Why do towns in UK have so many names?...Knock me over with a feather...Well, not quite...How about a sheep?...

Chickens willingly wandering up the steep ladder to 
the safety of the barn at night.

Fascinating Fact of the Day about Tiverton: 
From this site:
"Tiverton enjoyed prosperity from the wool trade into the early 18th century, but then came a period of decline during the early industrial revolution. There were occasional riots and societies of Woolcombers and Weavers were formed in an effort to protect jobs and wages. However, by the end of the century due to imports of cotton and the expansion of industrialization elsewhere, the town’s woolen industry was in terminal decline. In June 1731 another major fire broke out in the town destroying 298 houses. After this, the streets were widened."
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We should clarify a fact I've been intending to mention during many posts but failed to do so.  In England, most cities have a few names.   The answer is described more comprehensively than I could have.  From this site:

"In England, Wales and Northern Ireland, a town traditionally was a settlement which had a charter to hold a market or fair and therefore became a "market town". In Scotland, the equivalent is known as a burgh. There are two types of burgh: royal burghs and burghs of barony. 
Note the chicken on the second ladder inside the barn.
The Local Government Act 1972 allows civil parishes in England and Wales to resolve themselves to be Town Councils, under section (245 subsection 6), which also gives the chairman of such parishes the title 'town mayor'. Many former urban districts and municipal boroughs have such a status, along with other settlements with no prior town status. 

In more modern times it is often considered that a town becomes a city (or a village becomes a town) as soon as it reaches a certain population, although this is an informal definition and no particular numbers are agreed upon. 
A young apple tree produced its first bright red apple.
The cultural importance placed on charters remains, and it is not an unusual event for towns across the UK to celebrate their charter in an annual Charter Day (normally a fair or medieval market)."

As a result, we are located in Witheridge, Tiverton, Devon which in stating so is comparable to listing a village, a town, a city, and a county.  When we mention any of these areas they each have it's own "downtown" or High Street as explained below at this site:
Black-eyed Susans.
"High Street (or the High Street, also High Road) is a metonym for the concept (and frequently the street name) of the primary business street of towns or cities, especially in the United Kingdom and Commonwealth of Nations. To distinguish it from "centres" of nearby places it is frequently preceded unofficially by the name of its settlement. 

In a town, it implies the focal point for business, especially shops and street stalls (if any) in town and city centres. As a generic shorthand presupposed upon linear settlements it may be used to denote more precise concepts such as the urban retail sector, town centre sectors of employment, all small shops and services outlets and even wider concepts taking in social concepts.
This may be Common Montbretia.
The number of High Streets grew from the 17th-century and reached a peak in Victorian Britain. Since the 20th-century, the prosperity of High Streets has been in decline, forcing many shop closures and prompting the UK Government to consider initiatives to reinvigorate and preserve the High Street. 

High Street is the most common street name in the UK, which according to a 2009 statistical compilation has 5,410 High Streets, 3,811 Station Roads, and 2,702 Main Streets. The smallest High Street in Britain is located in the small market town of Holsworthy in Devon. The street itself is no more than 100 yards (100 m) long and consists of only three shops."
Zucchini, aka Courgettes in many parts of the world.
High St. is most comparable to "downtown" or "Main St." in many towns throughout the US and a few countries throughout the world.  Each country we've visited seems to have its own descriptions of counties, towns, cities, and villages.  We find it's important to be aware of how they are described to ensure we don't sound like idiots when speaking to locals.

As for the other "mention" in today's heading, here's how the story goes:  Yesterday afternoon, we wandered over to the paddock closest to Pond Cottage to greet the sheep and to feed them some of the small pellets Renate had left for us, along with different smaller pellets for the ducks, geese, and chickens.
Unable to identify these purplish flowers.
No, feeding the feathered friends and the sheep is not quite as exciting and eventful as feeding 25 kudus, eight zebra and/or six warthogs and babies, standing at the edge of the veranda.  

We make the most of every possible animal interaction regardless of where we may be living at any given time and haven't been disappointed.  But, yesterday was unique in that we were feeding animals face to face standing at our feet.

In Marloth Park, the wildlife was just that...wild, requiring a reasonable distance for safety reasons.  Many tourists had been injured over the years when approaching the wild animals which, unlike domestic animals, can quickly turn from friendly to dangerous, especially when competing for food.
The bright green vegetables appear to be butter lettuce but are overly ripe and too late for the picking.
Once inside the gate, at first, the sheep backed off, guarded and cautious with "people" they don't know.  We proceeded with caution, speaking to them in soft voices while holding out our flat hands with pellets.  They freely gathered around.

I was busy taking photos while attempting to feed them with my other hand.  All of a sudden a sheep decided to walk from behind me between my legs to the other side.  Go figure.  My stance was a little wide while standing in the tall grass to balance myself which was uneven and extremely wet from days and days of rain.

This all happened so quickly I had no chance to further steady myself.  I've never had a sheep or other animal walk between my legs.  I tumbled and hit the ground.  Luckily, for a few things, one; the ground was mushy and soft and two; my sternum has completely healed (although still painful to the touch and when I move certain ways).
A goose with a knot on her head.
During the seconds it took me to hit the ground I tried to avoid falling on the many piles of sheep poop and...much to my liking, I succeeded. My pants, socks, sweatshirt, and shoes ended up dirty and wet, remedied by a wash in hot water in the kitchen's washing machine.  

I wasn't injured but wondered if I'd be stiff today.  I awoke this morning feeling as good as I've felt each day over this past blissful month...free of pain, stiffness, and discomfort.  This won't deter us from visiting the sheep again before we depart the farm in five days.  Next time, I'll keep my legs together and be more cautious.  Good grief!

Today's above video was taken around 6 pm last evening when Allison, the temporary farm helper here twice a day while John and Renate are away, knocked on our door when we'd asked her to let us know when she'd be guiding the chickens into the barn.  

It was the wide sheep on the right that caused me to topple.
As mentioned in yesterday's post, our reader/friend Adele suggested we make a video of this momentous event.  Only two of the five chickens hadn't already wandered into the barn, up the steep ladder, on their own.  Allison and I searched for the two remaining chickens.  I found them in a side paddock and they freely followed us toward the barn.

Alas, they "performed" as expected, making me laugh out loud as I took the video, barely able to keep the camera steady.  Please click on the video for a chuckle.  Chicken may be construed as having "pea brains" only motivated by food.  But entering the barn is for comfort and safety at night.  Maybe they aren't so dumb after all.

That's it for today, folks.  Enjoy your Sunday!
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Photo from one year ago today, October 6, 2018:
At first, we spotted this warthog sitting in the cement pond.  By the time I grabbed the camera, he'd already begun to climb out. For more photos, please click here.

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