The poshest hen house in the south-west

Farm Country
I have sharpened my knives, I have
Put on the heavy apron.
Maybe you think life is chicken soup, served
In blue willow-pattern bowls.
I have put on my boots and opened
The kitchen door and stepped out
Into the sunshine. I have crossed the lawn.
I have entered
The hen house.
Mary Oliver


Don't worry, I warned them first!


I was looking for something a bit more uplifting for no one could possibly approach this with knives sharpened! The alternative was Seamus Heaney who has an even grimmer offering based on a the depressingly true story of a little boy who was kept in a hen house.  This made me smile though, what a des res and some very fat happy chooks - I reckon that's a feathery bottom in one of the windows! Across the road goats and sheep frolic on a little hill and also have their own smarty painted white and red house.


A beautiful start to the day, it deteriorated fast at around 11am - I watched as the front approached from the north west. Cleaning and well work ensued. We did a quick yomp of the circuit before supper and were rewarded with the sight of an otter having a wonderful time not far from the shore. Himself has just made pitta bread and falafels and I'm on the retsina - almost like being in the eastern Mediterranean, apart from the weather.