PhotocatsEyes

Springy hares...

Yes, they are around. I saw a couple of them this morning. Not rabbits, no hares. Looong ears, with a colored tip.
I decided to take a quick dash to Markenfield to check the calves status. If have not been for a couple of days, the barn calls my name.
If it is not the sharpei’s, it is the calves...

I still have to appologize to Nula. I called her Lola, and her name is really Nula. I just call her sweetie pie. How can you NOT call her sweetie pie?
We maybe should call her sweetie pei. That would be appropriate.
This morning, after I turned off the main road onto the drive to Markenfield Hall, I saw it. The Hare...

Extremely skiddish animals, you have to snap it as you can, because the minute he spots or snifs you, you are gone. He runs for life...
And it is very hard to follow them, as they seemlessly blend in with their backgrounds. I do see him in front of the daffs, but once he gets on the fields, I will not be able to track him down anymore...
Too bad I only get one shot of him, before he vanishes into thin air.

Leaves me some room for a couple of daff snaps. They have been battered by rain, they are getting to the end of their blooming time, they start to show brown edges where the rain hit them. We wait for the daffs for a whole year, they pop out, and after a couple of weeks, they are gone again.
Why is it that winter takes so long, and spring and summer zoom by?

A bit further down the drive, I startle a group of birds, and they go off in a craze. Hitchcock would be proud of me...
I see the farmer coming down the lane, he does not like to be photographed, so when I press the shutter, he hides between the pipe on the tractor.
Major bummer, it would have been a nice photograph. Next time better.

He tells me that the calves are up to 12 now, they come at a rate of two a day. Woohoo, the big door to the stable is open, all I have to do is sneek in, be silent, and snap...

A wonderful sight when I enter. Littered in the straw are the tiny bodies of the little calves. Two of them born this morning.
The moms are chewing, as they always do. Nothing to forget a birth as good as a bit of nice quality chewing time.
The calves spend their first day on earth mostly sleeping. Hard work to be born...

One of the tiny ones lets me come really close, and my gawd, they are CCCUUUUUUTTEEEE....
Why is it that small animals make my heart pitter-the-pat. I wished they would not get the tag from the minute they are born, but I am not influential enough in Brittain to change the tagging system. Calf 15 (that I will call Isa, just sounds nicer) is adorable... Can’t wait for the rest to be born.
I will go back on friday and see how many more there are. Exiting times...

And I finally cracked the question “How on earth do calves get pooped on???”.
See the answer. They want a nibble, but go at it from the wrong entry, and THAT IS HOW THEY GET POOED ON... Sheesh...
But then I guess they will only experience it once. They will not want a repeat, and they do get more accustomed by the right way of feeding.

The calf born 3 weeks ago almost looks like a giant compared to the new borns. What a treat to live in England, and be able to live through all this in spring, every spring, over and over. Each time with as much joy as the year before. And I am getting to grips with my camera more, so the shots are slowly getting better.

Lots of preggies still eating for two, there is some shoving going on at the nibbling pen, each wants to have a bite, only fair...
Makes for some funny sights from my side. I love it when cows start to act almost human.

A black calf is getting a scrub, his mom wants it to be representable. Nothing like a clean calf, even in the farm world.

And Polly will have another baby this year too. She was the one that surprised the farmer last year when I showed him her photograph, taken a meter away from her. He told me then that normally, she does NOT like humans that close. Phew, at least I know for this year. Stay at a respectable distance from Polly and her calf to be. She does not seem bothered by my presence today, slowly chewing alfafa. Hugh takes such good care of his animals.

And close to Ripley, I see the first swaledale lamb for this year. A tiny white dot with a black face. More to come!
And since human babies are born in spring too, I needed to make a card.
I found this one a couple of weeks ago on Caardvark, but sadly enough don’t find it back. So I can not credit the inventor of the card.
I can not draw, not a straight line. So what I did was trace the figures in photoshop, my card does not look nearly as good as the original, but it will do for the baby I need it for.
Should any of my readers know who the original card made (in a contest for Caardvark, the girl won, deserved too I would say) - please let me know her name and email, so I can thank her... Following is my card, copied a 100 percent...

Talk later, with a couple of more sights from Hartlepool!

Back in Sharpei land...

The sequel! I had promised the Sharpei breeder Annette in Darley that I wanted to go back to snap them with my new lens. And that is just what we did on friday. It took some time, as it is not easy to get five Sharpei pups lined up and staying lined up. But we managed. With some help from the men, to move the couch closer to the window. I wanted to snap them without flash, with natural light, still had to crank the camera ISO up to 1000 though. So if you see any grain, don’t panic. It was technique against ambient light, and I went for the ambient light. I am well aware that with a couple of Bowens lamps you could set it up to flash, but I do not like flash. It kills the nice light made by the available daylight.

First thing to do was let the whole pack out in the yard, for the so needed pee’s and pooh’s, and to get rid of some of the energy.
Hoping they would be calmer coming back in. It was a regular hoot.
There was mom Bitsie, the big blue one, we had a cream one, Lola, and five pups, followed by a french buldogg called Cassie.
Energy and lots going on were the two main things to watch.

Lola is an 18 month old female, barely out of her teenage years, and still very playful. It was so great to see them jump and play around, making false threat moves and jump up and aside. I could hardly believe that they had grown so much by fourteen days ago, when I saw them at four weeks.
They have doubled in size.
Let me add that they also doubled in cuteness... The blue ones are all sold, no more pups left. Within fourteen days or so, they will go to their new owners.
And it will not be me... pout. I still want one so bad.

It is such a funny sight to watch the whole gang run back and forth, Cassie following them from a distance. It is a known fact that French and British can be on careful foot with each other, I take it it goes the same for the French and British pups...

It is a rather windy day, with sun spells and showers, but I do not worry about the pups, as they are all extremely healthy and good in the flesh.
Their coat shines in the sunlight, little chubby bits of fur and softness, high on my personal cute ladder. It is nice to see that the pups are very social, and are raised with kids and other dogs. Makes for very social little piggies, heavy to lift for the little princess daughter Beebee.

I am amazed that she has the strength to lift the not so light pups, and carries them around. They hang happily in her arms.
What a sweet sight... My heart melts. Little girls and pups, what more is there to long for?

