Farmhouse Journal February 2012
Yesterday we woke to snow. The radio broadcasts are full of dire warnings of congestion and mayhem, but here the snow brings quiet and a sense of community. The birds have laid aside their spring posturings and squabblings and focus together on the more pressing business of staying alive. Even the black swans, whose territorial feelings have been running so high they could not tolerate one another on the pond, now strut together on the ice and feed almost amicably in the little open water that is left.
Out in the meadow, one of the ewes has given birth. Michael spots the lamb when he takes the sheep their barley before breakfast. Later I find the mother guarding a spot tucked under the hedge near the gypsy caravan and sneak a distant photo. We are anxious not to disturb her as all seems well. But when I inspect the photo more closely at home I can make out another tiny black form in the snow - she has twins! As the day warms, the snow begins to melt. 
I take out more barley and this time I come close enough to see that the lambs, though sturdy, are soaked with drippings from the branches overhead and the weaker one is trembling. Time to move them. Michael tucks one under each arm and, with the ewe trotting at our heels and bleating continuously, we begin the trek to the Shaker smallholding where they can take shelter in a hut filled with dry straw. The Jacobs ewe has been here before and as soon as she has her babies restored, settles in contentedly. So far so good. 
Heavy frost is forecast tonight, but if they can keep dry, the lambs will take their warmth from her. I am minded of the Spartans, who exposed their newborn infants on the mountainside overnight to see if they were fit for the harsh life that lay ahead. Those that survived would make good warriors! Well our little Spartans should be safe now. Let's hope they are soon strong enough to go back to their flock.
At the other end of the smallholding we have a new resident, a wee bonny Shetland pony, called Pebbles, who walked all the way here from her former home in Hassocks, with young Mike on Saturday! She has moved into the long pen where she has a good shelter from the north wind.
Until this sudden blast from Siberia, we had been enjoying the mildest winter we can remember, with primroses blooming since, November,and red campions, stragglers from last summer, flowering amidst 
the snowdrops and aconites! And despite the snow,the woodland bulbs are still visibly growing, and hazel catkins, capped with ice, are lengthening into proper 'lamb's tails', that waggle in the wind. I wonder what town children make of that folk-name if they hear it now. Some footpath walkers who stopped to chat the other day, were surprised to see our sheep 'undocked'. 
Their children did not know that they could have long and bushy tails. But you have to see a proper lamb's tail to appreciate how the hazel catkins mimic that distinctive kink at the end! When I was a child, I had a book called 'Lamb's Tales from Shakespeare', which caused me no end of confusion and I still cannot break the connection between catkins and the Bard! At any rate, spring seems unstoppable! And thank Heaven for that!
Stoneywish reopens on March 1st. Michael has been busy coppicing hazels in the Reserve and weaving new wattle fences out of the long poles for the herb garden beds. There's fencing still to do, and he and Mike have plans to re-build the tepee in the Play Area. And we have been busy putting together a programme of talks for the History Mornings, which begin again in April. First up, yours truly, with a History of the English Artisan Hand-Press: Puritan Pamphleteers to St. Dominic's Press here on the Common, via some rather famous and eccentric exponents of self-publishing, including William Blake, William Morris and a pirate-loving consumptive and his twelve-year-old stepson who set up their print-shop in a Swiss Hotel!
Stoneywish History Morning April
Friday 27th April
10.30 a.m.-1.00 p.m. at the Visitor Centre, Spatham Lane
We present a talk on 'The History of the English Artisan Hand-Press' by Rosemary Pavey.
The magic of self-publishing has perhaps never seemed as strong as in these days of e.books and 'print-on-demand' - but all through history, writers,artists and those with a message for mankind have been drawn to the private letter-press as the key to spreading their word. Here we take an amble through the print-shops of the past from Puritan Pamphleteers and Broadsheet Ballad-makers, to Ditchling's own master printer at St. Dominic's Press, not forgetting other famous and eccentric exponents of the craft along the way. William Blake, William Morris and Lucien Pissarro all designed and made exquisite printed books. And then there was that pirate-loving story-teller we all know well, who set up shop with his twelve-year-old stepson in a Swiss consumptives' hotel ...
A rare exhibition of St. Dominic's Press Posters and books will accompany the talk.
