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There are a number of commercial wind farm proposals for North and West Devon in line with the government’s Kyoto Summit agreement. These are being met with massive opposition. They destroy the look of the countryside, they are inefficient, nimby-ism, and the huge grants available to energy companies who erect them is only there to make the government look as if it’s taken the energy crisis and climate change on board. Which, according to some, they haven’t, as they have their fingers stuck firmly in some other mucky puddle.
One argument that opponents to wind farms use is that because they can only generate power when the wind blows, every time a new wind farm is built a new coal, oil or gas station has to be built as well. I’m not sure I understand this. I get the point that wind farms will only ever produce energy intermittently, so they have to be used alongside other forms of power generation. No one says they are the solution on their own, just part of it. I just don’t see why new non-green power stations have to be built as well. Provided existing such stations are kept operational and ticking over, then when the wind drops they can be turned up. The argument that we need new conventional stations seems to me only to hold true if we need more energy overall – but with the increased imperative that now exists for energy conservation that should not be necessary. Indeed wind farms should surely mean that conventional power stations have to be used less (although as I say still kept operational), so helping to reduce climate change? Can anyone please help me here?
Rural Business Research (RBR), the consortium of leading Agricultural Universities and Colleges that undertakes the Farm Business Survey in England for Defra, has recently published seven enterprise / farm type reports that chart the changing fortunes of agriculture and horticulture.
You may find these facts and figures interesting, particularly for Less Favoured Area (LFA) hill farms. This shows that the average farm loses heavily on livestock production, and only survives because of public payments (Single Payment Scheme (SPS) and agri-environment) and diversification. Even so, the average income of c £11K pa is pitifully low when this has to cover farmer time and any rent. How many non-farming families would be willing to work for a combined salary of £11K pa?
Below is a summery which provides an overview of each report. If you are interested the full reports can be found by following the link. The data is taken from actual farm accounts
Rural Business Research charts the changing fortunes of farming in England
Rural Business Research (RBR), the leading consortium of independent academic units undertaking the influential Farm Business Survey (FBS) in England, presents a series of reports highlighting the changing economic fortunes of farming.
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Report Series Crop Production in England Pig Production in England Poultry Production in England Hill Farming in England Dairy Farming in England Lowland Grazing Livestock Production in England Horticulture Production in England (Horticultural Business Data) |
Details and downloads available at http://www.ruralbusinessresearch.co.uk/
Crop Production in England shows that whilst arable fortunes started to improve in 2006/07, many producers had already committed their 2006 harvest to marketing contracts and spot sales, reducing the impact of price increases on the sector. General cropping farms returned a Farm Business Income (FBI) of £317 per hectare, whilst Cereal farms recorded an average FBI of £261 per hectare. The balance sheets of many cropping farms improved, with land value increases resulting in average net worth of cereals and general cropping farms increasing by 10%, to £5200 and £4700 per hectare, respectively. The financial year 2006/07 witnessed an increase in the number of farmers taking part in the Entry Level Stewardship (ELS) scheme with average total receipts from this revenue increasing by £10 per hectare on the previous year. With increasing fuel and fertiliser costs eroding increasing output prices, the wide variation in performance of cropping farms looks set to continue for the foreseeable future.
Pig Production in England charts the declining UK pig population with sow numbers having fallen to below 400,000 in the UK. Food security is now racing up the political agenda, and the report details how pork production as a percentage of supply has fallen from 116% in 1996-98 to 69% in 2007. The 54 Specialist Pig farms analysed in the report recorded an average feed bill of £120,000, accounting for some 77% of total variable costs and highlighting the plight of the sector as cereal prices continue to rise. The wide range in business performance, and the increasing costs of production, highlights the problems facing many producers - it is clear that the vast majority of producers are currently making substantial losses on their pig production. The rapid decline in the sector as at end of 2007 showed a 4.4% fall in total breeding pigs on the previous year; the fall in gilt numbers was even higher at 16%, reflecting the cut-backs that are occurring in the Industry.
