The signs of spring have been gratefully received by all the residents at the farm on the M62

Snowdrops have been out for several weeks, with daffodils and beautiful swathes of crocus now appearing.

The sun has been gratefully received this last week as has the cessation of the seemingly endless rain. The land is slowly, painstakingly drying out and for now surrounding swollen rivers have receded back to their usual levels.

I’ve spotted lambs on my drive between Stott Hall and Farnley Tyas, dozing next to their mothers, soaking up the warmth from the sun.

After finding one of our mule ewes stuck on her back, we’re now checking on them several times a day. The ewe, carrying triplets, was thankfully ok.

It’s a long, time-consuming task driving from field to field, walking amongst the girls and checking for any problems but all part of caring for livestock. We’re certainly starting to feel the pinch when filling up at the petrol station, especially as an awful lot of our sheep are still away on winter keep.

So it came as a terrible blow to come home one evening to discover that we’d been broken into. Our new prison-like fencing and gates were still perfectly intact and it quickly became apparent that the perpetrators had accessed our farm from the motorway.

They’d taken one of our fuel cans that we use for the quad bike and after rummaging around our buildings had located our fuel tank.

Presumably they’d run out of fuel whilst driving on the motorway and decided to come and help themselves to ours.

They didn’t just take what they needed though, instead they chose to liberally spray the fuel all over the inside of the small stone barn where the fuel tank lives.

Not just a bit but copious quantities which in turn had leaked through into the dog kennels next door. There was of course no note of apology or contact details, just a large spillage we were left to clean up and a seriously depleted tank.

Following what can only be described in his words as an “epic” bike crash just over a week ago, John-William’s hands are just about recovered enough to start with lambing duties.

He’d misjudged a bend on a track we were cycling on and was unfortunate enough to be hit by a sudden gust of wind which left him on a collision course with a fence. The impact threw him into the mesh fence before somersaulting over the top of it.

Aside from shredding his clothes he’d managed to remove the knuckles on his right hand. Due to the amount of ‘claret’ streaming down his arm as he held it aloft, I resisted the urge to say, “I told you to wear gloves” and instead pushed his bloodied little hand inside one of my gloves and headed home at speed.

He has of course taken great delight in telling anyone who will listen about the extent of his injuries, even admitting in a solemn voice to his teacher: “I thought I was going to lose my hand at one point.”