Even rarer hand-crafted cake and proper coffee will follow, with chat and a chance to relax in the garden (snow permitting)! All included in the entrance fee of £6.50.
For further details please telephone 01273 843498 from 1st March Fri-Mon 10.00-5.00.
Farmhouse Journal August 2011
Today, a windless, sweltering day, of the sort you remember from childhood summers: white clouds adrift in azure overhead, the whirr of grasshoppers, gorse pods popping, I set out on an insect safari through the Reserve, to see what I can find in a leisurely hour, walking and stopping for photographs. My sightiongs follow the contours of meadow and woodland, with the greatest concentration of species, as always, in the open, sunny grassland of the Bog Pond.
Where insect numbers are highest there will be the greatest choice of food for predators, so these numbers matter for us and the national statistics, which show a widespread, dramatic decline in insect populations, carry grave consequences for British wildlife as a whole. After all, though it is gratifying for us to help garden
birds through the winter on offerings of nigella seeds and dried meal worms from China, we cannot pretend that this is truly a sustainable solution. We are told that cuckoos are dying out for lack of moths to eat. How many of us know which plants are good for moths? I admit to real ignorance here, hoping that the big oak trees, the birches, willows and poplars at Stoneywish give enough scope for a range of species, but these invisible lacunae in the food web, may prove to be just as critical as the more recognised problems of pollution or predator imbalance.
Butterfly numbers for us seem to be down on last year. Perhaps the cold early spring affected them, but I find gatekeepers, common blues, the last of the skippers and meadow browns in the long 
grass, where over 20 species of wild flowers are immediately visible. Red admirals and commas are beginning to appear in the apple orchard, while speckled wood have been abundant, under the trees, since March. Early dragonflies are about too. And the flowers with far and away the most insect guests? Apart from the herbs in the herb garden, they are dreaded hogweed, thistle, blackberry, 
teasel and the greeny-white, waxy stars of white bryony, all with clouds of eager hover flies! Gold finches are busy already amongst the thistledown.
Perhaps a few stinging nettles, as a token gesture to conservation, are just not enough. We need to recognise that all these plants deserve a place near us if we want birds in our world. The goldfinches 
will move on to teasel seeds as they ripen in turn. Who will eat the great biscuit-like fruit of the hogweed? Or the poison-bright berries of the bryony and cuckoo pint, which bejewel the woodland floor?
Seeing nature whole, brings such staggering rewards. And you don't need infra-red equipment or a team of photographers from the BBC. It is cheaper and much more fun than weedkiller. We just need to slow down enough to look. Our children have everything to teach us here. We devise captivating entertainments for them, but they can access levels of pleasure to which, as adults, we have grown all but blind.
At the end of my safari I followed a family along a path to the Play Area. Two little boys, four or five years old, were trailing behind their mothers, recalling the highlights of their trip last summer. Ice cream? Swings? Friendly pigs? Not a mention! This is what I heard instead: "Yeah, this is the place with the Doctor Who plants.
I remember." "Yeah, the Dr. Who plants." Do they mean the giant himalayan balsam, which can catapult its seeds 6 feet when the pods explode? Another weed loathed by all, though punch-drunk bumble-bees think they have found paradise when they reach the blossoms. "Yeah, this is where the grasshoppers are!" "Yeah! The grasshoppers!!! .." Ah, those summer days of childhood ... Forget the latest stress-busting courses. All you need to do is step out of time and get down on your hands and knees!
HUG A BUG! Holiday Activity
Back by popular demand ...
Hug a Bug Mini-Zoo is back this summer with a stunning selection of creepy-crawlies!
Come and meet Penny and her bug friends, including giant snails, stick insects, millipedes, scorpions, tarantulas and many more at Stoneywish
Every Thursday throughout the summer holidays!
12-4 p.m.
28th July; 4th, 11th,18th 25th August; 1st September
No additional charge for this activity.
Farmhouse Journal July 2011
The cherry tree outside our door is laden with ripening fruit and a blackbird has taken up residence bang in the middle of it. When he is not positively gorging himself, he stands guard to ward off approaches from all others, especially humans. Now I am more than happy to share, but the blackbird considers the fruit to be exclusively his and becomes extremely agitated if he sees us steal any. which gives a touching insight into our place in the order of things. According to the bats, foxes, squirrels, moles, rabbits and toads who rightly think the nature reserve is theirs, we must be little more than trespassers with annoying habits!
The young creatures here are growing up very fast while the world around them signals the arrival of high summer. Long grass in the pinetum resounds to the churr-churr of innumerable grasshoppers, and the bog pond is dappled with butterflies: skippers, meadow browns and marbled whites. Overhead, comes the screech of swifts as they hunt for flies, and today,a flash of blue indicating a kingfisher on the black swan pond. Every honey bee for miles seems to have found its way to the great lime tree near the old farm yard, which is now in bloom. We should harvest some blossoms too, for fresh lime flower tea is one of the treats of summer and a soothing tonic for the nerves.
Everybody seems to know about elderflower spritzers, but linden-blossom tea remains a delicious secret. In fact it is hard to keep up with the successive harvests of the season: sorrel for soup: chive flowers, marigolds and nasturtiums to enliven a salad; blue borage flowers for summer drinks (delightful frozen into ice cubes); and rose petals in sandwiches! All have beneficial herbal properties too! Other seasonal plants inspire different uses: astringent southernwood to drive away clothes moths, and tutsan, a member of the st. john's wort family, whose leaves were traditionally pressed into Bibles as fragrant bookmarks. All can be found in the Reserve at this time of year.
These summer mornings Michael rises at 5 or five thirty and goes out for a few hours, cutting docks and thistles with his swaphook before breakfast. Apparently haymakers traditionally worked early, partly to avoid the heat of the day, but also because, as the dew dries, grasses become tougher to cut, and the same is true of weeds. The trick is to catch your them just before they flower, for then all the energy of the plants is concentrated in the leaves and they will be less likely to come back in strength. Working by hand is laborious, 
but this way he can trim round the meadow plants he wants to conserve and this year we have a wonderful profusion of wildflowers: meadowsweet and birds-foot trefoil, hardheads, clovers, vetches and in the Bog Pond, drifts of lady's bedstraw, agrimony and sticky mouse-ear. His cutting blade is honed to a lethal edge and regularly re-sharpened and this particular tool is now wafer thin, but Michael insists the vintage steel is better than anything you can buy new.
Hand cutting also spares most of the creatures living in the grass. We aspire to recreate the abundance of grassland insects that was commonplace at the beginning of the last century. 
Michael remembers assisting bug-hunters and beetle-collectors in his boyhood and our Bog Pond now gives an idea of what the countryside at large must have been like. 
This area, which is left virtually to manage itself, teams with insect life in a way altogether different from the rest of the reserve. Perhaps the proximity of water helps. Soon there will be dragonflies and damselflies and the red-spotted burnet moths which fly by day. At any rate there should be enough critters about this summer to keep naturalists, young or old, happy this summer!
Camping at Stoneywish
Here are some details about camping at Stoneywish. If you would like to make a reservation, please telephone our ticket office during opening hours (Fri-Mon 10 a.m. - 5 p.m. during school term time and every day 10. a.m. - 5 p.m. during school holidays March to October inclusive). You can also book through www.grasshoppers-uk.com
The Camping Field
is situated next to the Car Park and Visitor Centre and is a large meadow adjoining the village recreation ground, surrounded by mature hedgerows and with footpath access to the village with its post office, pubs and cafes. Campers with tents and small caravans/camper vans are all welcome. Please park next to your tent in the field.
Cost
Camping costs £5.00 per person per night. Babies under 1 year old are free.
Dogs
are welcome provided you keep them on the lead and any clear up any poo! Please note dogs cannot go into the Nature Reserve.
Rubbish
Please take all rubbish home with you.
Music
We ask you not to play music as people come here for the peace and quiet. The wildlife here needs to be peaceful too!
Fires and BBQs
are permitted if you can make sure you do not burn the grass. There are one or two designated camp fire areas at the edge of the field. Logs can be purchased at the Visitor Centre or from Michael's grandson direct at www.grasshoppers-uk.com. (Young Mike also offers local gardening services from this site.)
Facilities
This is basic camping so we provide a tap for drinking water and use of the Visitor Toilets which have small hand-washing basins and baby-changing/disabled facilities.
Access to the Nature Reserve
is during Reserve opening times only. Camping fees do not include entrance to the reserve. Tickets can be bought at the Ticket Office.
Bookings.
Please telephone in advance during opening hours to make your reservation. If you arrive late, you can pay when the Reserve opens in the morning. Payments can be made by card or cash at the Ticket Office. Camping is still available on days when the Reserve is closed.
Group Bookings
are welcome, but please telephone to make your reservation in advance.
We hope you will enjoy your stay here! There is much to see and enjoy.
Farmhouse Journal June 2011
That country saying about not casting clouts in May has certainly proved wise advice this year. (Gardeners and farmers know that frosts here, even in the south, can catch early strawberries, so I reject the recent reading of 'May' as whitethorn blossom. No one would surely think of shedding their vest at the beginning of the month!) The sheep at Stoneywish have only just lost theirs and, since the shearer came, look like funny little sacks on stilts. The fleeces, carefully rolled, are waiting for the Steiner School to come and collect them for craft lessons. But at least today is warmer for naked tummies!
The last few weeks have seen a mass fledging of baby birds in the Reserve. The vegetation resounds all day long with their high-pitched 'tseet-tseet-tseet' and we have been lucky enough to see little flocks of blue tits and great tits venturing from tree to tree and still fluttering their wings for gifts of grubs from their parents. The collar doves, which nested above our front door, have successfully reared two young and we have blackbirds and wrens busy guarding nests nearby. The dense tangle of undergrowth here gives them a chance against marauding magpies, though it is not always easy to explain this when Chelsea still sets the model for gardening! A visiting maintenance engineer recently popped his head over the fence and stared in wonder at the long grass and rampant rambler roses:
"What's this then, 'The Darling Buds of May'?" We took it as a compliment for, honestly, it is such a joy to step out into a Baby Bird Garden, I feel certain we could convert even the diehards of the RHS! Yesterday, on my way to feed the chickens, I heard more high-pitched juvenile voices and spotted 10 or more goldcrests in a pine tree, hopping about like jumping beans and making the same fluttering petitions for food. And other babies abound here too, rabbits and squirrels and fox cubs, harder to see.
Wild roses and foxgloves are now in bloom in the Reserve; the Apothecary's Roses in the Herb Garden merit a visit for their heavenly scent, and everywhere still looks remarkably lush, despite two months of drought. The Austrian scientist and naturalist Victor Schauberger, claimed that trees could create water, deep underground, through the chemical action of their roots, and considering how much water a single willow transpires in a day, I can think of no other reason for them surviving so well. 
We are so often burdened with a sense of responsibility for maintaining everything in the world, I like the idea of such invisible processes which sustain us without fuss or fee.
As for the goslings, they are now great lumping adolescents, difficult to distinguish from their parents at a glance, but still rather downy and squeaky on closer inspection. The ducklings too have gained their feathers, just as all the big birds are losing theirs, for the great summer goose moult is now on and every morning finds a new crop of flight feathers on the grass by the ponds. 
Anyone who wants to make their own Warrior's Headdress to wear at the Wild West Fort in the Play Area, should hurry here while stocks last!!
Good hunting!
Farmhouse Journal May 2011
Easter Sunday: A Normal Day at Stoneywish
Public Holidays are working days for us. Nevertheless I try not to let such times slip by without a sense of celebration. So for Easter I plan a breakfast of fresh-laid chuckie-eggs and homemade brioche, courtesy of the new bread-maker. Michael sets off for work just after six a.m. with instructions not to stay out cutting stinging nettles after he has fed the animals. Breakfast will be at 8 sharp. At seven he returns, but my hopes of a restful start to the day are short-lived. One of our sheep - last year's bottle-lamb, Spotty, to be precise - has managed to wedge her head through the bars of a metal gate and, due to her horns, cannot be extricated. Do I have a hack-saw? No, I do not. And as she cannot be left in such a parlous state, I call the Fire Brigade and we both set off to the Car Park to await the arrival of professional help. The fireman show great gentleness and understanding, for their Easter breakfast has probably also gone by the board, and manage to cut Spotty free without any trauma, After staggering about a bit, she heads off for a rest in the shade before resuming her grazing. I would like to think she has learnt something about the value of seeking greener grass on the other side, but I suspect she has not!