Bit by bit the pup sinks lower, and she has to pick him up again, to not loose grip. So much fun to watch. The pup is half the size of the mini human.
I love her blond hair, and her shiny blue eyes. A beauty in the making.

When she is done with the pup, she scouts for something else to do, hard to believe that 2 year olds now know how to work the computer already.
With a little bit of begging, she agrees to hold one of the other pups for me, so I can snap some more...

Who wins the contest Cute? Hard to say... Both score high in my camp. A full 10... For dog and kid!
We now go over to the order of the day, we want to line up the five pups on the earlier mentioned couch, and try to make a nice portrait of them.

Several attempts need to be made, as there seems to always be one back out of the line up again. Extremely hard to have them sit still for longer then five seconds, I am have to laugh so hard when they pop back out of formation the minute Annette lets go... She sets them up, they have no time to loose though, life is here to be lived, we don’t have time to pose..

I think all in all we try it for a good half hour, snapping away, hoping that a few of them will come out good. It is unbelievable how those chunky looking bits of fat can break up and explode in five different directions. If not all five, then at least one or two.
What an adorable moment.

We keep trying, and surely, in the end we do have a couple where they are nicely lined up, sitting still for 8 seconds, time enough for me to press my shutter button. Gosh, that little job needed oiled teamwork. Between breeder and photographer...
I was pretty chuffed when I looked at the pics after I got home, they are funny animals, and they do warm my soul.
I will start a sharpei saving piggy bank... Shameless plug here: I will put them on my card site, please feel free to fund my sharpei savings piggy bank, grin, it will be used for a good cause: my very own sharpei...
A blue one.. (Or grey, in the animal world, blue stands for grey...)

The brown-cream ones are lovely as well, but my heart goes out to the blue ones. They would match my cats. Not umimportant I would say...
Since my own personal sharpei will have to come from the special fund raising card project, I will obviously have time to wonder about it all.

The cream colored ones have blue eyes, looking straight into one’s soul. They have a bit of a worried face, it is the wrinkles. They do fit on a wrinkled background, all wrinkled together.

Truly pups that strongly appeal to the softer side of anyone looking at them. Looking into their deep blue eyes, I wonder how some humans can harm any animal at all. The puppies look you straight in the eyes, trust without question marks. Unconditional...
They have one of the cream girls left to sell, hurry if you want one. They go quickly, and I can understand why.

Velvet Lola decides she wants to have a sniff at the cream ones too... Can’t blame her. It’s very agreable to see that all the dogs interact with each other, no problems, no snapping, one good pack. Balanced. As it should be. In the right order of power, humans on top, then the dogs.
I leave with regret, I could have stayed there another couple of hours, but the family has to go on with life, and so do I. I am on my way to Embsay, time for some shopping. Some special projects in mind.

A cold wind is blowing once on the Skipton Road, and I notice framed nature. It’s spring but it does not feel like it. I take it that the frame needs an ad, although I do like it without ad. I prefer to see the other side of Barden Fell ahead instead of some silly ad for a product that I don’t need anyway.
And on the way home, I have an encounter again with the dirty bunch... The sheep that should be white, but like rolling in the mud so much they look brown.

They smile at me and go on chewing. Their heavy coat must protect them more then enough for the winds blowing on top of the moors. Down in the valley, the wind is cut short, but up here, where they are, it has free roaming space, blowing without breaks.

Still pregnant, wide and good, she chews with delight. Moving her little mouth from one side to the other. A comical sight.
At least they don’t jump up and go, maybe they finally start recognizing me...
It was a nice day, filled with small and big animals, found some nice things in Embsay. Now to wake up my creative muse...
She left me a couple of months ago, maybe she will want to come back now...

More later!

A day like any other...

Even if that is not totally the truth. It is a day like any other really, but it is also the day that I am supposed to celebrate my birthday... The celebrate part is too much. I am not celebrating the fact that my body tells me that I am getting older. I should have a young mind in a young body. Somehow it got ruined somewhere. So from now on we stop celebrating my birthday, and will do something fun, pretending it has nothing to do with birthdays at all. Capice?
Hmmm, am I making any sense here?

I am happy to let you know that my god child sees me as a young spring chicken, with funny hat. I love it... And look at all the hearts...
How can one not be touched by so much love poured one’s way. And there was more, she did some bears, and another heart...
My sister sent me a lovely card, which brought tears to my eyes. I have a problem there too. Whenever I encounter something that touches me, I get all teary eyed about it. Daft as a coocoo I believe is the saying...

And there are all the other cards coming from all over the world. I am not kidding you. Cards from America, Belgium, France, England, all those people thinking about me, I must have done something good at any point in time...
My husband got me a lens for my camera, a lens that I had been coveting for a long time now, and I have it on camera when we take off for our two day trip to the coast of North East England.

Mr Wonderful decided that we needed to see Hartlepool, and me being the subdued wife, I went along with the idea, that is how we got on the A19 North, straight to the North...
Our first stop was on a beach facing Hartlepool, where I was amazed to find a beautiful industrial landscape. A weird combination. Industrial usually does not evoke beautiful and landscape in it’s context. Yet it was beautiful here, on that breezy morning, watching the power plant on one side and the North Sea on the other.

It was a stormy day, with patches of sun through dark thunder clouds, made for one angry mood, with clouds throwing big shadows on the beach.
Not many people out, too windy, only here and there a small human figure, with a dog. Dogs don’t mind a bit of wind. They live in the moment, no before or after...

A small truck is parked on the beach, and a guy is scooping up black mountains. I wonder why and what they are. Are they pollution that needs to be cleared of the beaches? Anyone?

We leave the beach and drive into Hartlepool. A sleepy town, with artistic street lights. A bit of a deserted feel to it, not that many people out. The weather?
Or the fact that the general recession hits harder in the Northern towns of England? The church has a square tower, with a funny little tower on one of the corners. Thinking out of the box has been applied. I like it...

And in some of the streets lining up with Main Street a special kind of small terrace houses. Colourful, same build, but different in how it got filled in.
Love the colour combinations used to mark the properties.

If we for a minute forget about the wind blowing fiercely, we can pretend spring is here to stay, as a couple of Japanese Cherry trees are in full bloom.
Yeah baby! I am a spring gal, spring has officially started on the 21 th of March... Winter is gone. At least on the calendar.

