We've bloody done it.

Like most farmers, we've been in what seemed a never-ending battle. No, not with the weather like most but with another beast, called the council.  

After 6 months of submitting applications, redesigning plans, countless on-site meetings, and consultancy fees that will make your arse clench harder than an ewe in labour, we've finally gone and done it.  

We've got planning permission to build our farm.  

As you could imagine, we were delighted with the news. Some of our new neighbours, however, seemed to have a real objection when it comes to our agricultural plans.

Something I'm sure can be resolved by arranging a meeting at the local village hall, with cheese on cocktail sticks and wine by the carton. Hey. It worked for Clarkson.  

Back on soil, we seem to be making some good strides as well, finally.  

The bees are in their new home and have settled well after a journey, which could have been disastrous, causing yet another trip to the local A&E. It's a story for another time.  

The Christmas trees, after being ravaged by the local deer family next door and looking like they've been given a severe Brazilian, somehow seem to have sprouted new growth.  

The recently hatched chicks have been growing at astronomical rates. So much so that they've managed to escape the brooder multiple times and sh*t absolutely everywhere in our sons bedroom, to our and his delight.  

The grass is growing nicely ready for our first Summers haymaking, and our journey into organic certification has started with the arrival of our wheat.

Which by our current success rate of growing absolutely nothing to date, will probably end up as Sundays lunch for the local wildlife.  

Now the planning permissions through, we have one final task for the month....

To decide where our delightful resident Cockerell Duke shall reside once moved, so our neighbours can also benefit from the sweet sounds of a free alarm clock at 4am.  

Further updates, most certainly coming soon.

Roots.

Small Farm. Big Dream.