Senecio Jacobaea has very few friends, despite her beautiful head of yellow flowers. The problem is in her common name, Ragwort, which paints a picture of a raggy person covered in warts, usually poisonous! But Senecio Jacobaea is not a person; she’s a bright wild flower with the potential to kill, or at least cause sickness, pain and suffering!

     But please don’t write her off just yet. You see, due to her good supply of nectar and pollen, she is loved by many! Her fan following consists of insects, flies, bees and butterflies. So taking away Senecio and you take away this romantic liaison between 150 wild species. But to many people, getting rid of her is the only option! Especially people that keep horses!

      Ragwort is poisonous to horses and quite often, there are no symptoms until it’s too late. The horse will stop eating and lose weight quickly. They will become sensitive to the sun and lose co-ordination.  Quite often they lose their sight and eventually struggle to breathe. This is liver failure in a horse.

      So what makes this plant a killer? Well it contains pyrrolizidine alkaloids compounds (but so do 1/3^rd of all plants) that are poisonous to most animals. Once in the intestines, it’s broken down by the liver. It’s the liver cell damage that kills the poor animals that eats Senecio Jacobaea when no other food is available.

       It is a sorry tale for many, but one that could have a happy ending if you avoid the Jekyll and Hyde plant.    

Colour is draining from our garden at an alarming pace, with the help of autumn and our freedom fighting hens.

     Since our new batch of rescued girls arrived, the view from my kitchen window has changed rather dramatically! Not that is was ever a remarkably garden or anything remotely close, but it was a garden, nevertheless. And it had lots of flowers in pots and in the boarders. But now, although some plants have fought back against the demolition team, the colour has continued to seep away.

     Although our hens have their own space with sheds full of straw and lots of hideaway places with bushes and trees etc, they always prefer to be where they shouldn’t, outside our kitchen door. And despite putting up gates, they will still find a way of getting to us!

     ‘I like to be able to see them,’ said my kind and unassuming husband, as he knelt down to stroke one of their glossy red heads and I had to agree but I do miss the flowers. So earlier today I locked the gate and put an extra piece on top to see if it would stop them.

      Later, after a hard day on the ward, I opened the garden gate and strolled up the path and stopped by the pond.  It was quiet. Too quiet! The three old cats were fast asleep on the summerhouse porch and birds sang in the overgrown hedges, but something was missing. Something wasn’t right.

      I strolled around to the other side of the garden, stopping to look at the fruit still hanging from the trees. There were bright red apples and the greenest of pears and flowers still lolled from the baskets on the wall. Nuts still clung to the trees and I wondered at the sight of it all. But something was missing. Something just wasn’t right!

      I peeped over the gate and not a hen in sight. My heart began to race and panic threatened. The foxing hour was always a threat! I called softly to the girls and was so relieved to find them dust bathing in an old greenhouse. They soon spotted me and raced like road runners around my ankles. I sighed with relief!

      ‘I thought you were locking them around the other side of the garden,’ said my kind and unassuming husband as he came into the kitchen not so long ago.

      ‘They bring life to our garden,’ I smiled, ‘they are all the colour I need!’

Quite often, when I am working at the hospital, I gaze momentarily out of the window at the sea in the distance and long for my bench by the pond. I can almost taste the sweet tea as I imagine sitting there...waiting...watching ...for nothing in particular but aware, nevertheless, that at any moment I could see something amazing.

     Perhaps I have an overload of imagination. I can see why some people can turn a molehill into a mountain, as I certainly can, according to my kind an unassuming husband. What I can’t understand is what do people think about if their head is lacking this substance. 

      If you know anyone who hasn’t any imagination and you think that they could benefit from some, let me tell you a simple way in which to do this.

      First, you read to them! Yes, adults too! You tell them stories and evoke pictures in their heads. They will see places they have never seen before and hear words they never knew. Hopefully, they will bring to life a part of themselves that has been hidden from view. Similar to opening a door that had been locked forever. Now throw away that key!