More angry cloud packages are scooting by, a cold wind cuts through clothes. We hurry into a coffee shop to warm our frozen hands and bodies.
The clock says ten past eleven, high time for a break, we mingle in with the locals. They speak a native tongue, hard to believe it is english. It is though.
When not born in this area, it does not mean a thing, it’s a slang with strange tones, I do not understand one word they are saying.

It’s recession allright in the Cook’s Corner Cafe, I get a hot chocolate, the kind made with water and powder. I pretend it is the best choc I ever had, trying not to shivver. A horrible chocolate. Should have gone to specsavers, euh, should have gone for tea. No way tea can be messed up...
I knew this was going to be a weird day when I saw the saying that TinTin was gay...

I can see why one would think that way. He had those skinny legs, long kneesocks, and stupid short kneelength pants. Nobody in real life would walk around like Tintin walked through our childhood years. With a swearing captain Haddock to stear whatever needed to be steared and that silly little doggie that was very vague when it came to stating what breed it belonged to.

A bit funny to find Kuifje back as TinTin in a small North East England coast town, stating what we never noticed as kids. Tintin never had girlfriends, but we did not think any further about that one... There was that swearing fake sea captain after all...
But I degress... It’s my birthday trip so I should not elaborate on a possible gay Tintin...

We head towards the Martitime Experience, a wonderful project to show life attached to harbor towns and all things ships...
We will spend the next five hours in this place, as it is pretty big. I can commend it to anyone close to Hartlepool. If you have some time, at least a couple of hours, go see the museum, it is so worth it.

Hartlepool was a harbor town, thriving on boats coming and going. It is nice to find history in amazing displays, and it is a treat to visit the fregat that is docked inside outside. Yes, that is what it is, inside outside. More about that one later.

Lovely old quay houses have been rebuild, and some of the details are really wonderful. I loved the blue door with the black iron grid in front. The grid was shadowed on the door by the sun, I just liked this play of shadows.

At the entrance, there is a stone fish, with a black hat, reddish face, bananas on the side, you have to see it to believe it. Sounds crazy but then it is crazy. I am just sharing the head with you all...

The fregat on the water, with all the rigging and signal flags. Always a festive sight. And I certainly would not have been the woman to go to the top of the masts to drop sail or whatever needed to be dropped. The height is impressive, take it from a vertigo person to stay away from it when it pops up. The height I mean... Sjeesh, I start to sound more daft by the minute...

As you can see, the sign posting is efficient, and we will follow the arrows to not skip a thing. The Fregat is HMS Trincomalee, born in 1712, if I may say so...
Lots of things to experience hands on before we get to Her Majesty’s ship...

Little quay stores have been implemented, the first one we visit is the printershop. All through the experience, beautiful “dolls” have been created to represent people who once lived in or around the yards and quay side.

Count on some more of the displays in a next entry, for now, time for laundry, back to normal life. It was nice to be out for a couple of days, but it is always nice to come back home.

More later!

Under cover ducks

and tiny calves. Markenfield Farm is getting in summer mode again. Slowly working its way through spring, the first calves are being born.
Markenfield is my happy spot, my happy hour, my happy everything. I told Lady Deirdre on friday morning, she was feeding her ducks, and I was walking around the stables. She totally understood and agreed that the place has a strange happy feel.

The trees slowly start to make new shoots, the black swans are nesting behind the big house, the ducks are at the front side. Laughing all through the day.
Four week ago, the moat was frozen solid. It shows how fast nature can turn around. A little sun, and all is well again.

I am sure that within a hundred years, the house will still look as it does today. Nothing seems to ever change, only the colors of plants and trees change.
Spring is on, yellow is the head tone.

Clearly visible at the cottages. The right one has daffs growing, I think this is the one that will be build up. Planning permission was acquired for one of the cottages, not both... One has to wonder how brits do the things they do. If anyone could explain to me how they give out permission to change one cottage out of two similar buildings, please do. I can’t get my head around it...

I am jumping again, back and forth between house and cottages, and the moat. Some lovely new ducks on the water. Lady Deirdre makes it one of her tasks to feed them, they know her. When they see me, they squeel like only ducks can squeel.

Not all the ducks are on the moat. I told you guys earlier this week that some of them live incognito in the cows barn.
One of them only wanted to be photographed after I assured him that he would be unrecognizable, he did not want his cover blown.
A good looking guy btw, with all the right moves.

On the other side of the barn, in the higher regions, pigeons have landed and started families. The chicks are calling for food. Parents fly on and off, to feed the hungry chicks. A busy time around stables and barns on Markenfield.

Next to pigeons and under cover ducks, the cows have their winter home here. I can not imagine how hard it is for farmer Hugh to clean out the bedding every day. He has two big sides to clear in the main stable, and two big ones in the bull beef barn. The cows are waiting on their calves, and they get a fresh bedding every morning. The cows on Markenfield are spoiled. If I would want to come back as a cow in a next live, I would like it to be Markenfield for sure.

One calf around last week, now I see 3. The black cow had a calf earlier this morning, and so did Lala.

Lala is one of my favorite cow moms. She has very special eyes, long lashes, and her calves are utterly adorable. She is sniffing the one she just delivered, trying to make it stand on its paws.

We have a bit of a quibble when the black mom snifs Lala’s calf, she jumps in and redirects the black mom back to her own baby.
Lala is firm, it is her calf and nobody is to touch it. Very protective...

The black mom gets the message and goes back to her own offspring. Lala continues licking her new baby.

Blackie and tiny brown choose a spot a bit further down. Out of Lala’s way. They all know Lala is a bit crabby the first hours after birth.
She mellows down, soon enough all the moms will keep an eye on all the babies, one for all and all for one.

Little calves make my heart melt. They have a frail air about them, and they are surprisingly small compared to the grown ups.

The calf born fourteen days ago, the first one for this year, has grown already. No longer a newborn. He has to share the spotlight now with the newcomers, they will be good friends once out in the meadow. But before they go out, many more babies have to be born.

Indeed big girls, with huge bumps on the side, where the unborn calves reside for now. At times you can see them move. Massive bumps...

That will translate in sturdy babies, Lala’s baby is tired, she keeps pushing it up, and as soon as she turns her back to it, it goes down again, ready for a nap.

