by Heidi Swain
‘But in my father’s day—’ Annie began.
‘In your father’s day, Annie, things were very different. We’re going to have to diversify,’ Jake said, turning to me. ‘Keep the orchards, of course, but find more ways of making money from the farm, and I don’t just mean selling a few bunches of flowers and some jars of honey at the farm gate either.’
‘No,’ said Annie stubbornly, ‘I’ll not have this place turned into some sort of playground for out of town folk. There are enough farm cafés and kids’ play areas springing up on farmland as it is. What we have here is history, Jake. Orchard farming as it was originally intended. Skylark Farm is an integral part of Fenland farming history and I won’t have it lost.’
‘All right then,’ said Jake, beginning to sound angry, ‘we’ll just bury our heads in the sand for a bit longer and when the bank comes knocking, which they will, grub out the orchards and sell the land for development. The history you care so much about will be buried under bricks and concrete with no chance of being rescued. The three of us will carry on living in the house, of course, but don’t expect to see much of us, Annie, because Amber will have to commute somewhere to work and I’ll have to find work on another farm. How does that sound? Perhaps we could play farms at the weekend out there in the yard with new houses and roads springing up around us.’
‘Jake!’ It wasn’t my place to interrupt, but I couldn’t abide the stricken look on Annie’s face a second longer. ‘Have a heart.’
‘Sorry,’ he said, running his hands through his hair, ‘sorry.’
‘What are we going to do?’ whispered Annie. There was a definite wobble in her voice now and it tugged at my heart as I watched her shakily reach up her sleeve for her hankie. ‘I thought,’ she sobbed, ‘I was leaving you a healthy legacy, not a noose. Perhaps we should sell up. Perhaps you should stick me in a home.’
‘Now stop that,’ I said firmly, ‘there’ll be no talk of nooses or giving up. Skylark Farm has a lot to offer and potentially a very bright future. I didn’t give up everything to move here and see the place fail. We just need to stop panicking, put our heads together and come up with a plan. I bet there’s a whole heap of as yet untapped potential that will pull this place into the future without,’ I said, looking squarely at Annie, ‘compromising its integrity.’
‘I really am sorry,’ Jake said again, gripping Annie’s hand a little tighter. ‘Amber’s right. We’ll come up with something. We’ll find a way.’
I was relieved my rousing little speech had pulled my beloved out of his despair but for the moment I couldn’t even begin to imagine what we could do to turn around the fortunes of the farm. It was all very well that I’d encouraged Jake to increase the poultry numbers and made the place look pretty with a few plants and pots, but this was serious. There wasn’t time to play at being a farmer any more, it was time to step up and really prove my worth.
Chapter 28
I spent the next few days in a perpetual fug. Just when I thought I’d come up with something it slipped away again, and Annie following me about, her eyes filled with hope that she would be there the moment I pulled the rabbit out of the hat, was not helping my creative juices in the slightest.
Jake had asked me not to tell either Harriet or Jessica about the potential problems we were facing, which was a real shame because it would have been the perfect excuse to talk to Jessica, who I still hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to since Holly had given me the dolly tubs. And also I was convinced that my friends’ wealth of local knowledge would have provided just the inspiration I was lacking, but I could understand his reluctance.
The day he’d opened the letters he’d called his parents and was left with a thumping head and a foul mood because, as always when the farm was discussed, they had trotted out the same ‘sell the place’ mantra that Dan adhered to. From the sanctuary of their villa in the Algarve I imagined Skylark Farm was as distant a memory to them as the country they had left behind upon retirement to a sunnier clime. The ailing fortune of the farm was simply not their problem.
‘We’ll find a way,’ Jake whispered to me at some ungodly hour of the night, ‘won’t we?’
‘Of course,’ I said, giving his back an obligatory but hopefully reassuring rub. ‘Of course we will.’
‘You said yourself there’s bound to be something we can do, didn’t you? Some undiscovered potential we can tap into.’
