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There were also one or two powerful reasons for considering becoming members and supporters. Naturally, as a new business, only just starting to see any rewards for the 'decade', or so of time, and financial investment, it was a choice of 'who' would we spend the membership subscription fee with. We made, eventually, the decision to go with the new 'Welsh Organic Recognition Scheme' - Their logo is on display amidst this text. It is the new image, of the new scheme. Our customers and those who have an interest in what and how we develop our business will be pleased to see the membership certificate on our certificates page. But more importantly the scheme has a multi-lingual administrative system. We like that. We like the fact that this is a Welsh Scheme which without any doubt will eventually grow up, mature into a nation-wide effective 'Agency' or even a fashionable 'Corporation' - Who knows what the limits are for us, the *first footer's* in this new and exciting business and embryonic Welsh Industry. We support all those who are taking the plunge into the 'black-hole' of 'Organics'. It's not easy, it's not confidence building or vibrating security. But the promise is there. There maybe a pot at the end of the rainbow. We can only hope there will be some real value in 'Organics' eventually. Maybe the 'raindow' augers well for the pot awaiting all who go 'Organic' - Who really knows in these early days. 
It that story of the best laid scheme of mice! A few months after Billy arrived in his life, a wonderful young lady came into his world. The first thing that seemed to become unimportant was the 'shooting'. Then the need to train the 'gun-dog'! As the priority's in his world changed, well you can imagine. Billy became truly domesticated, sleeping by a fire, having his own bed. All those sort of 'spoiling' habits we humans have for dogs and animals we love. Soon there were three in the house. With Bill, that was four! The dog was brought here to the farm, to stay for a few weeks, when the baby came home. Week's became month's and month's became a year. Yes, Billy is part of the family and with much rivalry between Spot, his Mum and Billy. The boss as company, in front of the fire by the television has become Billy's kingdom. The free run and wander about, while other dog's are in the barn or out working, is Billy's kingdom. He cannot be called a 'watch-dog' he fails to bark at all cars. He cannot be called an essential companion like a guide dog. He has not accepted any regular duties, other than eating. That's Billy's kingdom. A lazy, relaxed and peaceful existence, where nobody bothers him. Yes, when you think of his daily routine it's a life we would all give our back teeth for - We would if we still had them! All the other dog's get fed, so does Billy' - It's a dog's life! Yes and in every sense of the words. So, lets have the caption and see what fun we can get out of this little picture. Oh, and by the way - Nobody has mentioned Billy returning from whence he came. Mag's reckons I quite enjoy having a Golden Retriever at my heel's. At least I never take him into town. I would never hear the last of it. They would say I'm going soft! - On dogs!!
Snow fell just before the rally started, ther skies cleared and the resulting freezing temperatures made for treacherouse conditions for the competitors, especially in the Clocaenog area.
![The Vista of Ferm CwmOnnen [Ash Valley Farm.]](farm1_files/fzoom1a.jpg)
Those of you. Who
have in the past read my column will know I have two working dogs.
The oldest is 'Bet'. She is about seven years now. A real little
worker. She ties so hard to please me. She worries like mad, this
means, most days she runs twice as far as she needs too, but she
will not listen. Some day's she works herself to a standstill. I
signal her to stop and stay, but she worries and runs on. Only
having to run back to where she was when I stopped her. I can tell
you much about sheep-dogs. I have been very well blessed with many
good dog's over the years. 'Bet' is about the hardest worker I have
ever had. She runs all over the mountain, jumps off rock outcrops
instead of going down the safe way. Runs and runs up hill and down
the slopes at one speed - 'Flat-out! On the other hand, 'Gel' the
dog I bought about three years ago has had a few bad experiences in
his young life, before I acquired him. Because of these experiences
he lack confidence. Starts off then asks himself is he right. Is
that what I wanted? Then when I say, command stay, he keeps on
worrying and is not concentrating on the sheep. But he is a good
hard working dog who will run all day if I ask him too. Sheepdog's
need strong leg's, they run and run miles in a day on a farm like
ours. A few years ago 'Bet' started limping. I took her to the Vet.
Diagnosis, a fractured front leg (shin bone on a human). It was
about three months before she walked again, and a few months more
before I would dare to work her. She had undergone detailed surgery
and had been provided with a stainless steel brace, bolted inside
and through her shin bone. It needed to mend and strengthen, and it
needed to be done this way, because she is a working dog and would
never be happy without freedom and work. All together it was a very
expensive treatment. But she is worth it. 
