Tales of new sturdy country fences - and those inconvenienced by them
In a shock development, I've found myself praising one aspect of regenerative farming - although probably not for the reasons 'regenners' might think. It's a start, I suppose...
I'm a semi-retired farmer, having just handed 90% of my mixed farm back to the landlord - the National Trust - for them to carry out their version of farming. We now run 100 acres in mid-Hants with…
In a shock development, I've found myself praising one aspect of regenerative farming - although probably not for the reasons 'regenners' might think. It's a start, I suppose...
Two farmers (one real, one hypothetical) surrender their tenancies - one in 1925, one in 2025\. The results couldn't be more different, and the implications for 'food security' don't bear thinking about.
While rural life is under existential threat, the new generation of countryside 'experts' are arguing over something that has no answer. It sounds like 1453 all over again.
It has been many decades since I had the incentive to get fit. What better way to improve things than a fortnightly yomp with stick or gun in the challenging geological folds of East Hampshire?
Living in a huge farmhouse has many advantages, among them its ability to cope with an ever-growing stockpile of countrywear in varying states of repair - and waterproofing.
It may seem a tad ironic (and, in this case, a little foolish) that a farmer is fighting against blocked rights of way, but someone's got to make a fuss - and it might as well be one who has always loved those little dashed lines on the map.
My faithful farm truck sits in the yard, not exactly sure how it is supposed to spend its days - or justify its hefty running costs. What's the future for such a loyal beast?
It may be the last bit of full-on work left on our farm - and it's an age-old battle between aged kit and the weather - but it's the best job in the world.
A once-rare pest is becoming horribly widespread. Where have they come from, and what on earth can be done? The options seem very limited.
We've just come to the end of of a short golden age of rural policing. I'm waiting nervously to see if it's just a temporary one.
If I'm going to leave the parish, there had better be a good reason. And what better than to channel my inner Simon Cowell on a Sunday morning?
When word got out that filming was due on my old acres, a golden opportunity seemed ripe for the taking. But I think I said the wrong thing.