Harvest Time

We have been working late in the evenings and even at the weekends to bring in the harvest this year. And what a harvest it has been! We have broken all past records and have received accolades from far and wide, even from beyond the permeable boundaries of our mega-farm. This is despite the unusually wet summer and strong winds and financial pressures we have had this year, factors which have clearly adversely affected other farms. We also have a milk lake so vast and pure that the gods weep at the beauty of it. Data flows bounteously from the various herds spread across the endless fields of Septford. How can this be? Consider...

Late summer evenings give us beautiful ever-changing skies, and it is lovely to see the birds perform their evening displays against these canvasses. On our farm, flocks of Stalins engage in eidectic displays above white lakes. The swans are not only mute, they are invisible.

Harvest Time

We have been busy down on the farm of late, leaving too little time to update everyone with all the comings and goings. The good news is that the harvest has been safely gathered in, we have enough hay to see us through the winter. We have had plenty of sunshine in which to make the hay. Other good news is that our S. Cape goats are still with us, grazing on the upper fields. One feels their days are numbered. For others, the days are just numb. We sit in feigned interest on bales of hay, lulled into near-stupor by dull voices guiding us through the tick boxes we climb on to reach the loft. I spend hours getting lost in metaphors.

There are still dark clouds on the horizon, laden with uncertainty and cold rain. I have been too busy with my concubined harvester to visit my rhyming slang local The Hope and Anchor, and fear that my stool has been taken. The proverbial Farmer Giles hosted this year's ploughing contest and commented drily on the furrowed brows of the judges. His wit is endless while we are at our wits' end.

It is indeed harvest time. But how long before it will be hair-vest time? I feel, as ever, on the edge of falling from grace. Maybe that's why they took my stool.