Calf 53 can’t be bothered, it’s is happy enough to stand knee high in straw, next to mom, living on a diet of milk and a nibble on the hay.
A model farm, straw bedding on the bottom, and fresh hay in the feeding pens. I can feel it that I will spend a lot of time here again this summer.
Yell if you all get tired of calves and/or Markenfield.
Now to get ready for a two day trip. We are off to Hartlepool tomorrow, exploring a bit more of the North East coast of England.
Suitcases need to be packed, and camera gear assembled.
I am ready for some sea breese....

Days in stables...

The sun has been out for the last 3 days. Most people seem pleased with it. Happy faces on the streets and in supermarkets. It’s a fact: most humans love sun. I know I do, it colors my day, gives me inspiration and takes away the cloak of blue that at times is draped around my shoulders.
No cloak in sight at this point, only primary colors and bloom.

Got some tulips last week, to bring a sparkle of spring into the house, it worked. Together with the yellow ones on the table, they had a good conversation going on.

We do have a problem with flowers in the house, my male cat Zuki eats them. I have to be careful where I put them up. He even tried the fake ones on the table, thinking they were real. That was the reason I got them, as they looked so real. And I thought of outsmarting Zuki.
Spring in the house, and some more farmers with lambs, off we go on Thursday. Mr Wonderful and me, direction Masham, where Mark Greensit has his farm.

He’s in full lambing season too, long days, short nights, it’s mostly Mark on his own running the farm, it’s a hard life for the young farmers.
I do see the difference between the farm in Birstwith where they work with 4 or 5 man on a daily base, with extra help for the lambing.
Last year, he had bad luck as flash flooding took away one of the stables where he used to put moms and babies in between the lambing pens and the meadows. The farmers all use the system of gradual getting them ready to go out in the meadows. From mom pens where they give birth, to a pen on their own for a day or so, then the pen to stay with another couple of ewes and babies, before finally going outside, and enjoy the big space...

Some cuties in the group. Lamb nr 50 got a bit much of the paint brush, he is nicely pinked up. A funny lamb, with ears that are for now to big for his head.
I bet he could fly if he would flap them...

I must admit, some lambs look as if they could have done with a bit more woombtime, but Nature works. Time to come and they come.

It’s funny, the little ones have the black spotting already that will turn them into real Mashams, the difference is clear from the day they are born.
It is complicated, the knowledge about lambs, as farmers cross breed to get better lambs and better meat. That is what it is all about.
All the farmers want ewes with good lamb crops, good lambs make for a good income. Although, all in all, I think farmers are heavily underpaid for all their hard work.

Two siblings 49 stay close to each other, one of them being a bit better in the flesh already then his sibling. Hidden in the corner of the pen I find a totally adorable brown lamb, with what seems to be long hair. A fluffy beastie, looks more like a donkey than a lamb.

I wonder how it got his long hair, the other lambs are all short haired, I think I would keep this one. But it a general known fact that lambs don’t stay lambs. I love them to bits, so do the farmers, but without any doubt, they turn into big sheep, with rather sheepish features, big hairballs, with one goal in life: eat.

This pen has some nice examples of how different lambs can be from breed to breed. Mr Wonderful follows me to another pen, where I find a lamb that is related to Spock. Ears that go on and on, a lamb with a face like a mini kangaroo.

Beam me up Scotty, out of the straw into space. A space lamb.

Inside the big stable, the newborns are present. One pen has the red light, and I know this means bad news. Too tiny, not mature enough to have been born already, it happens. Mark tells us that they had some lambs with brain damage. I am not sure if the two little teensies will survive. The lamp gives warmth, I hope they will make it.

The motherhouse is busy. And darn it, one mom is lambing when I snap, and I did not see it when I was snapping. I was probably focussing on the one in the foreground, only discovered the lambing one back home, on the computer. Darn it big time... How could I not see that. It’s called not seeing the whole picture. Hard to believe that I missed it. There is a lot of sheep inthere, and mostly you look at the faces, you don’t always see the back side.

It’s continuously now, lambs come almost every 15 minutes. Mark has gone home for a quick lunch, no time to loose, he has to be back to keep an eye on things, by the time he finishes lunch, he will have another set of twins on his hands.

Mr wonderful brought the little camera, and takes some hidden shots. Me working. Aheum, it’s work but it does not feel like work. How is that for work assessment? Work that feels like play, seeing the country life from within. Snapping it to show the world.
The sun is slowly trying to get through the fog, it will be a nice spring day again...

Soon the back pasture will be filled with moms and babies, they will grow fast, by summer they will be shipped out.
For now, they are about the size of some of the full sized chickens...

The sheep are fed turnips, as the grass still needs some more sun before getting enough feeding strength.
I am living the Dales Life, now if I only could find a way to get my photographs in some of the magazines. And earn some...

I will keep trying... Life is good, the Dales are a wonderful spot to be in or around. Especially when animals go in spring mode...

Rock the crocs...

It seems like full blown spring has arrived. We have misty mornings, and if the sun manages to burn through, the air smells like fresh and new.
Just what we need after a grey winter. It’s a good thing to know that every year, if humans don’t screw up, the crocuses and daffs will be back, it is definitely something to look forward to in England.

The A61 between Ripon and Harrogate is bordered off with yellow again, and looking back towards Ripon, the daffs tell you where to drive... Just follow the yellow.

I have never seen this in another country. We do have some single daffs in Belgium, but not in the numbers you see here. Somebody must have done a lot of work to plant them. That is, I suppose someone planted them. How else would they know to follow the road, and stay neatly on their own path?
You don’t hear me complaining. At the same time, Harrogate is dipped in purple and white again. The stray is a carpet.

Zillions of small flowers, all over the Stray, a park like open space in the middle of town. A green belt, made for people to relax and enjoy nature.
A brave thing to do. If money would talk, the stray could be used as building space, it tells us something that they kept the green up instead, and no buildings get planning permission. A yearly treat, being able to go into town and look at the carpeted Stray.

I feel that I have to go in at least once each spring, just to lay on the grass and shoot the crocs. I am getting the hang of how to shoot them to show them in all their glory, it is their shining moment, and I am present to look at it.

Utterly frail, yet incredibly strong, the small flowers try to face the sun. A bit of a chore in England, as overcast days are in the majority.
No worries, in fact, overcast days are better to shoot flowers, since you don’t have to deal with unwanted shadow and lights messing up photographs.
If you want to do flowers, go on a cloudy day...

