Tag: farm

A farm between the hills

There is something wondrous about inhabited farms, even though the fields are cultivated and cows graze in the pasture in summer.

There is such a farm some kilometres from our farm, isolated up between high hills in the middle of a big forest. The view is stunning, enabling you to see firs and pines along the horizon far away. The access road is long and winding, ending in a peaceful dirt road some kilomteres from the main road. In the winter when the farm is completely abandoned, the feeling of loneliness becomes manifest, the dark small rooms with dusty furniture, the windows covered with frost, and the lack of footprints in the snow.

For about 50 years ago a brother and his sister lived there. Too humble a life for many I think. They worked the fields, cared for their animals, seemingly contented with each other’s company, growing old together. Their life changed suddenly when a fire broke out and completely destroyed their home. History and future burnt to ashes.

An small road streching through the forest to one of the fields. Both the gate and the gateposts are gone.

The only thing that now remains of their home is the ground and the doorstep, nothing else, except for the small adjoining buildings, tells about the home in which they grew up, lived and grew older. Too old to start afresh they moved, still together, hired a house and lived there until they moved to an elderly home. The sister died first. The brother followed her some years after. Their life is as unknown, as their home, untalked of, unimportant to this fast, efficient society. I think though that they are together now, much happier, in joy, their friendship and goodness having an eternal value.

Standing there breathing the atmosphere of silence wanting to revive the farm, but at the same time filled with fascination for its sleep, I realise my own mortality, my own limitation, well aware of that my wish never will be realised. But to be a guest, though uninvited, has its charm, enjoying the peace and the beauty, free to imagine what could have been.

Hepatica which I found growing next to one of the stone hedges.

A surprise

I realised that my ewe was expecting lambs, not as I had planned having them in May, but as she liked, in January. When the time of delivery grew closer, I started to get up in the middle of the night to check on her, but nothing happened except that she grew bigger and bigger, and bigger. At last I gave up and checked on her three times a day, hoping that I would be there so that I could help if she needed.

One day around noon, I sat in my room studying, and my sister calls me and said that my ewe had got her lambs. I asked her, as I hurriedly went out to the barn, how many? “Two” she said, “or three, no it’s four!”

And there they were for white lambs and one of them very small and thin. She cared a lot for them all and that was wonderful. But now came the task of making the little one survive.

Precicely past the most critical stage, he has normal temperature.

He got his rawmilk, which is essential for his immune system, but he dropped in temperature. I installed a heat lamp, he was to weak to both stand and suckle by himself so I fed him through a bottle, every fourth hour. His temperature raised to normal quite quickly, which was a good sign. After two days of slowly improving he gained strength and now after a week he is as alert as the others, allthough smaller. I have named him Richard, he must have a great name, her is real fighter. It is so wonderful that he survived.

First time he manged to drink by himself.

The others treated him very well and they kept him warm. So now I have my quartette Richard, Roger, Agnes and Cecilia.

One week old, meet Agnes, Roger, Richard, and behind them, Cecilia

Winterdays and Christmas preparations

There are few things I like as prepare for Christmas. I think it is the short and cold days that ask for spending cosy days in the kitchen, preparing with cakes and chocolates and truffles…and of course our gingerbread town. My sister and I have for over 20 years made a gingerbread town for Christmas. The challenge consists of making it both tasty and also appealing for the eye. This town has changed its apparence a little every year, but the church and the train have always been present. Last year I added an abside to make it a little more a line a cathedral. Here are some pictures showing this year’s town, the summit of preparations.

Before I put the church together I decorate the parts standing up.
The most difficult stage is done, to put it together with melted sugar.
A family that is a little late for mass… This is a gift from my brother and his wife. They bought it in U.S.

A beautiful morning

To be a farmer means that nature sets the working hours, for good and bad. For the second harvest the days were very hot which made it impossible to fetch the bales in the fields during daytime. Early mornings were then switched from sleeping to working. I am a morningbird, and will remain one. So to have the reason to wake up and begin work earlier brings with it a sort of excitement.

Early mornings during high pressure weather have often mysterious and beautiful sunrises. Since it is late in the season the trees and the fields are shrouded in fog. This morning I could not resist stopping the tractor and for a moment just admire the splendour of the sunrise together with the wild animals, the cranes with their melancholic cries, the roedeer, the buzzard and the red kite and the hares attentively listening as they ate their morning herbs.