Notes from a small holding on the edge of the moor: the hedge, the wall, the hens, the weather, and whatever else needed doing that week.
A good year for the old Bramley and the two unnamed eaters by the wall.
Part of the boundary wall slumped after the wet winter.
Laying drops with the light and there is nothing to be done about it short of a bulb in the house, which I do not do.
The stack felled last winter has dried to under twenty percent on the meter, which is what the stove wants.
Missed the signs and the big hive threw a swarm on the hottest day of the month.
The bottom of the field is always three degrees colder than the top on a still night, because cold air drains downhill and pools where the hedge stops it.