I could have picked a dryer day though, as my jeans soon gets soaked. The ground is still saturated with water from the rain period we had plotting by, but it’s ok. I do have a washing machine, and all will be spic and span again.

City personnel is working on the round-a-bout, and putting in yellow “city” flowers, I hate them. Keep it simple, let the daffs and the crocs do their job.
We don’t need the formal garden flowers to brighten up the city. Natural is the key word.
I want a few close ups, most of the crocuses have orange hearts.

Crocuses are pretty ordinary flowers, wide spread, and often neglected. Yet if you have a closer look at them, they are little works of nature’s art.

Balanced, gently striped, the petals surround the stem, waiting for bees to perform their bee magic. In order to have a next year of crocs.

I love how some of the petals are a mix of colors, humans could not invent it... It probably all makes sense for bio-people, who could tell us what makes the petals striped, purple and white, with the orange nicely in the middle. I don’t know if Darwin would have his special theory practiced in flowers instead of animals. The strongest wins, and nature weeds out the weak and mismatches.

I am lucky enough to live in Harrogate, and enjoy the annual coming of the crocs, having time to snap them. A normal middle week day, and I can grab my camera and go to town just for the sake of making some flower portraits. One of the many advantages of being a home maker. Sort of.

And I am not the only one on the Stray of course. An older lady comes up to me to ask if I am allright. She tought I was dead, laying on the grass.
Nope Maam, I am just shooting crocusses. I will get up in a second. The lady laughs and tells me : “anything for a photograph huh???”

Sure Maam, I sincerely agree with her. It might look silly, but a girl has to do what a girl has to do for a nice crocus shot.

And I also meet Babette, cutie pie, walking with her gran. A special red headed girl, happy from top to toe.
I see her walking towards the crocuses, and pointing at them with her tiny finger. She walks fast, my god. Tiny but marching fierce.
Gran is wise, she has made a sort of a leash out of a long scarf, so Babette can run back and forth, at her own time.

Every child should have the chance like Babette has, to go to the park, with a mom or dad or a gran, and explore the world outside.
She has sturdy little paws, good shoes, off she goes to look at the flowers. She might want to taste one, or two...
Babette looks like a little fluffy teddy bear with her polar jacket, love it... I could sit on the grass with her and watch her all day.

Her eyes are happy mirrors, I hope she will remember that day in the park with gran and the flowers when she is grown up.
There is a special feel when little kids go into nature and find their finds. A big adventure...
I wave goodbye to Babette and move on. More grown up things to do, I leave Babette and her gran to look and pick flowers.
She waves a little hand back and I get a lovely smile. Sigh, the nice moments of spring, toddlers out and about.
Bye Babette, have fun on this lovely spring day.

A labor of love...

If we may call it that way. From six in the morning till 12 at night... Lambs are being born every minute. And they all need care. One smooth oiled operation.
Different people stepping in to help, as one pair of hands is not enough in times like these.
I was passing the big farm in Birstwith yesterday, close to base, and saw the farmer. A young one, Andrew. I asked him if he had lambs inside, just born and he grinned. My question if I could come and snap them got a positive answer, and I followed him right in.
What better place to baptise my finally arrived lens, then in a lambs mother house.

A huge job to take care off, by the time the lambing time is done, they will have had 1600 little ones. And every 1600 of those need desinfecting the umbilical cord, food till the moms start to have milk, moving pens, a giant operation.

The moms are kept together before lambing, on extra soft bedding. They have been scanned so the farmer knows how many lambs they will have.
Some have 3, some 2 and here and there only one is born. Those moms get a sibling from the 3’s, as they usually have milk for two.
Needs some careful arranging too, as the moms are not likely to feed another sheep’s offspring.

I am jumping from pen to pen, this is lamb heaven. The straw is fresh, I can’t imagine how much time it must take to give them new bedding daily.
There are six huge motherhouse pens, and some thirty smaller pens for moms with the newly borns. They get set apart after birth, so they can get used to each other’s smell.

Andrew is feeding the little ones, so they don’t loose weight. It can take up to a couple of hours before the moms start to give milk, in the mean time they get fed. They have a special way of holding the lambs, the babies get fed without even wake up...

The milk is squirted down, straight into their little stomachs, I guess if you do 1600, you do get rather handy in it. It takes only two minutes to feed a lamb.
Amazing...

My silly question of the day is “How do you know when they have enough?”

Upon with Andrew tells me if their belly is round and thick, they have enough... Gosh, indeed. I can see a little round pouch, filled with milk. Too funny.
I touch it gently, it feels warm and full indeed. No more room for more milk. There is a lot that city people don’t know. I can’t help but thinking that I must make a steady impression of nitwit amongst the farmers, if I don’t even see the most obvious things.

Lambs go back in with the mom, they can continue their lambnap... Mom will wash them, and make sure they smell like her again.
Smell is the main factor on deciding which lambs you will feed and which ones get pushed away, on to the correct mom.

Some of the newborns in the split pens are a couple of hours old, still very tiny, but already climbing and trying things out. It is soon known that laying on mom’s back is more comfortable then the straw. When mom has enough she stands up and they fall down head over heals. Under protest...

The mother house pens are busy. There is always one in labor, it takes a skilled eye to see which ones are delivering. I stand there for an hour, and can see how some start the birthing process.

They have things coming out, bubbles filled with water, and somewhere in those, the lambs float. They soon will breath on their own, done with being in the woomb.

The other expectant moms are there for moral support, they do take care of each other. If the farmer is not quick enough to take lambs and moms out after birth, all the sheep in the pen sniff the babies.

There is some interest in my actions with my camera. Sheep are not used to have someone sitting there looking at them, they wonder.
“Is she a sheep? What is she doing. She smells funny. Does not look like our farmer though... Weird! We better keep an eye on her!”
A mom in the pen of 3 lambs has gotten her first. She is licking it, carefully. The farmer tells me that they usually come within half an hour of each other, if it takes longer then that, they move in...