‘Absolutely,’ I whispered into the darkness, knowing another sleepless night loomed ahead.
Tired of chewing the top of my pencil and staring at a blank sheet of A4, early the next morning I called the dogs and took the three of us off for a walk around the farm to have a proper look at what the place had to offer.
The fields at the furthermost boundary, where the May Fair had been held, hadn’t been touched since everything had been packed away, and they wouldn’t be until Jessica and Henry’s wedding in a few weeks’ time. I admit I didn’t know much about farming – grazing and the like – but to leave such an expanse of land empty and unused seemed like a waste to me. I made a note to ask Jake to reconsider how the land that was currently sitting idle could be utilised. Pip had a more than adequate paddock for her and Blaze to canter about in, and even the geese (who still terrified me) had a plot which could be reduced if necessary.
Walking around the perimeter of the orchards I admired the apples, which had begun to swell. Even my untrained eye could see the branches were packed, some almost weighed down under the burgeoning weight. Annie’s family had always picked, packed and sent the apple harvest away to auction and I knew that selling at the farm gate wasn’t really an option, but what if there was some way we could make use of some of the apples on site or even find something to sell alongside them?
My mind flicked back over the pages of one of the magazines I’d been so fond of in the run up to the move and I raced back to the house, desperate to share my idea and the thunderbolt of inspiration which had finally, thankfully, struck.
‘What have you got there?’ laughed Jake when he came back to the house for lunch.
The table was littered with notes, scraps of paper and magazines open on various pages.
‘Sit down,’ said Annie, ushering him towards the table. ‘She’s a clever girl this one,’ she chuckled, ‘this’ll keep you out of mischief, my boy.’
Jake looked at me and grinned and began moving the magazines around.
‘Don’t move a thing,’ I told him, ‘and don’t start reading anything either. We’ll look at all this when I’ve explained what I’m thinking, but only if you decide it’s a good idea, of course.’
‘OK,’ said Jake, slowly pulling his gaze away from the table and back up to me. ‘What exactly have you come up with then, oh wise one?’
‘Well,’ I said, determined not to rush too far ahead and ruin the whole explanation, ‘I went for a walk around the farm with the dogs earlier and a couple of diversification ideas sprang to mind.’
‘Just stick to the big one,’ said Annie impatiently, ‘see if he can guess.’
‘I was looking at the hives,’ I carried on, ignoring Annie, who was plucking at my sleeve like a child beseeching its mother for ice cream at the end of the school day, ‘and I remembered how pleased you were to have them back again. Do you remember?’
‘Of course,’ said Jake, his confused expression suggesting that I wasn’t making a very good job of explaining myself at all. ‘But we can’t make a significant amount from selling honey, Amber,’ he said patiently, ‘and besides, the bee man takes most of it.’
‘She isn’t talking about selling honey, you infuriating boy!’ Annie scolded. ‘Let her finish.’
‘But she said—’
‘Never mind,’ I said, cutting in before the confusion escalated further.
Secretly I was thrilled with the idea I’d come up with and had no desire to have the revelatory moment ruined because of crossed wires and my inability to explain myself succinctly.
; ‘The point I’m trying to make about the honey,’ I said, taking a big breath, ‘is that I think you love the project all the more because it is so in tune with the farm and the rural landscape. That little venture, the whole apple trees and bees set up, well, they complement one another, don’t they?’
‘Definitely,’ Jake nodded, ‘but I don’t see—’
‘What else would you say complements apples?’ Annie interrupted, narrowing her eyes at her nephew.
I knew she was about to shout out the idea from the rooftops and I willed Jake to reach the logical answer before she had a chance.
‘Especially when served up with apple sauce,’ she couldn’t resist adding.
I watched as a slow smile spread across Jake’s face.
‘You’re talking about rearing pigs here, aren’t you?’ he smiled at me.
‘Hallelujah!’ Annie shouted, then collapsed into her chair and picked up one of the magazines as if her work was done for the day.
