www.thelittleorchardcompany.co.uk
10 acres is a whole lot of grass! More than you realise when you work behind a desk all day just thinking happy thoughts about the next picnic you're going to have in the field. Really though. When the field was newly ours, we had some serious size-denial issues. We were used to managing a back garden barely bigger than the size of a pocket handkerchief, so when the meadow grass started to grow in our first April/May, we bought a big strimmer, thinking that we could strim a path through the now chest-high pampas grass from the roadside to the top of the field. As I’m writing, I totally can’t believe how ridiculously stupid we were (although our idiocy and naïveté seems to be becoming a thread through this blog). Respect to those farming types who used to scythe their meadows in th’olden days.
10 acres is a whole lot of grass! More than you realise when you work behind a desk all day just thinking happy thoughts about the next picnic you're going to have in the field. Really though. When the field was newly ours, we had some serious size-denial issues. We were used to managing a back garden barely bigger than the size of a pocket handkerchief, so when the meadow grass started to grow in our first April/May, we bought a big strimmer, thinking that we could strim a path through the now chest-high pampas grass from the roadside to the top of the field. As I’m writing, I totally can’t believe how ridiculously stupid we were (although our idiocy and naïveté seems to be becoming a thread through this blog). Respect to those farming types who used to scythe their meadows in th’olden days.
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| Me, posing with Farmer Tim, but not actually doing anything scary like driving |
After strimming for several hours, overheating the strimmer, overheating
Tony and still having only achieved a 5 metre pathway, we realised that we needed a more sensible solution. Obviously. Duhhh!
Hello Farmer Tim! And hoorah for tractors! We
were pretty excited when Tim and co. came to flail and dry our grass, thistles,
and nettles to make hay; felt like proper land-owners with big yellow,
sun-ripened hay bales sitting around in the field.
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| Tony sitting on one of the hay bales |
And then we found Andy too.
He’s a part-time shepherd with not quite enough land. It’s a win-win situation;
Andy gets land and we don’t have to worry about managing the grass. Until we
planted the trees, of course. Unfortunately, sheep like to rub up against
things; they also eat trees, so our happy not-worrying-about-the-grass/thistles/nettles
situation didn’t last for long. We knew that we had to smash our piggy-banks
and buy a little tractor of our own.
And here she is…
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| Heggarty Tractor is delivered |
Our very own Heggarty Tractor. She’s a 1972 Ford 4000. We think of Heggars as an
aging film-star type (can’t remember how that one came about – giggling over a drop too much
cider I suspect); she's stroppy, pouting, unreliable, usually a little the worse for gin, still
fancies herself, but well past her prime; you know the type. Sshhhh. Don’t tell
anyone, but last month, she was at a private “clinic” having a big end re-bore
and tightening up of those saggy, leaky seals. Joking aside, it cost about as
much as a real plastic surgeon!
You want to see something funny (pathetic)? Here’s a video of me driving a tractor for the first time...
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| Tony and Heggarty mowing the orchard (spring 2012) |
Go
ahead, laugh all you like (everyone else has)! I’m a lady of nervous
disposition and driving a monster like Heggars was a truly terrifying
experience for me! And here’s a photo of Tony (taken last week), cool, calm and in
charge. Driving a tractor? No problem. Smarty pants!
Henry Ford launched the first Fordson tractor (a sibling of the Ford) in
1917. He hated the drudgery of farm work and intended to “lift the burden of
farming from flesh and blood and place it on steel and motors”. Thank goodness.
After trying to strim a path through 10 acres, I’m all for that!