The dogs love their
life, if you feed them, show them affection and trust them, they
respond and enjoy doing what you want of them. 'Bet' still worries,
and runs. Going up the mountain on the quad-bike she would never
ride on the frame. Never! 'Bet' ran ahead, fast and furious. Getting
to the top well before me. Now after her leg problem she still works
hard, but she has taken to accepting a ride on the quad on the
second time up the mountain in a day. You can imagine my surprise. I
went into the barn one morning about October, there in the straw
next to 'Bet' were two little puppies. I did not even know they were
talking, never mind making 'puppies'! For three years they have been
almost rude to each other. She snapped at him when they worked
together. She chased him off when he tried to show her
companionship. I have had some dogs since I was a boy, if you had
said these two were going to make 'puppies' I would have said -
Never! It was about the second week we lost one of the puppies.
Alas, the next morning we were down to one. Strange really, most
litters are six to eight babes. I have known more, but just two.
Most unusual. It must be the 'spirit of the mountain' - It's a deep
and wonderful presence - but this new little dog is built like a
house-brick. Short, square, with a thick leg on each corner. And as
you will see from the picture here, he has a white patch on his hips
over his rear legs. So I called him 'Spot'! Even now those little
legs are like scaffolding poles. There will be no problem with
'Spot' needing surgery and metal plates as he gets older. Those legs
will be like tree trunks. Let me remind you. These dogs are working
dogs, and although they do live in the barn, they do sometimes come
into the house. It is not out of bounds, they just don't share their
none working time with us at home. They like the silence and the
sense of being a watchdog in the yard. There is a story about
working dog's I shall tell you in a little while. 
Anyway, back to the
phone call. It was around about September this last year. I had a
telephone call from a friend in the 'Hunting' fraternity. "Hi
Maldwyn, any chance of you taking a 'puppy' for us again, this
year?" - Yes, I have had a few to rear from baby puppy over the
years. When they are young they need lots of space. About our twelve
mile boundary fencing. Then lot's of smells besides sheep. Foxes,
and we have plenty of those, the 'Big Cat' - and that's anther story
- Big bird's, buzzard's, eagle's, kite's and the occasional Otter.
Strange smells of new human's, hiker's and hill walker's. This all
makes good training for a thinking dog. It was late one night, we
heard a car turning in the yard outside. I went out to be greeted by
my 'Hunting' friend. "Here you are Meldwyn." He presented me with a
urine soaked baked bean box. The 'Pup' had afterall travelled none
stop from Hampshire. Together we walked over to the barn, and I went
inside. I opened the box and placed the little sloppy, gangly, loose
bag of bones and skin on the straw next to 'Bet'. She smelt it, then
turned away. There would be no problem there. We returned to the
house and spent a pleasant night. As he was leaving we shone the big
torch into the barn. To my delight 'Bet' is curled up around 'Spot'
and the new arrival. They were almost the same size. Convenient for
'Bet'. Her baby had returned, maybe? 
As the weeks passed
the hound grew like a 'sweet pea plant' for every inch of 'Spot' two
inches for the new member of the family. Yes, I think 'Bet' mothered
him. She treated them both the same. Problem for her was, he was
nearly as tall as his 'foster-mother'! I started letting them out in
the morning after breakfast. If I was going out to business, they
stayed out roaming the mountain. They always arrived home about 3pm,
as the sun started to drop, and the temperature with it. They became
the best of pals. Everywhere together. Up stream in the river bed
one minute, then diving into the depth of the forestry, and the
smell of fox! Soon the high ridge was being investigated. They never
stopped. In January I started to do preliminary training of 'Spot'.
Then it was that I discovered, I needed to separate these young
'hooligans'! I was trying to train the first 'sheep-hound' in Wales!
He was off up the hill to get behind, to 'lift' them towards me, as
he had watched his Mum and Dad do so many times. What did I hear -
"Yyyoooowww!" Followed in the next moment by "WwwooffYooww!" and
again. He was definitely learning some bad language for a sheepdog!
- They were separated from that day onwards during the daytime.
'Freeman'. That was what I had named the 'Hound' took to roaming the
mounatin alone. As he departed in the morning there was a number of
"Yyyoooowww!" followed from the nearby barn by a muffled and weak
"WwwooffYooww!". 'Spot' still speaks 'Hound' when he gets excited.