       I quite often find that my imagination enables me to escape from life, when the need arises. As a chemotherapy nurse, I used to use my imagination more frequently, to help cope with the demands of my job.

       So by encouraging people to use their minds as eyes, by listen to stories or tales, you are developing their skills to cope with life in difficult situations.

       Mr Einstein once said “Imagination is more important than knowledge,’ he said, ‘is limited. Imagination encircles the world!’

       So next time I gaze out of the window and imagine my bench by the pond , I will taste my cup of sweet tea and think of Mr Einstein. I will smile to myself and remember the meaning of his words. To imagine, is to switch the light on and look at the world!

When people come to stay at our home for waifs and strays, they almost always want to collect their own eggs for breakfast, unless it’s raining of course or like most of my family, their vegan. They come into the house with a basket of freshly laid eggs and instantly ask why they are different colours. And the most popular question is which hens lay the blue eggs?

     Quite often, we find ourselves giving a talk about eggs over breakfast. People seem fascinated when we tell them to look at the colour of the hens ear lobes to discover the color of their eggs. They have been known to leave their breakfast to check out this fact.

     The truth is the breed of the hen dictates the colour of the egg. It’s genetic. Our Leghorns lay white eggs and the Orpington’s lay brown eggs. The Ameraucana’s lay the all time curious blue eggs and our Warrens lay brown eggs. But they all taste the same...wonderful!

     Other interesting facts we tell our visitors, is that eggs are placed in cartons, large end up to keep the yolk centered and the size of the egg increases as the hen gets older.

      The flavor of the egg depends on the hen’s diet. Here at our home for waifs and strays, their diet is varied and organic where possible. Their free range lifestyle enables them to consume the minerals they need for themselves and their eggs. Needless to say, their yolks are dark, whereas the eggs from a battery farm are lighter.

       The next time you eat an egg, remember that it took 26 hours for the hen to produce it and 20 of those hours were required to form the shell. They certainly earn their keep by laying up to 300 eggs a year. And when their egg laying days are over, they retire and enjoy a hard earned rest...at our home for waifs and strays.

Life at our home for waifs and strays isn’t always easy but it’s certainly rewarding. Animals, whether they are sick or not, have a habit of tugging at my heart strings. Just like children! When I say animals, I mean every kind of animal. The four legged kind especially!

     During the summer months life here was more than a little hectic. I think ‘as busy as a beaver’ describes it well. Our family of hens have expanded to almost full capacity, ranging from the featherless battery bunch to the six musketeers. The musketeers were all rescued barn hens, who’d never seen daylight. These so called free range hens cope quite well despite having lived in cramped conditions (nine hens into a square metre) and having undergone beak trimming. For those of you who are not familiar with this process, the top and bottom part of the beaks are removed with a hot blade or infra-red burner. This practice is banned in many European countries but is still legal in the UK.

      Many a time I have come home from the ward to find an extra hen or two or an injured bird, lamb, or cat in the garden. I found a polecat on two occasions and a ferret! No two days are ever the same! We even find injured or sick hedgehogs from time to time, especially in my kind and unassuming husband’s workshop.

      However, there was one occasion, during a storm, when I heard the most pitiful sound coming from the garden. It wasn’t quite daylight and the wind bellowed around our home. I raced out and battled through the rain in the direction of the cries. There was more than one! It was coming from the other side of our garden gate and without thinking, I forced it open. There, I discovered three trembling puppies.

       Despite ringing around all the usual places, animal shelter, RSPCA, the local vets etc, no-one, it seemed, had registered the puppies missing. As the day progressed, the puppies became boisterous with their now full bellies and a roof over their heads. But how on earth were we going to keep dogs, in a home full of freedom fighting hens?

        It was many hours later and with relief, that someone claimed the puppies. The storm had torn down the door of the shed where they lived and obviously they were frightened, so ran away. Thank heavens they ran to the right place!

        And so, although we never turn down an animal, it always worries me when we bite off more than we can chew! Well that’s when we stay calm, and a solution can always be found.