Within an hour I am rounding up a dog which has strayed from one of our neighbour's houses and is running amongst the geese and their newly hatched goslings. These six babies, now gawky on long legs, were, at Easter, still helpless balls of fluff, zealously guarded by their parents and a gaggle of aunties and uncles who were bold enough to fly at the sheep if they came too close. But even a bold goose is no match for a dog. By the time I have chased him home and returned to the house, it is getting on for midday.
No matter, the weather is warm and sunny and the apple blossom hums with bees in the orchard. Perhaps an Easter lunch outside will make up for breakfast? We pile bread and salad onto plates and just as we head out of the kitchen the telephone rings: Is Michael there? There is water pouring through the ceiling of the Visitor Centre kitchen. It looks as if the tank has burst again...
Two emergency plumbing trips later, pigs fed, chickens shut away, and visitors and staff departed after the excitement of the Easter Bunny Hunt, we anticipate a quiet evening. But perhaps it would be better to make no further plans! Fate has such an arsenal of practical jokes to play on the unwary. Half way through dinner someone calls to say that a fox has carried off one of the goslings and the thought haunts me late into the night.
Next morning however, I find all in the top field still alive and well. In addition the noisy Canadas have hatched three young of their own on the Black Swan Pond. I count six ducklings, darting about, hunting flies on the water surface and also spot four moorhen chicks, hidden under the overhanging foliage that obscures their nest. The cuckoo has been calling for a week now.
This surge of life brings its triumphs and tragedies. With the warm weather, two sheep, though treated already, succumb to fly-strike and Michael and his grandson, Mike, have the unenviable task of dealing with the flesh-eating maggots which have burrowed into their wool. And the heron returns to the Black Swan Pond and perches at the top of the weeping willow, waiting to swoop on my unsuspecting nursery.
Two weeks on, I have four duckling survivors, but only one moorhen, lovingly tended, as only baby moorhens can be. The Canadas have taken their family to the safety of the Big Pond where they were welcomed by a raucous flotilla of geese. Meanwhile, despite their water drying up alarmingly fast, the top flock have continued to protect their goslings and their unflagging vigilance makes a very moving sight.
And already it is May. Today's news becomes out of date even as I write it. Elder bushes flower where the apple and rowan bloomed before. Great drifts of red campion and blue alkanet lie between the trees along the Big Pond edge, the best I have ever seen and May blossom foams in the hedgerows. You would not guess that we have been without rain for five weeks or more. Shaun McCullagh came at Easter and did a new bird count for us, recording whitethroat and lesser whitethroat, blackcap and reed warbler this time, in addition to our usual residents. And Michael has met a baby fallow deer twice on his rounds in the early morning, which is lovely for the blog and (deer being voracious eaters of roses) rather worrying for the Herb Garden!
We finally got our lazy breakfast on May morning!
Farmhouse Journal April 2011
Suddenly everything is bursting into life. While geese, ducks and moorhens are busy guarding their nests on the Reserve a tide of green is seeping over the hedgerows. Pussy willow is out. The chiffchaffs have arrived from Africa and you can hear their distinctive notes, calling their own names, quite clearly, among the other bird cries. And our family of farm animals is growing too. Two dear ginger-spotty piglets have joined the gang in the Smallholding and another lamb was born last week. On the Black Swan pond, the Canada Geese and the swans have called a truce and have settled down to nest beside one another on the island. While their womenfolk are occupied, the males warily patrol the waters round them, all raucous displays of greeting and warning temporarily halted. In the folk mythology of Finland, Tuonela, the Underworld, is surrounded by waters which are guarded by a lone black swan. Black swans come from Australia so the 'Swan of Tuonela' was a piece of pure imagination on the part of Finland's pre-christian storytellers, but their tale inspired a haunting tone poem by Sibelius, and I cannot help hearing his music in my head as I see our miniature epic unfolding here.
Carpets of spring flowers are appearing now: primroses, violets, the beautiful oxlips, which have colonised a corner of the woodland coppice,
and mantles of wild garlic, and bluebells are close behind, while the blackthorn, crab apples and orchard fruit trees are only days away from breaking bud.
