November has felt a bit like someone turned the tap on and forgot to turn it off. Soggy fields, blocked drains, mud everywhere. It makes everything harder. You can't drive into fields when they are that wet so sheep checks are done on foot and hay bales must be carried rather than delivered on the back of the quad bike.
Our guests in the farmstay look ruefully at the sky, dodging rain showers to try to see a bit of the landscape. Our store of wellies coming into it's own as they try to avoid traipsing mud into their hire car. In the field below the ponies have a shelter that they can tuck away into, but conditions underfoot are reaching bog like proportions. They have voted with their feet - twice this week managing to get past 3 gates, 2 electric fences and find higher - drier - ground. It's never a good start to the day when the girls coming running in shouting for help to locate them. The school bus waits for no child, or pony, so the pressure is on to find them as quickly as possible.
Thanks then to the early morning walkers who start pinging messages to me - diplomatically wondering whether the three ponies hanging out by the ruined mills are supposed to be there. They look suitably bashful when we approach with feed buckets and quiet encouragement. I'm sure we make a funny sight - a spectral merry dance of ponies, kids and adults trooping our way back to the farm as the daylight begins to cut through the early morning darkness. A secure, hard standing area within the field has suddenly been promoted up the never ending to do list.
The good news is that the forecast for the next couple of weeks looks dry. We will greet December this week with our fingers crossed that we can trade the warm and wet for dry and cold. And please, please, please just a little bit less mud....