‘Yes,’ I grinned, ‘but not on a huge scale. According to a couple of magazine features I’ve read, letting pigs clear up the windfalls in orchards is a traditional farming method which is currently enjoying a bit of a revival.’
Having worked out what had got me so excited Jake began flicking through the pages and picked up the notepad and lists I’d started to make.
‘If you choose the right breed and can guarantee the welfare, slaughter and butchery standards are top notch then the pork fetches quite a premium. From what I can work out there’s the potential to make a considerable profit,’ I went on, ‘and if you like the idea and fancy going to have a look at how the system works, I’ve found a couple of farmers not a million miles from here doing something similar who would be willing to show us around.’
Jake didn’t say anything, but carried on scanning through the notes I’d made.
‘I’ve only had time to make some preliminary notes about set up costs and so on,’ I said, ‘but to be honest, I don’t think it would be as much to get off the ground as you might think.’
I stopped then, feeling slightly out of breath and a little worried that I might have jumped the gun. Perhaps I should have mentioned the idea in passing before I got so carried away making phone calls and so on.
‘And what about the apples?’ Jake asked, his eyes never leaving the page he was reading.
‘What about them?’
‘Well, haven’t you come up with any ideas about how to make them earn their keep while you’ve been planning all this?’
He threw down my notes and spun round the magazine on the table that was closest to him.
‘Organic apple juice and cider!’ he laughed.
‘And pigs,’ I joined in, ‘raising pigs and making cider at Skylark Farm. How does that sound to you, Annie?’
‘It sounds good to me!’ she smiled, raising her teacup in a toast to us both.
‘See,’ I laughed as Jake came round the table to give me a hug, ‘I told you all these magazines would come in handy!’
Never one to rest on his laurels, Jake grasped the two ideas with both hands and between us we had the wheels in motion by the end of the week. The cider venture was definitely happening but only on a very amateur level to begin with. Jake had cobbled together some bits and pieces, including an old garden shredder, in readiness for the harvest and planned to make a few batches for friends and neighbouring farmers to see if it was worth pursuing the idea any further before we invested too much money in production.
The pig keeping idea, however, was to my delight the main focus of securing the farm’s future and Jake and I had wasted no time in arranging a visit to one of the farmers featured in my favourite magazine. The farm was in Suffolk and although not all that far we decided to set off early so we could make the most of the day and enjoy some rare time away from the farm.
‘Are you sure the chicks are in the run?’ Annie said for what felt to my ears like the hundredth time. ‘Only I heard that old fox again last night and I’d hate us to lose any more of our girls.’
‘Or boys,’ said Jake. ‘I’m sure one of those chicks is a cockerel.’
‘Well, whatever,’ said Annie, ‘that fox won’t be choosy when he comes calling and I don’t want to lose a single one of them.’
‘Don’t worry, Annie,’ I reassured her, ‘I checked the gate myself and if it makes you feel any better I’ll do it again before we go. I’ve got them all confined to the run today and no fox can get at them in there, no matter how wily!’
‘Thank you, my love,’ she nodded, ‘you’re a good girl.’
I checked the gate as promised and Jake packed the truck.
‘I wish she wouldn’t worry so much,’ he said as he nestled our picnic lunch amongst the blankets in the back. ‘Sometimes I think our being here doesn’t make her feel any safer or give her any comfort at all. I know I can’t turn back time but I’d rather hoped our presence here would somehow stop her feeling her age. I want her to feel that she’s still safe here, no matter how old she gets.’
‘She does feel that way,’ I said, climbing in next to him. ‘I’m sure she does, but I guess she’s got used to at least one of us always being around now. I daresay she isn’t used to being on her own any more, and besides, you know how much she fusses over her girls, how much she loves them, especially dear old Patricia. They’re like her babies, Jake. It’s only natural she’s worried if she’s heard a fox. Only last week I saw one myself with three cubs scampering about in the far end of Pip’s paddock. They’re so brazen. Beautiful,’ I admitted, ‘but brazen.’
