A Windowsill of Promise.

Here, on the tinyholding we are still living in garden limbo.

Full of promise!

DD has been taken away from home for the last few weeks with pressing work matters.  I know, I know, work doesn't matter!  However, we all know that work does matter and without it there would be no tinyholding.
This, in itself, has not stopped my planning. Nor has it stopped the growing.
We currently have a dining room windowsill full of promising seedlings and new young plants.
Upon the windowsill itself we have the beginnings of our herb garden. There is thyme, rosemary, parsley, both flat and curled, coriander, chives and many more.
Upon the top of the freezer, next to the window, there are pumpkins, courgettes, chard, lettuce, tomatoes and others.
I have seed trays and have been saving loo roll inners to pot up peas and beans.
There are pots to start off sunflowers, marigolds and nasturtiums.
In such a tiny space there lies such promise.
However, the promises are treading water. DD and I are struggling to find time for operation garden revamp. It will happen but we are slightly behind schedule.
I am thinking about redressing the situation. Perhaps this year we will have a mainly pot based veg garden. The important thing is to not lose the plants we have.
We have already had one major mishap. Buffy cat has proved herself persona no grata. She insists on making all windowsills her own. She takes no prisoners and you can often hear an annoyed exclamation from DD as she dive bombs the desk to get to her space. It is not making her a popular puss! To add insult to injury, last weekend Boglin got up in the morning and went to feed them. (First up, first job!)

Buffy and DD get their way!

She came creeping into DD and I with such a look of worry and horror. All of the plants were in a higgledy piggledy mess upon the floor. Buffy had struck again!
Fortunately Boglin had picked most of them up and not too many were terminal. We have lost a pumpkin, a tomato and the sweetpeas. Luckily I have more seeds and can replant. However, I was more than a little cross.
DD and I are currently in disagreement over the puss cats. I am a firm believer in putting them out for the night during warm weather. Particularly if they are causing problems. DD is far more soft hearted than me and wants them to be allowed in. He has his way for the time being but mark my words Buffy, one more stunt like that and you will be out!

Tears on the Tinyholding.

The formidable Miss Pecky, centre stage.

It was a tragic and sad day on Friday. Here on the tinyholding we have had a fox strike the egg laying committee.
Around 1.30 am Friday morning I heard a small kerfuffle in the garden. Quite a small argument that I put down to one of the birds having a strop because one the others had shuffled onto her perch and woken her. It was not the giant cacophony you would expect from fox strike. I lay there, in bed, weighing up the idea of waking DD and getting him to go and look. I decided that if there was one more squawk I would do so. There was just the sleepy silence of another tinyholding night. And so, I drifted off to sleep with the idea that all was well.
I don't think I will ever forgive myself for my complacency.
Upon Friday morning DD went to do his usual head count while letting them out and feeding them. He was horrified to find the door of the coop open and Pecky mauled at the back of the garden. The other birds were visibly shaken and subdued. They were crowding around him for comfort and safety. None of the usual exuberance or chatty bocking. He did a head count and couldn't find Darcy. It was only then that he realised we had not been woke by Darcy's enthusiastic morning glory. His usual dawn call of  "these are all my girls and this is my garden!"
Further investigating found a subdued and heartbroken Steve the Duck. Splodge, his Mrs Duck was also absent.

DD meets Darcy.

All the other birds were present and correct but clearly terrified.
DD came to me wanting to be proved wrong. Wishing that Pecky had died in her sleep and been pecked by distraught siblings. Hoping and Praying that Splodge and Darcy had gone to ground for some reason. I took myself to the scene and confirmed the worst. We had a fox!
The tell tale scattering of feathers in a quiet corner showing where Mrs. Fox had enjoyed her Pecky themed meal. Then taking Darcy and Splodge to her hungry cubs.
Poor Darcy was probably trying, with his diminutive stature but enormous character, to protect his girls. He was a dainty young man and no match for a hungry fox. Indeed, in Mrs Fox's eye he would have been a perfect meal from the children's menu.
Splodge was a dopey, loveable and curious duck. She wouldn't have stood a chance. Steve, however, upon closer inspection had not allowed his wife to be taken without a fight. He had sustained bites about his neck and his wing had clearly been injured.
He must have put up a brave fight. We have watched him since the incident and he seems to be recovering. Upon the first day I was very much in two minds about a cull.
The decision we now need to take regards this brave little soldier.
We cannot allow him to free range with a garden full of hens and no duck for company. Drakes and Cockerels are build differently and a Drake showing too much attention to a hen can damage her.
Do we bring him a wife or do we rehome him? If he does not recover fully the decision to cull may yet come to pass.
The Boglin child has pleaded with me not to let him die or to cull him. Therefore, I am trying to keep my word. The jury is, sadly, still out.

