Tea for the Wild Indians (part 3) The final instalment. Thankfully.

As I write this I can see the lights of a truck in the gloaming. It's criss-crossing the fields to the front of our barn - it's the Thomases checking the stock. Most of the cows up there are in calf - indeed most days recently have seen a calving, a new beast on the field. Generally it's a straightforward affair; mother takes herself aside and gives birth, the calf suckles and all is well. These are animals bred for meat and muscular progeny is the order of the day - (remind me to photograph a Belgium Blue by way of example) - and problems can occur when the calf is a big 'un. It's always worth checking to make sure there are no problems out there....

Sorry - got distracted....

OK. The Day arrived - and with it an unnatural tidiness. The last lawn was mown, floors were swept, tables laid and dogs put behind firmly closed doors. The sun crept from behind fluffy clouds and the threat of heat was tempered by a gentle breeze from the south.Food arrived by the plate and trayful - the tables were soon laden. I feel most inadequate in the face of those WI ladies who produce such wonderful desserts, savouries and flower arrangements and who pitch in to make an event such as this run like clockwork. Blessed be the gatherers-in of crockery and washers-up. A heartfelt thank you to you all. I think I shall specialise in venues. I can do venues.
Guests followed shortly afterwards - some chose to sit in the sun and others to stroll round the garden. This was somewhat scary - we had some experts on the loose here. Granny Thomas can be seen below (3rd from right) pointing out the thistle in the little triangular field which her son had neglected to strim on Thursday's tidy-up.Tea was served - a frantic hour of eating and drinking and another of tidying and chatting. Then suddenly all is peaceful again - the last guest has been waved off up the hill. We are left with an empty house and garden. The dogs are released from their confinement and rush around trying to make sense of all the unaccustomed smells. Echoes of disjointed conversations ring in my ears. 'Pinch out the tops of your broad beans' 'Why do you have a tower on the back of your house?' 'What sort of dog is that?' 'There was a cow house and a muck 'eap there once' ....

....and in the midst of this partying, one of the 6 cows - the black one - gave birth during the course of the afternoon on our new little field. Later on as the light fell I went up to shut the hens in and saw the little calf, which is the curious colour of a field mouse, tottering along beside its mother. Box-fresh, brand new. Which is kind of where I came in.

Finally here's Chester looking decorative sitting on the folded Indian dhurries we bought to throw on the (as yet unfinished) floor of the 'hovel'/summer house. The perfect dog's bed. No - the perfect bed for a dog: