Sheep, Fruit Wine, and Warm Sunshine [Life-sized England 8] Farm Stay

I came to a farm in Nottinghamshire to get a glimpse of rural England. Life here is full of things you cannot understand while living in the city. Although my time was limited to five days, I became completely enchanted by the beauty of the English countryside while feeding sheep and bottling fruit wine. I also love how low the fences are, making it easy to start a casual chat with the neighbors. The town church, surrounded by trees and plants, felt like another world, and I surrendered myself to the scent of flowers while feeling the arrival of spring.

Previous post here:

Location of Nottingham:

Warm sunshine

This is my second day of farm stay at a farm in Nottinghamshire. Today, work started in the afternoon. Although the winter chill still lingers in England in March, warm sunshine breaks through on some days, and I have started to feel signs of spring here and there. The sheep in the garden are also resting their legs and relaxing.

The farm where I am staying keeps two types of sheep: black-faced sheep that look like 'Shaun the Sheep' and sheep that are completely white. In England, sheep are often raised for meat. The black breed is only for meat, but the white breed's wool can also be used for products. When I touch them, the black sheep's wool feels coarse, while the white sheep's wool feels smooth. Processing wool requires a fair amount of cost, and it seems that not all sheep breeds can have their wool utilized effectively just because they are sheep.

Apple and pear trees grow around the sheep. This is because the sheep are grazing inside an orchard. On this farm, they grow fruit in the orchard while taking advantage of the spacious grounds to keep sheep in the same area. In Japan, when you think of an orchard, you imagine trees packed across a slope, but here, the trees are spaced widely, leaving enough room for the sheep to run and lie down. I had never thought of combining grazing with farmland, but I wonder if this is common for small family farms.

The environment where the sheep can relax is one of the things the couple running the farm is particular about. They were originally heartbroken by the reality of livestock farming where animals live under stress. On mechanical farms, livestock are confined to narrow spaces and fed unbalanced feed. Thinking of such animals, they even used to be vegetarians. Now, they face the sheep with their own hands, giving them a spacious area and freedom. They have also stopped being vegetarians, and the husband says, 'Protein is important after all!' Because they have a philosophy of facing the sheep, they can receive their lives with peace of mind.

After having lunch in the living room, I started working. The first job was to move logs and tree branches piled up in the orchard. These were left over from pruning the orchard trees, and the husband cuts them into firewood to use in the fireplace. It is a tremendous amount of labor.

One thing that is a bit troublesome while doing farm work is my lack of English proficiency. When I am casually told to 'pick up that so-and-so over there,' I sometimes cannot recall the noun. For example, 'wheelbarrow.' It is a two-wheeled handcart that you often see on farms in Japan as well. If I can hear 'wheel,' I can sort of figure out it means a wheel... oh, that's what it is, but when I heard it for the first time, I couldn't grasp what it meant. I feel a bit sorry, but I am learning English words one by one like that. I also learned ingredients and slang adjectives while doing farm work.

The next job was making beds for the sheep. In preparation for the March lambing, we laid down fluffy hay to create a stress-free space. While working together, I could feel how much the husband cares about each and every one of them. While he has his own life and other work (local fire brigade), there is a lot to think about because sheep have their own schedules for feeding, lambing, and shearing. He proceeds with his work while anticipating the future on multiple timelines, saying things like, 'Do this work now for tomorrow,' 'Prepare this now for next week,' and 'For next year...'. It must require a lot of mental effort.

As for the female Border Collie during farm work, she is always running around here and there following the husband. However, she must never be allowed inside the orchard because if she is in the same space, she will chase the sheep and stress them out. I followed the instructions and kept the door firmly closed. Then, the dog, whose path was blocked, sat down and began to observe the sheep intently. Border Collies are a herding breed. From her calm demeanor, it looks as if the sheepdog and the sheep are having a communication that humans cannot understand. The husband says, 'There is something they share.' That is how intently she stares at the sheep without moving.

Eventually, the sun began to set, and the wife and their little boy returned from their outing. In cloudy England, I saw the sunset for the first time in a while. The silhouettes of the trees surrounding the house emerged. For dinner that night, we had pasta, stewed beans, and garlic toast. It was a day that deepened my understanding of the farm.

Homemade fruit wine

The next morning, when I went to the orchard with feed in my hand, the sheep came running toward me with incredible energy. I never knew sheep could run so fast. They stared at me with great curiosity. The black sheep were quite wary despite their sturdy builds and didn't come very close. The white sheep had gentle personalities and approached right up to me. Their faces, bobbing up and down as they peered at me, were adorable.