Needs to chase off the get the other side of a willful old ewe. He
breaks out into 'Hound' without thought as he gets excited. He will
most likely do that for the rest of his life. He will never be in
any national trials where that language would definitely be frowned
upon by the judges. I was saying about these dogs being working
dogs. If you ever come into the mounatins and as you are picnicing
you are joined by a young hound or a sheepdog, do not be tempted to
think it may be lost. None of our dogs get lost. They may take a few
days to find their way home in foul weather, or in the depth of
winter if they get seperated in a 'white-out' but they never really
get lost. The country is not that big enough. This family was on the
way home after their holiday. Stopping on the mountains range for
their picnic lunch they enjoyed meat and poultry sandwiches, to be
suddenly joined by a rather hungry 'hound'! It devoured all that it
was given, walked all over the spread on the grass, and generally
created mayhem! As the time came to leave, the children could not
leave this wonderful dog who had no sense at all, to starve to death
in the wilderness. "Mummy, Daddy, we must take it home to find out
who he belongs to." - That was the first fatal mistake. On the way
home it wetted the back carpet a dozen times or more. Then it left a
'visiting card' unexpectedly. The smell was horrid, cry's of 'Get it
out!" - Not the dog, the visiting cards. Then, at last home it was
taken into the bosom of the family - The second fatal mistake. It
was a few days before they realised it had no idea of going outside
to wet or provide visiting cards! Then the third - Fatal Mistake!
They all went out. School, Work, Shopping. Six hours later they
returned to find that they had let the demolition contractor loose
in their beautiful home. Three piece suite ripped, chewed, ruined. -
Beds, ripped, mattresses, torn apart. Kitchen table with one
shortened leg, chewed off. Just about every piece of furniture had
been tasted for quality, every soft furnishing, curtain, hanging
towel in the bathroom and so much more had been ripped down and
torn. Devastation was an understatement. The 'Hunt Master' was
sitting down to his dinner when the phone rang. "It's the RSPCA
here. Have you lost one of your young dogs in the last week?" -
"where - In Lincolnshire!!" The following day after 400 miles, the
little demolition expert was returned to the world he understood.
The moral of the tale. If you are stumbled upon by a Hound or a
Sheepdog with a normal sense of smell for roast meat's, downwind
three miles, and their concentration is distracted by that 'smell'.
Finish your picnic and leave it standing there. 
It will remember
what it was doing before it was eating meat sandwiches, and it will
return to its original 'thought form' or process in just a few
minutes. Yes dogs are of two kinds. Working and pets. You can have
them to work and they can still be petted. Love only makes them work
harder. Some 'pet' dogs who are from working breeds should never be
asked to become pets. It is also cruel to go out to work and leave a
dog alone for eight or ten hours. After five days, it will start to
go quite mad or become a stupid, sleep filled moron. Working dog
breeds love to work. I shall return to this in a few weeks. There is
so much, still yet to tell. Hope you enjoyed my tale.
They were 'big'! That the local butcher was cleaned out
of steak, and stuff, gives you some idea of the fare and the fun. As
he got older, "There is life after the operation" he says, we
started drinking what he called medicine. I am also a confirmed
'barrbi' freak! No, we have not got round to throwing another 'lamb'
on the barbbi, but we are getting there. (There is a shortage of
prawns above 1,000 meters altitude!) I started off with a 45 gallon
oil drum, cut in half down its length. Then there was a stand, then
there was a wall, then there was a cover with temporary pull round
wind breaks. 
Then unexpectedly the 'crazy Sais' called it 'Squire's
Kitchen' And it stuck! So have a look at the Bar-b-Que after nearly
five years. This black and white photo, by the way, was taken by the
'Sais' on his 'box' camera. His all night bonfires were here by the
stream, down in these hollows. The fire-place of the farm bar-b-que
is the next photo for you - a close up. 
You can just see
the engraved wooden plaque saying 'Squires Kitchen' - That was a
birthday present from the family a couple of years ago. The second
photo is a wide angle shot with the evening light creeping away into
the shadows. This extra 'out-door' space is wonderful in the summer.
We get some wonderful quality sunsets. Over the years we have had
them all colours. Red, yellows and even purple and blue. It is the
rich 'red ones' which hold the magic. A night like this, viewed from
Barmouth Promenade or at the end of the Llyn Peninsula, looking west
the seventy odd miles to Ireland, can be quite a life-event for the
last few nights of your holiday. 
Of course, getting a good night like this is
pot-luck. However when the evening sky clears after a heavy daytime
storm, this is the sort of sunset we can expect. On a summer
afternoon, with the garden, the Bar-bi, (that could be spelt
Barf-y-ciw in Welsh I imagine.) the evening sunshine provide us with
a wonderful environment and atmosphere highlighting the wonderful
views. Some call them breathtaking, even we do not take the location
for granted. Protection of the environment is important to me. I
have undertaken several schemes to preserve and encourage wildlife,
trees and the wild birds. 
I have seen the
return of the Barcud Coch (Red Kite), and recently I was delighted
to see a full grown Eryr Aur (Golden Eagle), with an enormous wing
span that must have been eight feet. However, take a look at our
garden, you can see the views down the valley to Bala Lake in the
top left corner of the photograph. This is our home and business, so
when I say call and collect your order I mean it. You will always be
welcome.
Here is a picture
I am very proud of. My father, Mr Gwwynli Thomas, a'top of the
Aran's. A few years ago now. He is in his eighties today, and still
talks, on a fine dry day, of wishing he was able to make the top. It
must be twenty years since he was up there last. So, now you have
met my father. Would you like to meet my grandfather. An American
Citizen, Chief of.... But I am jumping too fast. My Grand-father
Dafydd Thomas, was one of 14 children. He lived with his mother here
on the farm. He worked over the other side of the mountain in the
valley of Dinas Mawddwy. About 6 miles and two thousand feet up and
down the other side, twice each day. Like many men in this valley,
he walked over the top, summer and winter for the equivalent wage of
25 'old' pence a week. About 13pence in new money! He had elder
brothers who, as they grew up, moved away. He, like them, reached
the age when 'moving away' was the only option. Funny how things
have not changed in over 100years. My own four sons all work away.
Manchester, Birmingham, Wrexham. In today's world they can at least
travel home for an odd night and some weekend from 40 to 70 miles
away. In 1894, when he was 18 years old, my grandfather went to work
in the cotton factories of Liverpool. There he was able to earn 5
times what he had earned for such killing work at home. With the
railways opening the valley (the old line goes past the end of our
road in the valley below) travel to Merseyside and Liverpool became
easier. This brought more frequent visits home. [Roedd wedi bod yno
am Flwyddyn pan gafodd lythyr gan ei fam yn gofyn iddo fynd i
chwilio am Rowland] One week, in 1896, while at home my Grandfather
was asked by his Mother to find his elder brother, Rowland. He had
stopped sending letters home and she was getting worried about him.
"Will you go to America to find him?" she asked. Even in the 1800's
America was an even bigger country than it is to day. The physical
barriers to travel had yet to be fully conquered. 
"Gwnaf, Mam", was
the reply. In a few weeks he had bought a ticket from Liverpool to
New York, through the immigration procedure and, immediately he was
searching for his brother. In New York's Welsh Community, they said,
"Yes, we have seen him. There is money waiting for him here, so he
will be back." That was not good enough. Dafydd Thomas was on a
mission. After more enquiries, he set off for San Francisco. There
was a rumor that Rowland, had gone to the California goldmines.
Getting to Frisco was the first difficulty of many. At last, he
arrived at the address given to him, and asked, and asked, had the
owner seen his brother Rowland. 'Yes, he is up country in the
goldmines. He will be back in a month. As a stable lad at the hotel,
he waits for the day. Then the shout goes up, "The steamer is
coming!" - He watches the men disembark. Seeing his elder brother my
grandfather walked towards him on the jetty and knocked his arm as
he walks past. Just to get the words 'I'm sorry!" in Welsh, I
suppose. Anyway, his brother did not recognise him, well how would
he, he was the least expected person. He watched his brother go into
the Hotel restaurant. He followed him in - "This seat taken"? He
asked his elder brother for the opposite chair at the table. "No",
was the reply - "Help yourself". Suddenly his brother recognised him
and said "Deio wyt ti, dywed?" There is a very sad end to the story,
but in 1906 my grandfather came home to farm CwmOnnen, at that time,
he was an American Citizen, and stayed so for the rest of his life.
I suppose that would give me a 'Green-card' if I wanted one! I
promise to finish this story off - if I get enough requests. Drop me
an e.mail and ask me - It shall be done. Well that is it - before I
go, let me tell you a recent story. When we started the web-site, we
wanted to display 'Organic' Aran-Lamb, in the modern setting of its
transit box, and in the old-fashioned half-lamb basket.
The idea was that
my daughter Emily' would dress in traditional welsh costume, and
holding the basket, she would display the old fashioned image of a
'Tudor Serving Wench' with your delivery of lamb. Computer Images
can be such a let down. You just cannot get near enough to get the
detail. If you try and do it on the web-site, you loose the color to
get the definition. Anyway, here is Emily on the standing stone in
the middle of the CwmOnnen fields. You can see the Aran mountain
towering in the distance. Well, that is it for the present. I shall
finish off the story of my grandfather's visit to America, if
anybody asks me. Until the next time. - I look forward to seeing
you, here on the farm, in the future when you call to collect your
order, maybe. Till that day, stay healthy and happy. Kind Regards.
Maldwyn Thomas.Best viewed with Microsoft
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Send your comments to Aran Lamb at admin@aran-lamb.co.uk
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