After 15 minutes, the newborn lamb tries its first attempts to stand up, it has to make a couple of tries, as it does not have the strength at first.
What a wonderful way of spending an afternoon. Being around lambing sheep, sitting quietly, the farmers around me go on with their job. A magical moment once more.
The mom has finished washing the first born, and should by now have had her second, nothing to see, so Andrew’s father, helping out now, decides to go in and have a look. He pushed the mom down and yes, goes in. Lord, I know how that feels... Ouch...
And he manages to smoothly bring out a second lamb...

He goes in again for the third one, but gets a puzzled look on his face. He is not finding a third one. How is that possible?
The scans are accurate, if the scan says 3, there will be 3.

The riddle is soon solved as I discover a third lamb against the wall in the pen. She must have had it while I was shooting the pen with the two’s...
The farmer is relieved. Grin... He would have found it without me too, but it feels nice to have a bit of a helping hand in locating a missing birthling...

The triplets are picked up by the front paws, I have seen more farmers do it, this is the way they hold all the newborn lambs. They need to be moved to a separate pen, to be alone with mom. One dry lamb and two wet ones. They need a lick...

You can clearly see a difference already between the first born and the others. The licked one is white and dry, the two siblings still wet and yellow and red.
They are put down in their new bed, waiting on mom... Mom puts up a bit of a fight, she does not want to move pens. It takes the farmer some heave work to get her out of the big room in the small pen where the babies are. But finally, mom and babies are reunited, and we can celebrate another set of triplets safely into the world.

After that, I will go on my way, see if my new lens performed up to standard, and I can’t stay in the stable forever. They will have lambs in the coming weeks too, so more nature moments to come.

And on my walk to my car, I spot a newly born calf too. Spring is springing in the Yorkshire Dales...
The good life!!! My admiration for the farmers grows by the day. Sure, there are some who con’t take care of the animals as they should, but most of the farmers I know put an incredible amount of work and love into the little beasties. A hard life, but nice to see a smile on their hardened faces when they see the newborns.
I love living my life in rural Yorkshire...

Baby light my fire...

We had a half spring day yesterday. A bit warmer, a special smell in the air. I used the day to go and shoot crocusses on the Stray in Harrogate.
I will share some of those in one of the coming entries. I have something special to talk about.
As you all know, I do get exited in spring when I remark the smoke clouds rising up from the earth. I have been on quests to find the source of the smoke in the Dales, but never was successful.
Untill yesterday... I checked the mail on base, and coming out, I saw a plume...

And for once, it seemed not too far away. It is a tricky game though, you think they are only five miles away, but you need to find the road to get to them, and often they are hidden. The roads going in their direction might cross valleys and hillsides. It’s a bit of luck to not loose the plume, when it hides behind hill tops or small forests. North Yorkshire is very hilly, and going down, you loose sight over the wider context.

Over the last years, i found out that it is not an easy thing to find the burners, and to be sure you are even going in the right direction.
But yesterday, I went up and down, and actually saw the plume come closer whenever I reached the top.
Hurraah. I came more exited by the mile, and more hopeful for a good mission.

I turned left in front of the small pine forest, and followed the crinkling road to wherever it was going to lead me.
I got lucky. I spotted the car from the burners, and they seemed to be just over the last ridge. If good, I was only going to have to walk a mile tops to find them.
Now this is the part where I started to get in trouble. First of all, I did not have the right shoes for the mission.

Brown slip-on city shoes are NOT made to walk on a moor. I went for it because I started from the thinking point that moors are dry.
Heather grows in dry high grounds. WRONG!!! The moors have a thick layer of peet, and the peet holds the water. So in fact, the heather grows on mushy grounds, with spread over the surface small puddles and becks. The surface is covered with moss, and walking over the moss, you hear a shlupp shlupp sound, and the floor moves as you step on it.
But I was close, I could see a tiny figure. So it was worth it to try to make my way through the heather, kneehigh, and trying to ignore the shlupp sound,
it was worth struggling through the bushes towards the little figure.
Screamed my lungs out to catch their attention, so they would not move and leave me there... No use, they did not hear me. The wind was coming from the side of course, and my voice did not even get to them.

Black smoke clouds all over, I wondered if this whole adventure was going to be worth the hassle I had put my body and mind in.
But anything for a good photo...

I finally got into hearing reach, and to my big relief, a guy came up to me and helped me out of the brushy mushy surrounding.
I was totally glad I found them, and that I for the first time got close to the fire and see how they do it.
Gentlemen, dressed in the known green brown tweeds, good hiking shoes, a slight difference with me and my city clothes.
Darn it... I know that the moors can be unforgiving, that you actually need a compas, drinks, food, fresh clothes and rain clothing before going off in the deep end, or shall we say high end.
I met up with Paul, Richard and Mark. In that order, head gamekeeper, head pheasants, and head grouses. Working for the estate of Bolton Abbey.
The patches of land all belong to the owners of Bolton Abbey Estate, belonging to the Duke of Devonshire, CBE. Not royalty, but close.
I have just enough breath left to tell them that I have been trying to get close to burners for five years, and that I am thrilled to finally have found them.

They have the tools of the trade, and what I think are fire extinguishers, and a strange spade like thing, with a rubber flap at the end.
I can see that this is some device to wack on the fire to contain it.

The gentleman who came up to me to help me out of my misery with the bushes is Paul, head gamekeeper, and a walking encyclopedia about life and death on the Moors. We are in fact on Barden Fell, a pretty desolate place, perfect surrounding for grouse and pheasants.
The Gamekeeper is the person looking after an area of countryside and make sure there is enough game to hunt for. Game can be birds, fish, and all sorts of other wildlife. They are often employed by landowners and/or country estates. Paul tells me that he has been doing it for fourty years, I sure enjoy his wisdom as he tells me little splats of knowledge about the moor and the heather.

They had just put out a fire, they are burning the heather in a very controlled manner, lots to think about. You only want certain patches to burn, and you want to safeguard the young shoots. What gets burned is the old heather, to make room for new fresh green, to keep grouse and pheasants happy.
Especially for me they will start a new fire, I am more then lucky on this nice day... They postpone their lunch for a while, so I can see and feel and hear what is going on.

What I looked upon as fire extuingishers are not that, they are in fact little flame throwers that set the dry wooded heather bushes to fire.

We are standing behind the wind, so the fire moves in front of us, away from us. It is an impressive sight.

Soon enough I hear the roar of the fire, and the crackling of the dry heather, the wind haunts the fire down from us, leaving a black flat fell.