The winter tasks of fencing and clearing now over, Michael and his grandson Mike are hard at work, digging the Herb Garden, planting seeds and dragging off the old dried topgrowth of last year's herbs, which have provided winter shelter for lacewings and ladybirds and other friendly predators. 
There are plans for some turkeys to join the hens in the orchard. Already the Oxford Sandy and Black piglets have turfed up the grass in their pen and learnt that a snout is a good powerful tool for levering fences up high enough to escape into the world at large. They can run fast too! Michael was called out two days ago to catch them before they set to helping to dig the vegetable beds!
A week or so back we took delivery of two ponies, which Charlie Camp from Clayton made for us out of his locally grown chestnut wood, and they are now stationed close to the Indian Tepee and newly refurbished Wild West Fort in the Play Area, waiting for child adventurers to scramble on their backs. Charlie makes all manner of beautifully crafted items in wood, from wellie-racks to garden furniture and we are hoping to add his handiwork to the things for sale in our shop.
As the calligraphy exhibition comes down at the Visitor Centre, another goes up. This time our theme is Victorian England, to accompany the first in a new series of History Morning talks. Nick Scahill is coming up from Hove, for what he describes as a 'gallivant' through Victorian social history. His expertise with all things of the period, from magic lanterns to moustache wax is well recorded, so we are looking forward to a tour which promises to take in the Crystal Palace via Gilbert and Sullivan and a mechanical apple-peeler!
Next month we will receive the seeds which have been sent from the Indian Medicinal garden in Bhopal. Our early herbs, such as the lovely sweet cicely, are shooting up already in a foam of creamy flowers. Used for flavouring fruit pies and drinks, the fern-like leaves of sweet cicely add a delicate aniseed flavour and can be used as a replacement for sugar, while woodruff offers even finer delights. Steeped in white wine, a sprig of sweet woodruff produces the fragrant 'Maibowle', which is traditionally drunk in Germany on the 1st May. It is a delightful drink and is reputed to have given long life to Frederick the Great, who was something of an addict, so well worth a try!
Meet the Shakers:
A permanent open air exhibition to illustrate the inspiration behind our Shaker-style Herb Garden.
Find out more about these fascinating people, their work and beliefs.
The Fantastical world of Rowland Emett.
A permanent display in a purpose built Emett Hut celebrating the life and work of the artist with copies of his 'Punch' cartoons, and photos of the wonderful kinetic machines he designed, from 'Nellie', the star of the Festival of Britain to the world of 'Chitty Chitty Bang Bang'. The enthusiast can view further Emett items by appointment, or make use of our swap and share opportunities for collectors.
Farmhouse Journal March 2011
A survey taken last week by Shaun McCullagh, a local ornithologist, registered 33 species of birds on the Reserve in a single assessment. Shaun does bird counts for the British Trust for Ornithology and has run the BTO bird census on the Isle of Mull for several years now, so we are delighted to have his help and his findings have exceeded our hopes, confirming the presence here of nuthatches, fieldfares, redwings and many other birds which we have not had the time or skill to spot. It is encouraging evidence that our little haven can support a good range of wildlife, even through a harsh winter.
Here we are rapidly running out of dry wood for the Rayburn. Michael seems to spend half the day sawing up old fence posts and dead branches and we have running battles over which items belong to the beetles and woodpeckers and which are fit to burn. Some sticky pine the other day gave us a chimney fire at supper time. An ominous crackling in the Rayburn flu alerted me and I called for assistance. Michael, a veteran fireman of 33 years service, looked at it quizzically and pronounced that it was only soot burning and would probably do the chimney good. "Shut everything down and see what happens", he said. My efforts to continue cooking were hampered by falling sparks and molten cinders and when the chimney plate began to glow I made a larger fuss: "You know, this really is on fire!" Michael considered the matter. Pottered outside to inspect the state of the chimney pot, rummaged briefly in his veterinary box and handed me a water pistol. "You could try squirting that up there if you like. There are no flames coming out of the top." The water pistol produced an angry sputtering and dribbles of tar, but gradually did the job. Apart from a few smuts in the risotto no real harm done. Of course we should get the chimney swept more often. 'Grandmother's Household Hints', an old American manual recommends dropping a live hen down once a year. The fluttering descent will dislodge soot most effectively! No mention of chicken's rights! More prosaically, Sussex lore advocates a holly branch. I might simply settle for calling in the sweep!