Bless you and rest in peace our absent friends.

Sweetpea growing and greenhouse lust...

our idea of heaven!

Yesterday saw the beginning of "project garden".

While journeying to worship at the great god "Sainsburys", DD and I pass B&Q. Of course, with the sun shining and the garden plans fresh in our minds we were never going to be able to resist a quick drop in to look at greenhouses. We had plans for a modest, yet functional greenhouse. Well suited to the size of the tinyholding.
Within ten minutes DD and I had revised our plans to incorporate a huge 6x8 haven of glass and tempered metal. We looked at the perfectly functional polycarbonate numbers. We toyed with the idea of  a narrow structure. We then threw all sensibility out of the window (excuse the pun) and priced up a beauty. We plan to have it freshly dug to the left and right. A large variety of edible tender plants and of course a small potting bench. Duck boards running through the middle, to be sun warmed and ideal for bare toes. There will, obviously, also be lighting and heating in there.
We sigh dreamily, conjuring images of summer evenings to come. The sun setting over our verdant greens and a warm glow as we sip chilled white over a seed tray and kisses.
In truth, it is more likely that we will be sipping wine while not getting much done and swearing at the slug population that are decimating out broad beans. But we all need a dream! And ours is of a greenhouse. We are clearly simple people with simple needs.
There is little chance of myself wandering around a garden centre, diy shop or even the dreaded Tesco without eyeing up the plants and garden goods. And so I confess, m'lud, I did buy a few plants. I was a very good girl though and didn't spend all of my pocket money. I am now the proud mummy of six pepper seedlings, 2 chilly seedlings and a pot full of sweetpeas.

Everlasting showoffs!

Around our courtyard we plan to mix edible peas with sweetpeas. I personally, love the showiness of everlasting sweetpeas. However, what they give in bucket loads of appeal with their flowery goodness they do lack with their scent. So the obvious answer? Well, MORE sweetpeas of course!
There were also pots, troughs, benches, water features, tables , chairs and BBQs! All of them I wanted there and then.
On the other hand, I do believe that absence makes the heart grow fonder. It is well worth the wait and in time we will love the garden all the more!
Roll on summer!

The calm before the storm

The site of the chicken bordello to be.

Because it's going to take something like a storm to make a difference.
Currently the chickens are happy pecking away in the devastation that is our excuse for a garden.
I first need to have a general tidy up. The place looks a bit like a scrap yard.
There is the broken bench that they like to hold their knitting circle on. that is going to be taken apart, painted and repaired. Then it will be fit for tinyholder's bottoms and not just a chicken perch.

the knitting circle will have to find new digs

There is also a matching char that will be getting much the same treatment.
I am in two minds with what to do with the broken branches that had been cut out of the hedge last year. Should I break it down, bag it up and keep to burn on chilly summer evenings?  Or should I just put it into the green recycling? The largest branches I will keep to put into the new chicken bordello we have planned. I don't wish the girls to be too put out by their smaller environment so I plan to build high as well as wide. With this I can put in a variety of branches and perches. Maybe a couple of high up nest boxes for them to lay in.
Then there is the Somme like garden itself to turn into a haven of growing.  A good dig over and loosen up of the soil should just about do it.

a courtyard to be.

There is also the garden path to clear off. this will be a back breaking task in itself. Although we do plan to replace the path in the near future it is unusable at the moment.
The court yard will benefit from a good tidy and a hose down and it is fit to go. In  time the walls and fences will be utilised as a structure to grow things up. But with a tidy up it can be used as somewhere to sit now.

It's going to be hard work but so very well worth it.

Start at the very begining.

I long for something like this!