Poultry Production in England identifies that 69% of broiler production takes place on the largest 400 holdings in the UK, with 100,000+ broiler units dominating supply in the sector. With farm gate sales of £1.66 billion in 2006, 90% of domestic demand for poultry meat was satisfied by home-grown production. Egg production is also dominated by a small number of suppliers with 1% of producers accounting for 78% of output by volume and satisfying 89% of the demand for eggs. Whilst egg prices recovered in 2006, gross output to the sector fell due a decline in laying hen numbers. Free range producers saw a slight fall in Farm Business Income (FBI), resulting from increased gross output that was more than offset by higher variable costs. Rising feed costs are likely to result in substantial changes in the fortunes of the poultry industry – profit in the sector is under extreme pressure as variable costs increase placing considerable pressure on the bottom line.
Hill Farming in England examines the costs and returns of farming in England’s “grazing livestock” Less Favoured Area (LFA) farm businesses – with LFAs accounting for 17% of the total farmed area, returns to production in the areas where poor climate, soils and terrain limit activities, have traditionally been lower than many other sectors. In England, 40% of beef cows and 45% of breeding sheep are in the LFAs and farming plays a crucial role in maintaining the distinctive landscape of such areas. LFA Grazing Livestock farms earn some 50% of their total revenue (output) from crop and livestock farming activities with 27% coming from the Single Farm Payment, and 15% from specific agri-environment payments. The balance of revenues is earned from nonfarm/ diversification activities. However, the average LFA farm is losing money to the tune of -£16,044 Farm Business Income (FBI) from crop and livestock production per farm in 2006/7. Revenues earned from the Single Farm Payments, agri-environment schemes and diversification more than offset the losses of the traditional farming enterprises to generate a headline FBI of £10,786 in 2006/7. LFA farms depend to a substantial extent on public payments accounting for more than 40% of their revenues. Total public spending on the LFA farms amounts to £148m per year, or £193/ha. This total spending compares favourably with recent estimates of the social value of upland environments.
Dairy Farming in England details the number challenges faced by the sector during 2006/07, including market conditions of declining milk output price and increasing input costs; average farm gate prices ranged from 16.8 to 19.0 pence per litre. Milk production fell to its lowest level for over a decade, driven by producer numbers falling by 5.4% and continuing the downward trend in the number of dairy farms. In 2006/07 the shortfall of total milk deliveries undershot total national quota by approximately 410 million litres, representing the largest recorded quota undershoot. Farm Business Income (FBI) was £321 per hectare, representing 17% of total farm output. The higher input-output system of the lowland farms returned an average FBI of £340/ha in comparison to the average FBI of £255/ha for LFA farms. Analysis of lowland herds by gross margin performance quartiles indicates that the upper quartile achieved yields of 8000 litres compared to 5700 litres for the lower quartile, and whilst concentrate costs were greater for the upper quartile, the respective gross margins are approximately £1000/cow and £400/cow. The report goes on to note that whilst reduced milk supplies have led retailers to recently increase the milk price, volatility and increases in input costs will erode a substantial element of the increased milk price.
Lowland Grazing Livestock Production in England details that Lowland Grazing Livestock farms account for 10% of the area of farmed land in England, and 17% of the holdings. Lowland grazing holdings typically produce the lowest incomes per farm, per hectare and per annual labour unit. In 2006/07, Farm Business Income (FBI) was £13,500 per business, although large variations in the returns to individual businesses exist, highlighting the negative returns recorded by many in this sector. 20% of businesses make a loss, and two-thirds make less than £20,000 – from which rental value of owned land and the value of farmer and spouse labour must be met. Farm Business Income was lower than private drawings for farms in the lowland grazing livestock production farm type, indicating that on average farmers in this group are eroding their business assets.
Horticulture Production in England (Horticultural Business Data) details that horticulture’s share of total agricultural output has increased by 4% over the last forty five years, and in 2006 was 14.3% of total agricultural output in the UK. In monetary terms, the latest figures for home produced horticultural crops produced in the UK came to £2,107 million. Just over one third of this output is made up of field scale vegetables, although they account for 72% of the total area of horticulture. Hardy nursery stock (22%) and other protected non-edibles (12%) are the next largest in value terms amongst the horticultural sectors. Horticulture Production in England considers the value of home-produced output, the regional importance of production and detailed financial results for horticulture businesses, all based upon the analysis of financial and physical returns from the 207 horticultural businesses within the Farm Business Survey.