It is a wonderful spectacle, and I enjoy the moment fully. The thought goes through my mind that boys always like to make fires.
These men are no exception. They love this part of their job, they know what they are doing, and I am lucky that I can see and listen.

I start to melt, the fire is giving off a serious heat, my jacket and layers of sweaters go around my waist, it is way too warm...

I stay well out of their way, keeping an eye on the flames and making sure I am not going in the direction of where the wind blows the fire.

The clouds turn brown when the fire reaches a mushy puddle in between the heather. So many things to take in. I try to remember all Paul tells me.
The burns are strictly regulated, and demand a strong focus on the job. He tells me how some farmers let sheep graze too long and in too big numbers, they destroy the heather. It is all a frail balance, high up the moors.

If the fire has gotten far enough, they use the rubber wackers to put out the sides of the fire, so it won’t spread any further.
Looks like back breaking work to me. Not only is the ground hard to walk on, it is also uneven, with pits and puddles, they are used to the area though.
They know how to keep up their balance and handle the wackers at the same time.
Me, myself, I struggle to stay up, and have a few episodes when I go flat on my bottom, trying to shield my camera from damage. Real gentlemen indeed, they don’t laugh when I go down for the umpthteenth time...

They have the next patch covered, the flames go out, and it is time for lunch.
They decide to walk me back to my car, my gosh, these guys are incredible. And they show me a path inbetween the heather.
Which I had no clue off, so I walked straight through the bushes, fighting to stay on my feet.
The path is less hard to walk, I feel silly and dumb next to these guys with all their knowledge of the land and its habits.

I follow Paul, Richard and Mark back to the spot where I left my car next to theirs. I am exhausted by the time I get back to the car.
But it’s a good exhaustion... I saw something very very special, it is one of the highlights in my box of good experiences here in North Yorkshire.

And remember: shoes like the one above are NOT good shoes for the moors. I put my hiking boots back in the boot of my car, on a next occasion, I will have good shoes and more grip on the surface. The shoes above are ready to trash as I lost one in a puddle, and had to go in with bare hands to retrieve it, after I pulled my foot out of it. Sjeesh, you would think I learned something in seven years of Yorkshire life...

Anyway, this was a day with a star... Fond memories, even if the walk up to the guys nearly killed me... ;o))))

Thanks to Paul, Richard and Mark for their patience and help!!!

Jacob’s Ladder? Nope, sheep...

And remember: they are not white sheep with black dots, no, they are black sheep with white dots. To me it sounds like the same round square, but then I am not a sheep breeder.
I was lucky enough to stumble upon a lady living ten minutes from my house, and she happened to have lambs.
Got it? Lambs... it means that I was on my way on thursday to pay her a visit, and take some piccies.

A unique experience, and wellies time. Count on meadow work, and since the past months have been very wet in England, wellies is the way to go if you think meadows.

Trees and bushes are sprouting big time, the seasons must be changing. I shoot a couple while waiting for Stroma.
I made a mistake, I thought that Stroma was a very exotic sounding surname, it’s not. The lady was born on a tiny island to the North of Scotland, in Orkney.
Think wild sees and shipwrecks.
A couple of weeks early, a total surprise, and severely premature, they kept her alive in a little crate close to the fire.
Her parents decided to call her to the name of the place where she choose to step into life: Stroma. Her name means “Island in the stream”.
When I meet Island in the stream, I see a tiny lady, we both laugh when I tell her that Stroma was her surname...
We will end my visit with a cup of tea and a bit of family history, but for now, I am ready to snap some Jacob sheep.

Funny animals, with a dense thick coat, and mostly with a set of four horns. Two is good, four is better in Jacob’s language.
And yes, I see lambs. Cutie pies, spotted black and white, while the moms are more brown.

In fact, Stroma has two newborns, they were born at six in the morning of the day that I visit. The tiny creatures are four hours old.
They are in the back pen, I can’t get close to them, but I will try my best to get some good shots.

The first pen has a mom and one baby, a bit older... The lambs have striking blue eyes. Funny, I never before saw sheep with blue eyes.
Normally yellow is king.

The stable next door has a couple of moms, all with twins. And again the blue eyes. Comical faces, black and white, each Jacob has his own pattern.
No sheep has the same spots, fingerprinting by means of spots. The older lambs are starting to chew on straw already, still suckling, but trying out different menus now.

Wonderful little ones. When I go back, I need to ask Stroma about the blue eyes. Maybe they are like human babies, born with blue eyes that later change color.
I am in awe once more for nature and her ways. These lambs are better off then their cousins on the moors. They have a stable to spend the night in, Stroma takes them out to their special meadow around ten in the morning.

Some of the lambs have small horns already, Stroma tells me that four horns is a good thing for a Jacob, although some farmers breed two horned ones now.
She wants to keep it the old way, four horns, and in some rare cases six. That is a lot of horn for a medium sized sheep. The Jacobs are not that big.
Time to set them loose, Stroma left them in the pens until I was done shooting, she and I know that once they are out in the meadow, it will be hard to come close.
They are on the skiddish side.

The door swings open and off they go. A little step to the side of the barn, they know exactly where to go. No escapes are planned, all follow the leader, around the corner, in between the two stable buildings, into the meadow.

They keep one eye on me, I am the stranger, and one better be careful with strangers.

No docked tails, long wiggly woollies instead, who can go sides and back at an amazing rate.

Once out in the pasture, they run and run. To shake the night out of their furs, and to get further away from me. When a sheep is in running mode, it is hard to keep up with them. And running and photographing is not a good combination. Patience is the clue.

Pretend you are looking at the trees and plants, avoid eye contact with the woollie bunch, blend in with the grass.
A bit hard to do with my size... and the chocolate wellies don’t help either. Whenever I think I have caught up with them, and am close enough for some good shots, off they go again, to the other side of the meadow.

The moms lead, the babies follow, jumping holes in the air. It’s a fun thing with lambs. Some days, they are so happy that they can’t walk normally, they just have to wiggle and shake their little bodies and jump and frolic. Too much joy.

A beautiful sight, the spotted group criss cross all over the place.

Stroma tells me that one of the lambs is a winner already. It can strike a fierce pose, and I see what she means.

