The best thing I have discovered this week about the people of Devonshire is their huge pride in their beautiful, largely rural county. It has been a week of delightful discoveries. At the risk of sounding like a tourist brochure, it is a wonderful place to visit if you like the outdoors: pretty coves or long stretches of red sandy beaches; cliff walks and woodland walks; narrow country lanes corralled by high stone walls or dense hedgerows, and armfuls of National Trust and English Heritage properties to visit.
It was while I was drifting down one of those lanes, looking for an alternative route into town to avoid rush hour traffic and too many traffic lights that I came across Occombe Organic Farm. A big red sign jumped out at me, announcing the Occombe Farm Shop and Café. Fancying a mug of coffee, and with time to spare, I popped in for a quick visit. It immediately became a regular haunt, as I dropped my son to work in Paignton, and then paused to read the paper and drink a latte on the broad deck overlooking the voluptuously rolling green hills of Devon.
Occombe Farm is in the care of the Torbay Coast & Country Trust, an independent local charity that maintains over 1750 acres of woodland, cliffs, coves and coastal walks, nature reserves and farmland in the area. I soon discovered that the farm extended beyond a café and a shop to a community garden, an educational facility, a clutch of working animals (not pets) and a nature trail, as well a large barn used to host fund-raising events such as comedy and choirs, or most recently, a barn dance. At the end of the week, on a perfect summer’s day, I was finally encouraged to stretch myself beyond the world’s best and fluffiest scrambled eggs (laid 200m from the kitchen) to pay a proper visit to the rest of the farm.
My first stop was at the community garden, where Chris, with blonde dreadlocks and apricot blond beard, was picking bags of peas to sell in the café. I bought a bag there and then – and you can’t get much fresher than that. A large poster by the gate stated that the community garden is part of a One Planet Project to promote local food. Volunteers are welcome to join the team, while school kids often visit to learn about growing their own food and then have the opportunity to cook it in the community kitchen. Located on the side of a hill, with raised beds wrapped around a central canvas yurt (for conferences and educational get-togethers), this glorious garden was in full bloom. Several sweet pea tripods, beds of bright orange and yellow marigolds and clumps of borage are used to attract bees, slugs and snails (as a preferable alternative to them gnawing on the vegetables), or to be dug into the earth at the end of the summer to improve the soil’s nitrogen content. To the uninitiated observer they simply add glorious technicolour to an otherwise green landscape.
A series of herb beds were filled to overflowing with the usual array of parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme, but I also found herbs I have never seen on the supermarket shelves like chocolate and apple mint, as well as effusive chamomile bushes – the first time I have ever seen chamomile in the flesh. Above the veggie patches, a small orchard was filled with apples, pears and plums, as well as red, white and black currents. There was also a special educational garden imitating land use during the war. Boards described how Hyde Park, Windsor Great Park and even Buckingham Palace gardens were dug up for crops and allotments in a government promoted Dig for Victory Campaign. Beside this historic re-enactment I dodged quickly past a fenced apiary of busy black honey bees.
Beyond the orchard was a fallow field, in which a corner had been fenced off to house a pair of friendly Berkshire piglets. Traditionally black, these two little boys had spent hours rolling in the red mud that had given their bristles a titian tint. Being ‘working’ pigs, they will eventually land up on a table as someone’s Sunday roast, but for now, they are very sweet and chatty, fervently denying the warning, with welcoming grunts, not to stick fingers through the fence, as they can apparently bite quite firmly.
I had read about the herd of local Ruby Red cattle. This is an ancient breed of cattle known formally as The Devon, but nicknamed Ruby Red on account of their rich russet colour, a similar colour to the local red sandstone. However, they had apparently wandered off over the hills and far away as they are nowhere to be seen. Likewise the lambs and pygmy goats,. However I did stop to converse with Malcolm the Khaki Campbell Duck and his harem of eight lady ducks, some of the brown chooks who provided my breakfast, and one of a pair of alpacas called Captain Kid, employed to keep the foxes at bay.
Opposite the animal enclosures is the beginning – or the end – of the nature trail, depending which way you choose to travel. Ambling across sun-struck fields and through shaded, gloomy woodland, I also passed a pond with a nearby hide from whence to study the local birdlife.
As I meandered out into open fields, the air was bejewelled with bees and butterflies. The nature trail is a relatively short walk – presumably designed to accommodate the short legs of its smaller visitors – but is nonetheless charming for its brevity. I sat on the grass to enjoy the view across green paddocks splodged with marshmallow trees to the white houses on the steep hills of Torquay. Around me, the fields was hedged with thick and prickly bramble bushes, confetti-covered in pale pink, five-petalled flowers, heralding the autumn arrival of jam jars full to the brim with blackberries.
A spectrum of greens may dominate the landscape at this time of year, but here on the hillside it was also sprinkled with the deep purple of wild thistles and the smiling yellow faces of buttercups, marsh marigolds and tall, slim daisies. Onto the boardwalk and into the woods, I followed a tiny, tinkling stream to that distinctive, slightly damp scent of English woodland, and the sound of small, squeaky birds. In a clearing just off the main path some local little Indians had been building wigwams.
Looping back up to the farm buildings, I watched a sparrow hawk drop unceremoniously from the sky and squat in deep grass, hoping no one had noticed his picnic plans. The smaller birds near the hide kept an even lower profile, as I had caught not a glimpse of a single blue tit or green finch, but could hear plenty of carolling nthe dense shrubbery.
Back at the café, I sat out on the deck with a cold Sicilian lemonade, straight from Devon producers, Luscombe’s. According to the farm’s website, the café is ‘all about delicious, fresh and local food,’ and as many of the menu’s ingredients as possible come from the farm itself. They also source ingredients from other local producers, in order to offer diners some of the best flavours of Devon.
Downstairs, in the farm shop, I rounded up some steak from Gribbles Butchers. Gribbles is a family-run business with basically a paddock to plate arrangement with local farmers and producers to sell their goods at the Farm Shop. I spent some time exploring the shelves and fridges, including the produce of half a dozen local cheesemakers and local wines and juices. My basket surreptitiously filled itself with a large, but unplanned assortment of goodies including an excellent tomato sauce to accompany my Gribbles pasties for lunch, as well as a jam, a chutney and a couple of homemade apricot slices, at the end of a thoroughly satisfying return to nature.