This week we open to the public once more and everyone is trying their hand at the new self-service drinks machine to see whether the filter coffee really lives up to its name. Verdicts are good so far, so we are hoping this will add an extra pleasure to the end of a walk round the park for visitors.
One sad note. We lost dear old Charlie the donkey. Heaven knows how old he was,as he was already elderly when he came to us and that was over 16 years ago. This winter he became slower and slower at eating his food and Michael spent many long hours standing over him in the snowy weather, to fend off the cows who gobbled their rations so quickly and came foraging for more. We find ourselves still looking for his pale shadow and quiet welcome at the gate.
No more news for now, other than to put it on record that the sun shone yesterday and it felt, at last, like spring!
Forest Days at Stoneywish
New for 2-5 year olds!
'Forest School style 'Adventure Tuesdays at Stoneywish Nature Reserve during term time from 9am-2pm.
Let your children be children and experience nature at first hand: exploring the streams and fields and visiting all the farm animals including the pigs, goats and chickens. We are delighted to welcome Janet Irwin and The Acorns Nursery School team to Stoneywish. They have long established 'outstanding' Nursery Schools in both Westmeston and Lindfield.
The Nature Reserve is closed to the general public on a Tuesday during term time and so the children have wonderful opportunities to explore the natural environment here and learn through play, whatever the weather.
The Acorns in-house Yoga teacher, who was trained in New York, offers yoga workshops to the older children, using the acclaimed, child-centred 'yoga-bugs' system.
The children meet at the Visitor Centre: a bright and airy space with a safe, enclosed garden area laid to patio and lawn and enjoy snacks and lunches prepared on the premises. The children bring their own ride-on toys with them and indoor and outdoor toys and games of their own choosing in their special 'Stoneywish' bag.
The Acorns is Ofsted registered and Childcare vouchers are accepted. These adventure days are open to all under-fives and word is spreading about this very special day.
Please come and have a look. For full details please contact Janet on: 01444 455081 or visit www.theacornsnurseryschool.com
Farmhouse Journal January 2011
Today, a slimy-brown,
relentlessly rainy day, is Twelfth Night, the traditional end of Christmas and the day when we should be wassailing the apple trees to sing in a good harvest and frighten away malicious spirits by banging trays and firing off the odd shot gun. Though we have done it in fun in other years, there seems small chance of it in this downpour, so perhaps we shall have to toast them from the comfort of our fireside instead. I did, however, go out and inspect them. New buds are still tightly clamped to their branches, but there is a different air already about all the trees in the reserve. Hazel catkins are almost in flower.
The birches 
are alive with robins in full voice and at dawn, their warning cries mingle with those of the blackbirds and late-hunting owls, while the mistle thrush tries out his spring song. The green spears of the flag iris shoots are up like a fringe of little teeth along the margins of the ponds, and winter aconites, always the first flowers of spring, are breaking through the leaf mould, uncurling their yellow heads in defiance of the weather and creating their own sunshine.
Contrary to good orchard practice, we failed to pick up the fallen Bramleys and the snow has now covered them twice. But I notice that since their first frosting they seem to have become more palatable to the birds and they have helped sustain them through the last few weeks. Moreover, more birds foraging should mean fewer bugs left for the spring, I hope, and fewer maggots in the apples. It has seemed to work in other years.
There are only a few weeks left till the Reserve reopens to the public and Michael and his grandson Mike, with the help of the intrepid Harry, have been hard at work, painting, clearing and renewing fences. You can hear the reverberating thud across the fields as Mike and Harry drive home another post.
Meanwhile, back to the rain. My wellies have sprung another leak so feeding the chickens is rather like hopscotch, dodging the puddles! Traditionally, it is February that earns the epithet 'fill-dyke'. Well, all our ditches are full a month early and passing Canada geese stop off to investigate the new ponds that have appeared out in the meadows. Michael says he has never seen the fields so flooded and the drive to the Car Park is honeycombed with potholes. 