‘I suppose so,’ relented Jake, looking back towards the house. ‘Do you think she’ll be all right on her own all day?’
‘Of course she will,’ I laughed. ‘Now you’re worrying! She’s just getting old, Jake, there’s nothing physically wrong with her.’ Seeing the frown on his face I stopped myself and added, ‘How about I text Harriet when I can get a signal and ask her to look in on her later so we don’t have to worry about rushing back? You know Annie won’t thank you for it but would that make you feel better?’
‘Yes,’ he smiled, turning the key. ‘You know, Annie’s right about you.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, waving my phone about in the cab in a fruitless search for even just a single bar of signal.
‘You are a good girl.’
Chapter 29
As business names go, Jake and I reckoned ‘Posh Pigs’ was about the worst we could imagine; however, the warm welcome and fabulous set up was second to none. Nestled just inside the gently undulating Suffolk border, the Palmers’ farm was a far cry from Skylark, but the land and orchards were a similar size and I could easily imagine emulating what had been created here at the place I now considered home.
‘So,’ said Billy, the burly Suffolk farmer with hands the size of hams, ‘what do you think?’
He leant on the wooden gate he had just closed and surveyed the idyllic world he had made for his friendly Oxford Sandy and Black pigs.
‘I love it,’ said Jake, also taking in the view. ‘I really think we could make this work at our place, don’t you agree, Amber?’
‘Absolutely,’ I nodded, revelling in the thought of the farm as ‘our place’. ‘I don’t see why we can’t secure the two empty meadows so the weaners can have the run of them during the spring and summer, then clear up in the orchards in autumn before they go to slaughter. They could even roam in the little woodland area at the far end, assuming, of course, they aren’t too destructive.’
‘A couple of arks in the field for them to bed down in,’ said Jake, a faraway look in his eye, ‘and the freedom to potter about filling their bellies with apples.’
‘Not all of them, though,’ I reminded him, with a nudge. ‘You’ll want some for the cider, remember?’
‘Oh, I like the sound of this,’ chuckled Billy, ‘I think I might be paying you two a visit before long.’
‘Well, you’d be most welcome,’ smiled Jake. ‘I’d apprecia
te any advice or ideas you might have.’
‘Supply me with cider, lad, and a bit of supper and I’ll gladly come along.’
After a final lingering glance at the high speed antics of the latest litter as they pelted around the tree trunks and between their patient mother’s legs, Jake and I said our goodbyes, stowed away the pack of plump sausages Billy’s wife Sally had insisted we take to sample and set off to find a spot to eat our picnic.
‘So, what did you make of it all then?’ said Jake as we drove off. ‘Do you really think we can make a go of it?’
‘Of course we can,’ I told him. ‘We don’t need a breeding system like Billy’s, though. We’ll keep it simple. Buy the piglets in the spring, fatten them up during the summer ready for slaughter in the autumn and let the land recover over winter before the next ones arrive. We’ve more than enough room to rotate every year. It’s perfect!’
Jake laughed and reached for my hand.
‘Bit of a difference to securing tickets for polo matches and the Wimbledon final, isn’t it?’
‘Just a bit,’ I laughed along with him, ‘but I wouldn’t change it for the world. Not one thing. Although . . .’
‘Although what?’
‘Well, we might not be able to get too ahead of ourselves just yet.’
‘Why not?’
‘Jess and Henry’s wedding,’ I reminded him. ‘I can’t imagine Jessica would be very happy to have pig arks in the background of her photos!’
‘Oh crikey,’ smiled Jake, obviously picturing her mutinous expression, ‘can you imagine?’
‘Unfortunately, yes,’ I sniggered.
‘Well, not to worry,’ said Jake, ‘I’m seeing the bank manager with Annie tomorrow. At least now we’ve got some definite ideas to share with him, and in the weeks leading up to the wedding we can get sourcing and planning ready to welcome the first porkers next spring.’
We found a space and Jake parked alongside the river, which was awash with little tourist boats making their slow and steady way through the meandering Broads.