Tyra Banks would be proud. Fierce baby, yeah! By the way, season 12 of America’s Next Top Model is on again, woohoo, I am glued to my computer screen on thursday morning to watch the girls have their silly squabbles about nothing.
Maybe we should install the England’s Next Top Jacob... Where are the two Jay’s when you need them. We need some run way walk here...
Time to go and take some more pics of the other stable, where the moms are with the new borns.

Amazing. One mom looks me straight in the eye and a battle of the wills is going on. Who will tilt head first? I am.
Can’t beat this mom. She only has one lamb, close by her side, well done mom!

Now I have two looking at me. Serious faces, no laughing matter when a photographer is so close. I know that when I get home, my pants will go straight in the washing machine, I need to go down on my knees to get a good view. So that is what I do.

Mom is still watching. There is no way that I will manage to take her lamb away and stuff it in my car to take it home.

The lamb finally relaxes, as I don’t seem to move anyway, and goes down for a nap.

The back pen is busy. If you look carefully, you can see the umbilical cord, I put a red frame around it. Not very clear against the background of the straw.
Mom is sniffing and licking her twins, sheep are such good mothers. The lambs are a bit wiggly on their legs, they need to master the art of standing before they can learn to frolick like puppets on strings.

Time for a good cuppa, and then on to home, to see if I have any good shots. I promise Stroma to come back. By then she should have another set of twins, as she has one more pregnant mom. Count on me to be there when they too are born.

I can’t stress it enough how lucky I am to live that close to nature and its seasons, and being able to snap all those wonderful things.
A life in North Yorkshire is very much a life based on the seasons, it all starts over again, every year in spring.

In the coming week, I will go up to Ellington, to snap some Masham babies. The more generally spread breed around. Lots of lambs still to come, lambing time has only just started! More baby beasties to come...

Nature is waking up slowly...

After a long winter. The seasons are definitely changing now. Woohzee! Have the camera ready at all times, and take it with you at all times...
So to never miss an opportunity. North Yorkshire is farming country. Beautiful farming country. But it can have its days that humans and animals seek shelter against the wind.
The beginning of the week was very blustery, lambs all sheltering against the walls.

They know to find the warmer spots. Skiddish small creatures. You have to snap them quickly, as the minute they spot you they run off.
Wednesday was a better day and I heard the call of Markenfield.
As usual I got greeted by Mollie and May, without knowing who is Molly and who is May. They are identical. Funny kittens.

They live in the barn where Lottie the Horse resides, and the beef bulls. Looking for a comfortable spot in the hay. They too know where to seek comfort.
We all know how cats can find the most perfect spot for a catnap.

Other guests in the stables are the ducks. They don’t like blustery days, and leave the pond for a hotel stay in the barn with the expectant moms.
Hugh the farmer makes sure they have fresh hay and straw, soon the first calves will come. The ducks are not too keen on people, so they fly off when I enter.

Laughing all the way. We would forget that ducks can fly. They do, and they have a very typical silhouet in the sky.
I see Hugh and he tells me that one calf has been born already. O good, I will go in on the other side and see if I can find it.
I have permission to enter the stables, Hugh knows that with the coming of the warmer weather, I will be around more.
A stay in the silent barn with the 20 or so cows and their calves is food for my soul.

A cheeky tiny one, the calf... I wished I had brought my zoom lens, so I could have gone closer in. A week old, a small brown one.
Over the coming weeks, it will get playmates, and in a month or so they will go out in the field again. To live a summer filled with play in the sun.
On to base, Markenfield was only a stop on the way.

A farmer in Birstwith has his cows out already. A herd of black ones, with a firm and sturdy brown bull. Nose ringed, I am careful.
Don’t want to mess with a bull.

Remember the walls on Markenfield last year? I thought I was safe behind them. Untill the day that Hugh told me that the frolicking bull had trashed the wall without problems.
Since then I am weary of bulls. Behind walls. As the wall does not really mean anything...

I really wanted to shoot only 3 cows, but then, it is a bit “not done” to tell cow nr 4 to move to the left, so I can frame better. That is why I shot 3 cows and a half.
They stand there looking at me. It’s a conspiracy. They are plotting. A group escape. Some very nice hairdo’s in the group. They obvious all have the same hair stylist.
Topped and slightly curled. No bangs please...
After base I have a meeting with sharpei’s. I saw a flock of Jacob sheep last week, and decided to go in and talk, or at least try to find the farmer. I did.
And he told me that his wife has sharpei pups. It did not take me long to ask if it would be OK for me to snap them...
So on wednesday, I had my first meeting ever with a bunch of sharpei pups. It turns out that the wife is an official sharpei breeder. She has two litters at this moment.

And when I see them I get tears in my eyes. Adorable is not even close to describe them. They are fluffy factor 87999... spiced up with cuddle ratio of 89. I want one...
How could you look at them and not want one? Or two? Hec, my wallet moans. The little beasties are 800 pound a pup...

I would say 800 pound well spend, but my past as a welfare mum with 3 boys calls me to the order. No way will I spend 800 pounds on a pup.
My reality sense is too big... But darn it, I would like one...

Now if the lady would say that she is desperately looking for a good home for one, I would jump up. But she is a business woman, and the business women don’t say I will give you one because you want one so bad.
That is probably why my own photography business is not florishing as it should. As I have a tendency to give my work away. I often feel guilty if I have to charge people.

No business thoughts at all when I am sitting on the floor looking at the little pups all around me. Bundles of joy, trying to play with each other.
They feel like felt. Soft, soft, soft... tjoepel velvet.

One of them is very serious. Pondering life questions. Staring into infinity. His little fat butt nicely parked.
Gosh, I don’t want to leave. I could stay here and watch them for hours.

And when I think I can’t take it anymore, the cuteness is too much, Annette, the farmers wife tells me that she has another litter, only 3 weeks old.
The running ones are 5 weeks.
She opens a door and I hear squeeking. She reaches in a pen and there they come.

Tiny brown firballs. Their eyes are not open yet. My heart melts faster then a glacier in an oven. My God... Don’t do that to me...
Make me look at little god sends, I want one...
I want one...
I want one...

But fear not, the price tag is too high. Now if I suddenly would become rich with my photography, then maybe... For now, I need to stop giving away my work and make real money...

Next installment is a bunch of newly born Jacob lambs. I promise you, they are of the same cuteness level as the sharpei pups...
Coming soon!