a good thing really.

The next day Claire (the other Wwoofer) and Nick help Tom and Dave with shearing, as I prepare lunch for everyone.

To be perfectly honest with you, I already know that shearing is not for me. For one, it looks incredibly uncomfortable, especially if you’ve large numbers of sheep to get through. And two, I am fully aware that I cannot be trusted with those clippers. My hats off to those who’ve mastered the technique, you have my full admiration and respect.

After five weeks, it’s time for me to leave. My body aches but I feel stronger. I’m always sad to leave a farm but I’m also excited for the next adventure. By now, Claire has returned home to get ready for Vet School in September. Leaving Nick and I to enjoy the bottle of Black Cow Vodka – distilled from Milk – which sat in the centre of the table. Legend has it that this particular Vodka does not give you a hangover. This is a lie. I’m never drinking again???