Far Lands

No, not a new reprobate in the garden eating the veg or despoiling the beds, but the artic cold. About 10cm snow overnight, and minus 5C. It took Sarah 2 hours to drive home last night from Manchester. Cars all over the place. (Not her car.) This morning we got up at 5.30, and I cleared the road and drove her to a taxi in Hayfield. She's now on a train to London! (Yesterday she woke up in Paris.) Photos below show the garden. I fed the chickens porridge (they've been laying 3 eggs a day). I felt like Nick and Heather.

We've had an owl barrel in the garden for some years now, nailed there by the local raptor group. We're always hopeful at this time of year for a pair of nesting tawny-owls. In January we got quite excited because there seemed to be movement in the entrance of the barrel. We could see new nesting material. Which was a bit odd because owls don't take in their own material. We had to supply it! The answer was spotted by Sarah at the weekend. A rather fat squirrel climbing out and scampering away up the sycamore tree. So, yesterday, I decided on action. I geared up. I put on my bee-keeping gauntlets, then on top I pulled on our coal gloves. Then I carried  a squirrel trap and a ladder across the lawn. I set the ladder against the tree. Squirrels pack a nasty bite. Was my tetanus up to date? I climbed up the ladder and peered inside. The barrel was 3/4 full of dry leaves. Poking out of the top was a bob of grey tail. I shoved in a hand and grabbed. A bit of a stru