The sun is shining, the birds are singing and the egg laying committee is in full swing. It is time DD and I got our butts in gear and started to turn the Somme into a garden haven.
We have such grand plans. However, they all seem to stem from a glass of fizz while standing in the sun with a bantie on a shoulder. We are clearly some sort of booze swigging, land locked, pirate wannabes.
Last Sunday saw such an event. We have now revised all our plans. A pneumatic drill is being hired and the garden path is coming up! *happy dance*
There is nothing more boring than a regimented garden with a straight path. Veggies organised into neat rows and clean washing flapping in the breeze.
Well not for us. We have decided we will stagger the garden constructions (shed, greenhouse and the chicken bordello). This will enable us to utilise as much of the sunshine in our east facing garden. The courtyard will become a white washed sun trap. Covered in pots of aromatic herbs. I have some fab ideas regarding growing vertically as well as on the ground. No post, wall or bit of fence will not have a purpose.
Peas, beans and even cucumber will thrive (I am sure of it).
We have pinched the idea of covering the small area between the kitchen wall and the fence with some corrugated plastic. Affording a sheltered area for bikes, a small bench and table and some quail in a covered run and house.
However, as exciting as these plans are, we first need to clear the garden, and that will take a lot of time, strength and a large skip. The old nazi shed has to go. It was put up by the previous owners. Odd people, they had planks of nails along their fence to stop cats walking on it. The carpeted, curtained shed was, I feel sure, the Old Man's safe haven from the Old Dear. Or perhaps she would lock him in there for punishment for not bringing her the local puss population to boil into stew.
Anyhow, all this has to go.
Frankly, I can't wait.....

Worthy Causes and Armchair Dictating

Before DD and I consolidated our lives I had the privilege of residing in Sunny South Wales. I love the area and all it has to offer. I lived just a couple of miles from the sea, and some times I miss it.

Tythe barn, Henry's and herb garden

However, most of my time that wasn't spent at home with my cubs, I was in the employ of Cosmeston Medieval Village.
It was a fascinating, rewarding and often exhausting job. I loved it!
I personally bred and loaned the Geese (embdens), Chickens (Dorkings) and Ducks (Calls) to the village that provided the often ear shattering background melody to the village. The Call Ducks did an excellent job of drowning out the volume from the passing, unauthentic traffic from the adjacent road. The chickens provided the local youngsters with the "ahh" factor each spring, as they would proudly strut from their recent hidy hole, with a fluffy mess of chicks about their feet. The geese made sure the staff were kept on their toes with the occasional nip. Perhaps, in retrospect, the geese shouldn't have been encouraged to forage in my pockets for tasty treats as youngsters. A full grown embden with a mission to get it's obnoxious beak in you trews is not something to be taken lightly.
Then there are the gardens.
They were the passion and handy work of Mistress Angharad (the character I portrayed)
It was here I found my green fingers and love of herbs.

The Village itself is a reconstructed village, circa 1350. During the 70's there were plans afoot to place a car park upon a site known as castle field. This was to service the newly made lakes and conservation area that had been formed on the site of an old quarry. While clearing the field it was discovered that just below the surface lie the foundations of a building.
Enter GGAT (Glamorgan and Gwent Archaeological Trust). They went about excavating the site and soon found that many more buildings lay about the area.

William and Pip

The first building to be reconstructed was the byre. Initially this was nothing more than an experiment by the archaeologists. Rebuilding the structure upon the foundation. Using the evidence in existence at to how it probably would have looked. Evidently, this was such a success that in time we were to see a small village emerge.
The birth of Cosmeston as we know it.
This village, for the last 20 years has been a site of special interest. It has provided the Vale with a worthy tourist attraction. It has also run a very successful and worthwhile educational tool to schools from as far away as France and America.
It has been staffed by both paid staff and volunteers for many years. Providing informative tours in a first person capacity while costumed in authentic clothing. It really is a gem! Is it viewed as the jewel in the Vale's crown?
It is not!

Although it is a wonder to behold. Staging popular history themed evens through out the year. Populated by staff, actors and re enactors from every walk of life. Ranging from babes in arms to elderly enthusiasts. Providing a wealth of knowledge and amusement to the public.  It now seems that it is time to close the chapter.

 It is believed that the council can no longer fund the site, due to council cut backs. Declaring it is run at a deficit. It has been decided that it is time to change the face of the village.

The village itself will still be there. However, there will be no costumed guides, no rare breed animals and no events.

The two managers who have worked tirelessly on the project for over 20 and 30 years respectively are finding their jobs are among those being cut. The 20 strong staff are being informed their services are no longer required. Subsiquently, the village will become free to the public to enter and view to their hearts content.
However, they will no longer be able to participate in a vibrant taste of the fourteenth century. Experiencing the sights sounds and, yes reader, scents of the bygone era.

noisy calls

The cottages will no longer swell with the sound of laughter and no one will bid you a "Good day madam or a Bless you sir" as you cross the hearths of these inspired reconstructions.
There will be no fluffy chicks or ducklings to lighten the hearts of youngsters and ruffty tuffty gents alike.
There will be no opportunity for a shy school child to throw the pig an apple, and see her ambling along with snuffles and grunts of gratitude for her tasty treat. Last but not least, no more gambolling lambs come March and April. Heck, even the passing walker will miss this sight, surely?

Let me tell you a story of how important this village can be.
During my time as a guide I had the pleasure of escorting an enthusiastic primary school group about the village. I always enjoyed touring the "littlies". Taking just as much joy from the experience as the children themselves. Teaching them about our rich heritage, along with a large and hearty dollop of laughter. During this particular tour, I led the children through role play. Acting out a manorial court. Of course, as the conclusion neared it became obvious the villainous gossip would find herself in the pillory.  I encouraged the children to shout out and act as if they were boisterous village children. Well one young lady (who had not left her teaches side all lesson) screamed the loudest. A picture of sheer joy at being involved.
During the tour she had been eager to answer a few questions, but when given the opportunity, she hid her face in her teacher's arms. The other children seemed to cope with this young girls evident crippling shyness and compensated by giving the answers she wanted with a nod from her.
When she cried out I noticed the teacher wiping away a few tears and a grin as large as the youngster's. I thought little of it.
After I had escorted the group out of the village and bid them "farewell and God speed", the teacher caught my eye and asked for a "word".
I must confess I wondered what it was that I had done wrong.
I was then told that this special little girl was an elective mute. She had not uttered a single sound of her own volition in 5 years. Until that day!
I would like to say it was my doing. I am, however, aware that in her own or any other familiar environment there is no way I would have coaxed a single squeak from her. It was the village and it's magic that had done this for her.

This, dear reader is what we stand to loose.

I have never really been one to begin to rock the boat. Certainly, I am apt to voice my opinions over wrong doing and poor ethics if I fell it is necessary.
I seem to have found my voice in this instance.
There will be a peaceful march from local one council office to another next week. I am, as yet, unaware if I will be able to attend.
I am, however, co ordinating it from my pc.
I have started a facebook petition that will be delivered alongside and existing petition signed by locals.
I don't expect it to make the council change their minds.
However, maybe there can be some sort of compromise so this gem and resource is not lost forever.

Phytotherapy laws...

I am currently sitting the final part of my phytotherapy diploma. Once this is complete I will be legally allowed to peddle my knowledge to my hearts content. No doubt there are the dubious among us that don't believe anything can be changed with a fist full of greenery. Well, more fool you!

Phytotherapy or Herbalism, even herbology. It's all the same horse in different pyjamas. It has been around since the first cave man realised his tummy felt better after a meal or infusion of mint. That same wise cave man may also have found his wife was more receptive if she had nibbled on some feverfew, and her headache was miraculously banished. The famed herbals are countless and invaluable. So to all you doubters I thumb my nose at you and say “ner ner na ner ner”

Herbalism has been passed from mother to daughter, from practitioner to apprentice even swapped between neighbours for a millennia. It has kept people from the brink of death. It has made simple country maids more alluring to the hunky blacksmith. It has been a household essential.

Then comes the sting. The modern world has decided it cannot be practised in a “hedge witch” manner. You need a qualification to practise. A diploma will suit! or so I thought.

So years of study, one phytotherapy diploma, one clinical phytotherapy diploma and countless other complimentary essentials. I am on the right track.

Right?

Wrong! After all this study “they”, whoever “they” are, have decided that this will no longer be enough come May.

It is not a simple matter of nipping off to the local uni and signing the next 3 years away. I have my two delicious cubs to raise. My wonderful DD to care for and be cared about. I have a gaggle of loopy chickens that need my daily attentions. And a garden I plan to thoroughly enjoy.

There is a serious lack of complimentary therapy correspondence courses out there. Granted any sort of therapeutic course needs a substantial amount of clinic hours to be able to feel competent. The courses I have undertaken take this on board.

So the options are.

1. don't peddle herbs (well that's not likely is it dear reader?)
2. move the entire family to Scotland or London to go to university (hardly fair on team duck!)
3. enrol with the University of east London and commute to London for 500 clinic hours. (on reflection 500 hours over 3 years is not too bad)

Well it seems option three is the way forward. Despite my having spent the last couple of years studying I now have to start from scratch for a Phytotherapy BSc. This seems to encompass the majority of the diplomas I have already done, but places them all under one umbrella.
Still it would be nice to have BSc after my name rather than simply Sac Dip.(it sounds so wrong)

Perhaps over the year to come I can do a doctorate in botany or some such thing. Just imagine Dr Nelly!

It's a good job I love the subject. All together now, deep breath. Ahhhhhhh, herbs!

*wanders off to channel the spirit of Culpeper*