Most of the feed is first scattered into a dedicated case placed in the orchard. The black sheep then crowd around to start eating. However, this makes it difficult for the relatively smaller white sheep to get any food. So, as a special service, I feed them directly from a bucket. At this time, the couple pets the sheep's heads affectionately, just as they would with humans. I copied them, petting their heads and running my fingers through their wool. There was no resistance. It felt soft, gentle, and pleasant. I wonder if the sheep also feel good when they are petted.

My interaction with the sheep ended here. After all, we had a big job today: bottling cider. Cider (cidre in French) is an alcoholic beverage made by fermenting apple juice. It is completely different from the soft drink called cider in Japan; it is a proper alcoholic drink containing about 5% alcohol. Since this farm uses pears instead of apples, it is technically a perry. Today, we are bottling the cider that has already fermented and been stored in barrels, one by one.

Bottling is a major task that happens a few times a year. There is so much to do. First, we disinfect, wash, and dry each empty bottle. Next, using specialized equipment, we fill the bottles a few at a time. Then, we put them into a machine heated to a high temperature to stop further fermentation. Finally, being careful of the heat, we take the bottles out and press the caps on with a punch. Of course, it is all done by hand. I worked steadily, sharing the tasks with the couple.

What is important here is keeping the empty bottles clean. During disinfection, we submerge them in the disinfectant solution, ensuring no air bubbles remain, and then rinse them thoroughly. After washing, we rinse and dry them while being careful never to touch the bottle openings. We wear gloves, but the owner keeps a sharp eye out for any remaining air bubbles or if I accidentally touch them with my bare hands. I carefully rinsed them, making sure not to touch the bottle mouths. I feel like not every farm is this meticulous when it comes to manual bottling, and I have great respect for their policy of never contaminating what they deliver to their customers.

Since the bottles soaked in the disinfectant sink to the bottom of the barrel, I used a shovel to lift them to the top and drain the liquid from each one. My short arms made it hard to speed up the work, and I might have been a bit of a nuisance. It takes quite a bit of arm strength to scoop several bottles out of a large amount of water at once.

After that, I took the rinsed bottles to the next shed. Here, the owner was transferring the cider from the barrels into the bottles. He sets up four at a time and tilts the bar to start the filling process. He swaps them out at just the right moment, replacing them with new bottles. It is a task that requires concentration. Along the way, he showed me how he measures the alcohol content. He floats a hydrometer in a cylinder filled with cider to check the density. By comparing these figures with the pre-fermentation values, he can calculate how much sugar has turned into alcohol. I didn't know that alcohol concentration could be determined so easily using such a classical method.

The bottles filled with cider are then immersed in hot water to enter the 'pasteurization' stage. I had always been a pure consumer, drinking fruit wine without a second thought, but I realized that since the microorganisms are alive, the fermentation would continue naturally, so it must be pasteurized before shipping. It seems obvious now that it's been pointed out, but I felt a little embarrassed that I had been saying things like 'this wine is delicious' without any knowledge. Making alcohol is a lot of work.

As I worked, I felt excited knowing that this was pear wine. A few bottles didn't turn out quite right along the way, and it was decided that I could drink those later. Oh! I get to drink delicious, delicious alcohol. I used that thought as a little bit of motivation. Is that too much of a selfish thought?

Once the pasteurization was finished, the final step was to cap them and store them away. The rows of perry were translucent orange, sparkling when the light hit them. We had a tasting as a reward for our hard work. A sweet aroma spread throughout my mouth. It was the deliciousness made from 100% fruit juice. Maybe making alcohol is fun after all. I felt happy after just one sip, even without being drunk.

Walking along a country road at dusk

It was already 5:00 PM. Since we started bottling in the morning, we had been working all day, with only a lunch break in between. The owners seemed tired as well. The family was filled with a sense of accomplishment in the evening after finishing today's big job. They told me that dinner would be late, so I was free to do as I pleased.

Since I had the time, I had no choice but to move my body more. I decided to take a one-hour walk (two hours round trip) to the supermarket in the next town. Although it's called a supermarket, it's just a small, single-story shop, but it's the closest store to the farm. I suppose nobody usually walks there.

Still, I had no regrets about my decision to go for a walk. As I walked along the single path over the hills, birds danced overhead, and horses grazed in the pastures along the road. The clear wind swayed the willows, creating soft, gentle shadows. I stopped many times to take pictures.

I bought some snacks at the shop and headed back. The road home was completely dark. Now, the outlines of the street trees stood out against the flat, twilight night sky. I walked alone, intently, illuminated by the lights of passing cars. I felt like I might get lonely if I kept walking like this, but since I had a destination, it wasn't hard. I am nothing but grateful to have a place to return to. By the time I reached the house, a large full moon was floating clearly at the end of the road.