Compared with the vast floods happening elsewhere in the world, we have nothing to complain of, but you get a sense of the incredible power of water when even our gentle English rain washes out a road overnight. The news from Brazil, Australia, Indonesia gives a sobering glimpse of true global warming in action and makes our local perspective seem rather trivial. But it also brings home the awareness that we are all connected. Perhaps it is good to get your feet wet and remember that the weather is not just an amenity, or an inconvenience, but, like part of our skin, a medium for life and breath. We always want to insulate ourselves, but the old wassailers sensed, with a wisdom long pre-dating scientific knowledge, that one had to stay close to Nature if one wanted to keep it benign. The water birds here live immersed in their element and for them the thaw is a welcome relief. After all, it is exhausting work breaking ice with your chest when the ponds freeze over!
Farmhouse Journal
Here is a way to keep warm on a bitter, snowy day.
At half past six the alarm goes off. It will be an hour and a half before sunrise, but there is a pale, eerie glow outside, like dim moonlight. Also a deathly hush. Upon further inspection we discover that, contrary to all our hopes, Sussex has succumbed to the Frost Giants that have captured most of the country for the past week. Our world lies under a foot of snow and the flakes are still steadily falling. We heave out of bed and into layers of clothes – extra socks, leggings, mittens - check that the rayburn is still alight, turf the Bramley apples out of the sledge and load up to feed the Stoneywish animals on foot. Also part of the kit: a flask of hot water to defrost the gate padlock, a broom to sweep the snow off the gypsy caravan roof, a camera, wellies and sacks of corn and barley. It takes two of us to lug the sledge along as the snow is sticky and piles up under the runners. Tree branches along the path, drooping under the weight of the downfall, catch on our hats and tip their icy loads down the backs of our necks as we pass.
The top of the big pond has become a frozen slab, grey and solid as slate where the water birds take tentative steps. And the animals greet us in the half light, faces and backs matted with snow, feet lost in it, attention narrowed to the urgent matter of eating as much and as quickly as possible.
Today is Michael’s birthday. Plans for a family lunch have sadly had to be postponed, as his daughters are unable to travel, but he remains philosophical. 1938 was just such a year as this and on the day he was born, his father dragged hay on a sledge to cattle which were stranded in the drifts in nearby Keymer. I think he finds it satisfying that the pattern of history has set him walking, as it were, in his father’s footsteps. It is the second day of Advent and the shops are full of imitation icicles, reindeer, snowflakes and all the trappings of a winter dream. But this actual snow has a sense of unreality too. For one thing, the oaks have not yet lost their leaves. The full, summer profiles of the trees sit oddly in the frozen landscape. Each time the wind blows, a dusting of birch catkin bracts and brittle brown leaves comes down, littering the pure white beneath. The world wasn’t quite ready for this. Poor black hen still has a bald rump from her late moult!
We break ice in the water troughs, cart hay, distribute corn, barley, oats. And trudge home, warm as toast, for a birthday fry up. Everybody telephones to congratulate the birthday boy, but there is no rest for him. The yard needs shovelling clear, logs have to be fetched. By the time that is done and I have dealt with the usual waterfowl scrum on the Black Swan Pond, we are late for lunch and the snow is still falling and by two o’clock the light is beginning to fail and it is time to set off with buckets and sacks and feed the animals all over again! The trudging, hauling, sweeping, bashing has found out every aching muscle we possess. But the quiet beauty of the Reserve, the sudden sense of closeness to nature that a bit of hardship brings, 
gives us energy – enough energy even to plough back and retrieve a shovel dropped at the wrong end of the farm! The snow is studded with footprints: geese, moorhens, rabbits … we know exactly which way the foxes have gone! And our own footprints from the morning, preceding us home, are a welcome, companionable sight.
Finally returned, we set about the evening chores, lighting fires, cooking supper … It is dark and still outside. Even the owls are silent. I want to fall asleep, but resist it, because the sooner I sleep, the sooner I know it will be 6.30 a.m. and the start of another day of toil. But we are warm. A log fire warms you twice, says Michael: once chopping the wood, and once burning it. And he has another saying for a winter’s day. This weather is what he calls ‘the Master’s weather’ because labourers must work hard to keep warm and the master doesn’t need to chide them. Today has proved that at 72 he is still young enough to be a good labourer, and, angina notwithstanding, I have made a passable labourer’s mate. So we are both happy. Once we have had our slice of birthday cake we can rest easy – all the animals have full tummies!
