Opinion: Pond water woes and fashion shows

Will it ever dry up? The water in our pond, which at one time in the summer was 6ft shallower than it is now, has not only spread up and over the banks, but is actually flowing into neighbouring pasture.

There is a willow tree planted above the pond, to mark where my mum’s ashes are buried. Wanting to lay commemorative flowers on the anniversary of her birthday, I virtually had to requisition an old rowing boat from the shed to access her memorial. Thank heavens this tree is on a high bit of land, otherwise Mum would be complaining bitterly about the damp.

There are probably a few carp enjoying away-day excursions to the meadow next door. I just hope they have the sense to swim back to the pond when the water starts to go down. Unusually, however, there are few ducks on the field pond. They will no doubt soon start returning now the end of the shooting season has come.

Closer to home, a pond in the corner of the home paddock is the subject of an ownership dispute between visiting mallard and geese. Currently, a small, aggressive drake seems to have the upper hand (or should that be beak?) over the geese. But the geese wait until the ducks are off raiding a village vegetable plot and then stage a grand pond coup.

My neighbour has mixed views on the ducks’ fondness for her garden, although one of them has honoured a pile of leaves behind a shed with a nest. The duck has not started sitting yet, but the pile of eggs grows daily.

If it was on our land, I am afraid the eggs would be put to culinary use, but my neighbour is enchanted by the idea of ducklings hatching in her garden. Less so by the growing piles of duck poo and diminishing number of crops in her garden, but for now the eggs and the nest are staying. Unless a rat finds them first, of course.

Meanwhile, two other ducks waddle along for the daily egg-laying ceremony and to keep the productive duck company, I presume. They also fill in the time grazing off the cabbage plants and herbs. Beware the sage, would be good advice.

“So far most of the cows, including some heifers, have calved with no difficulty. But there is always one that needs extra help.” – Bobbi Mothersdale

Under the shed, the last batch of 2015 spring lambs are on finisher pellets to get them fit for market. They were doing no good on sodden fields and are thriving once under cover and out of the wet. Yesterday, John took a trailerload into York as prices are rumoured to be on the up. It seems everyone else had heard the rumour. “It was queued up,” John said.

In the fold yard, calving has started. So far most of the cows, including some heifers, have calved with no difficulty. But there is always one that needs extra help. It took half an hour yesterday for us to persuade a reluctant mum into the cattle crush so that John could use the calving aid to help her deliver a big bull calf. The calf came fine and, after being put into pen with its mum, was up on its feet within a few minutes, none the worse for its assisted delivery.

After a session flailing around in the fold yard and being at the back end of a cow delivering her calf, both of us needed a change of clothing. Required apparel for day-to-day farming with sheep or cows does not vary greatly in style or colour. Recently, however, I was invited to attend a fashion extravaganza that could have persuaded me to alter my wardrobe a little. The event promised a raffle, flower-arranging demonstration, supper and an opportunity for ladies from local villages to showcase their catwalk skills.

These exotic models were never going to be accused of fasting and slimming to excess. Built for comfort, and keen to dress that way too, a cross-section of farming femme fatales shyly took centre stage. What fun to see a friend in an outfit you knew she would never wear normally and what enjoyment to be derived from the embarrassment of a neighbour in an outfit she clearly hated.

Some of them took a little persuading, cue raucous and occasionally less-than-ladylike encouragement from the audience, such as “Shake your tail feathers, Margaret”. Apt given this was directed at the wife of a poultry farmer.

Initially the models were more taken with keeping to the markings on the village hall floor than swinging their hips or strutting their stuff, but the audience loved them. Soon you could envisage yourself, with imagination and a glass or two of wine, transported to a chic Paris salon. Jerry Hall, eat your heart out. Once our rural ladies got into the swing of the whole show, they could rival any supermodel for style and charisma.

So the next day I was awash with idea for day dresses, evening clothes, leisure wear and sports gear. I picked out an outfit guaranteed to take me in sartorial elegance from morning until night on the farm. An easy-care fabric, a flattering cut to hide those ravages that motherhood and marriage inflict on one, and inspirational colours to lift me though the day. My boiler suit.

Bobbi and husband John own the 81ha Lowther Farm near York. They have a suckler herd, a flock of sheep and arable crops. Two daughters, three grandchildren, three dogs, assorted poultry, an overgrown garden and country pursuits also take up their time.