Dinner was halloumi cheese and paella, handmade by the host. Halloumi is a cheese from Cyprus made from goat and sheep milk, a mysterious cheese that can be grilled or fried. It has a savory flavor like mozzarella, and the pan-fried surface is crispy and addictive. During my stay in the UK, it became one of the foods I wanted to eat in Japan as well. The host was also confident in this dish, saying, 'This is delicious.' We both kept saying 'tasty!' as we ate it.

Hard labor and going out

It was already the fourth day in the blink of an eye. Mornings on the farm are early. When I woke up at 6:30, there was no one in the living room, and it was quiet. It wasn't because they were sleeping, but because the couple had already started walking the dog outside. After a while, the little boy woke up, and we went to check on the sheep.

When I went out to the orchard, the sheep seeking food came over, calling out. Their bleating was 'baa-baa' as I imagined, but the sound was much lower and thicker than I expected. It is quite powerful when many of them come over and bleat in low voices. It felt like they would jump out toward the food if I opened the fence. I felt that the sheep's wariness toward me had lessened, but I wonder if that's because I've gotten used to handling them, or simply because I have food.

After having oatmeal for breakfast, I played with the sheepdog for a while. When I threw the ball, she would run off at full speed and come back wagging her tail. I thought we would play by repeating this, but when I tried to take the ball, she wouldn't let go, so a game of tug-of-war began. There is no way I could win against the agility of a Border Collie. I threw the ball, and when she came back, we would fight over the ball, and I would throw it again; I repeated this dozens of times in the garden. Seeing this, the host laughed and said, 'She probably wants to share the ball with you.'

The farm work that day started with picking up fallen branches. I moved from corner to corner of the large orchard paired with the host, piling the picked-up branches onto a wheelbarrow. Just when we were about to finish clearing everything, the sky cleared up rapidly. The sheep looked happy basking in the warm sun again today. Come to think of it, it has been unusually sunny since I came to the farm. Now that I think about it, it was always raining when I was in Manchester. It might be true that the climate changes across the Pennines. When I checked the weather on my smartphone, Manchester, on the other side of the mountains, was forecast to be cloudy that day too. I knew it.

After leaving the orchard, I was given the job of stacking the firewood the host had split into the log cabin. After dismantling the logs from the orchard in the garden, the host dries them for another year in the log cabin and uses them for the fireplace in the living room. He says that drying them properly is the secret to making good firewood. Since I don't have the strength to keep swinging an axe, I watched the host, who was putting all his strength into swinging the axe, with a sense of respect, while I carried out the firewood that had been split well. Once a certain amount of firewood was gathered, I loaded it onto a wheelbarrow and took it to the log cabin. Pushing the wheelbarrow up the slope at the entrance of the log cabin is quite a workout. I hope my legs, hips, and arms have become a little stronger during this farm stay.

We had lunch at a good stopping point, having potato waffles and scrambled eggs. After the hard labor, the host also seemed tired. After that, I babysat in the little boy's room for a while. The movements of a three-year-old are sometimes risky and make me nervous.

In the afternoon, we took a break from work and decided to take the boy to a nearby forest. It was a thoughtful gesture by the host to show me a scenic spot in Nottinghamshire. I sat in the passenger seat, looking out the window while keeping the conversation going so the boy wouldn't fall asleep. There were small farms and vast pastures. There were many pigs outside eating food, and while they looked small in photos, they were quite large to the naked eye. Were pigs always this big?

The 'Sherwood Forest' we arrived at is a royal forest where the medieval hero Robin Hood is said to have hidden. Walking paths for strolling are maintained in the gentle forest lined with many large trees. It is bustling with people who came to take pictures of birds and people who came for a walk. We proceeded into the forest as if chasing the boy, who was in a good mood riding his scooter. That was the plan, but the boy, who had gone down a slope with momentum, fell on the way and started crying. The host carried the crying boy, and I carried the fallen scooter back to the car. Children grow stronger as they fall, so this kind of experience is probably important. If you are too overprotective, you won't even learn how to fall. Come to think of it, I remembered something trivial, like how I used to fall a lot when I was little. Although I wasn't a child who played outside much.

Tonight's dinner was a feast with the wife's friends. It was the last supper for me, as I am leaving this house tomorrow. The menu was sausages, potatoes, and vegetables. The dining table was very lively, and it was so delicious that my fatigue blew away. But every time a meal started, there was one thing that felt strange to me as a Japanese person. I don't know if it's British culture, but everyone starts eating on their own without saying anything. Perhaps because of school lunches in Japan, I am someone who puts my hands together and says 'Itadakimasu' in sync with those around me, so I felt a little uncomfortable with how the meal started, and I couldn't even find the right timing to pick up my fork.

Birdsong

The morning of the final day. It was chilly outside, and fog had spread across the landscape. When I stepped out into the orchard, the scent of damp grass and trees drifted by. Mornings on the farm always begin with feeding the sheep, but today, they also needed to be given medicine. While the sheep were distracted by their feed, the owner gently caught them to administer the medicine.

Raising sheep is hard work. Even though there are only a few sheep here, they must be cared for thoroughly every day. Furthermore, despite all this care, only the white breeds produce wool, and the rest are for meat, which doesn't fetch a particularly high price. Even if it only takes a short time to eat the meat, the production process takes so much time. When we receive our meals, we must do so with gratitude. It's the kind of thing you learn in elementary school, but I gazed at the sheep while feeling that obvious truth deeply.

For breakfast, I had pancakes with plenty of maple syrup. Afterward, I got ready, and around 9 o'clock, I resumed the work that had been ongoing since the previous day. As usual, the owner swung the axe, and I stacked the chopped firewood into the log house. Firewood is mysterious; if you stack it by combining the pieces well, it forms layers without collapsing. However, it is important to stack it without gaps to make the friction work effectively. Since it wouldn't do for the top to become heavy and the bottom to collapse, I stacked it carefully from the base. It's like a puzzle. Once I got used to it, I started thinking about the order in which to stack the pieces after keeping the shapes of the next few pieces of firewood in my head. It feels good when it goes well. Starting from along the wall, it piled up in many layers and rows. The sense of accomplishment is great because the results of the work are visible.

When I finished the work and left the log house, the sky had completely cleared up. Even though it had been so white in the morning. After lunch, I was given a few hours of break until I left the house, so I decided to head in a direction around the house that I hadn't walked in yet. Even though it was early March, cherry blossoms were already budding on the street. I hadn't really imagined that beautiful cherry blossoms would bloom in a British residential area.

As I went a little further, the road drew a gentle curve, flanked by willow trees. What a picturesque scene. I love the brick houses with chimneys. The gentleness of the curve and the weeping willow branches have a soothing impression, and there is something that puts my heart at ease. It is not yet fresh green, but the trees that are about to welcome spring also look energetic, bathing in today's light.

In this village, houses stand sporadically along the road, and usually, farms or pastures spread out behind them. Therefore, when walking along the road, it feels like a residential area, but when you head deep into the back from the side of the houses, the sky suddenly opens up wide. The chirping of birds echoed across the flowering lawn. The soft sunlight illuminated the flowers, and the dry wind caressed my fingertips. I felt like I could stand here forever.

British people cherish birds very much. It is not uncommon for ordinary households to have birdhouses or feeding cages in their gardens to attract birds, and there are far more songs with bird names than in Japan (or so I feel). Like The Beatles' 'Blackbird' or Oasis's 'Songbird.' Birds are that familiar, and there are far more opportunities to hear their chirping. Everywhere I go, I hear soft calls that make me want to surrender myself to them.

Attracted by the tall tower visible from everywhere in the village, I came to the church. The surroundings were surrounded by trees like a windbreak, and as soon as I passed through the woods, the old church appeared. How beautiful it is. In the quiet, empty garden, only the chirping of birds echoed, and the wind swayed the lawn. The stone church is not that big, but the old-fashioned quality passed down locally is indescribably chic and refreshing. The owner laughed, saying this church is 'something you can find anywhere,' but to me, who is not used to such scenery, it is like a movie. This unremarkable scene felt wonderfully moving.

Visiting the church at the end might have been a good choice by chance. I didn't know that listening to the chirping of birds while bathing in the warm sun would feel this good. Spring is coming to the rural areas of England. By summer, the grass and trees will be lush, and the sheep will be moving around energetically. I would like to come back after the seasons change. Thinking such things, I left the farm.

The owner drove me to the station, and I finally said goodbye to the family who had taken care of me for five days. What I learned here was not just farm work, but many small things, such as the state of British households and English expressions. All of them are valuable lessons that I would never have been able to get just by sightseeing on my own. And above all, the family was truly kind to me, even though my English was poor. I expressed my full gratitude and stepped onto the platform.

Now, I am alone. Usually, on the way back after parting with someone, I can only gaze blankly outside. Since there is no way to go back, I stare intently at the distant trees while soaking in the loneliness of parting. The sun, which gave me warm sunlight today, slowly fell behind the thinly spread clouds.

To be continued...