Dr Paul Wilson, Chief Executive Elect of Rural Business Research, commented “this series of reports provides the industry with the most comprehensive examination of the economics of agriculture and horticulture in England ever produced - the changes and challenges facing the industry make these reports invaluable to anyone looking to identify key factors to improve profitability”
The data collection and analysis presented in the reports has been largely funded by Defra as a key part of the annual Farm Business Survey. Details or downloads of the reports can be found at http://www.ruralbusinessresearch.co.uk/
yesterday as the grass began to dry
Yesterday emotions ricocheted. Trepidation in the morning as clouds loomed over the farm; to the beginnings of buoyancy as they were cracked apart by fingers of sun and blown by a drying wind; to sheer relief as I heard the grass begin to rustle under the tines of the turner.
transferred worry
The first fat drop of rain fell at six o’clock, by seven it had been joined by the multitudes. I’d somehow managed to keep away from the compulsive-weather-checking so Olly filled me in. We were experiencing the edge of a massive low travelling across Ireland. Intermittent showers were expected throughout the night till seven or possibly ten the next morning…this was turning into my worst nightmare.
I was up at five this morning peering out of the window at the moist wet world. Whilst checking the sheep the heavens opened. I was despondent, dejected and downhearted.
olly takes over turning this morning
By nine this morning a healthy wind was beginning to blow although the sky was still heavy with oppressive dark clouds. A plan was made. Turn to lift the grass of the ground and let the wind and air get to it. Row up where the grass could continue to dry and if all was well bale, and wrap late afternoon.
clouds and grass all rowed-up in path field
Nature, thankfully, had almost finished playing with me. By mid-day the wind was blowing with purposeful single-mindedness, the sun shone hard, the clouds scudded and the fast drying grass smelled sweet. I felt jubilant. It was going to be okay after all.
lining up
The bailer moved in at five and as I write the zee-zee-zee of the wrapper working in the dusky dark is music to my ears! The biggest ‘thank-you’ in the world to all you positive thinkers, for a monent there it was touch and go!
The die is cast. The decision made. I’m a wreck and will continue to be for the next few days.
Desperate not to experience another year like last year and determined to make some good quality forage I’ve taken the bull by the horns and…cut. Now if you believe in the power of collective thought, or even if you don’t, would you mind willing the weather right for this week. Please.
Yesterday in a squally, red-face gale we visited a Devon Wildlife culm grassland site looking for the narrow bordered bee hawkmoth, its eggs and larvae when a well-worn, well-known, well-fingered length of grubby tattered thought began to unravel in my head. It goes something like this ‘oh god, I think I should cut’; ‘should I?’; ‘must go home, must check the long range weather forecast’; ‘it’s way too early’; ‘no it isn’t’; ‘I should go for it’ and so on and so forth. Stupid, wavering, indecisive but once ‘that’ thought has lodged itself I know I’m in for the annual stressathon. And despite having to make the same decision every year, it never gets any easier – in fact I think it gets worse!
Once home Robert drops me off at the top of the lane so I can walk down through the fields and make my assessment. I’m pathetically unsure…not enough, too short, good quality, go for it, wait a week, its okay, yes do it, no don’t. Back at the farmhouse I seek reassurance on the computer. No joy there – rain on Wednesday…or wait, is that Tuesday? Clouds, oh no, wait a minute its good there’s a high. Hang on, this one says different. Oh sod it, what should I do?
I’m alone on this one – everyone backs away with those dreaded words ‘Well, I don’t know. Don’t look at me. It’s really up to you’
I phone Andrew, my neighbour and contractor, he’s expecting my call. ‘Hell-lo, ummm, just washing my hands and saw the sun suck up water. Not a good sign. Father walked through though, said there was a high’. Everyone is jumpy because of last year and the thought of constant summer rain.
After a great deal more deliberating, heart and forecast searching, walking over fields, staring at the clouds and asking for guidance from whoever controls these matters I decided to decide and…cut!
concerned for my mental state!
The sheep moved further into the hidden hollow she’d found herself in a secluded section of overgrown hedgebank. Dense bramble rush thistle and fern help her feel safe. She was uneasy, weary; the flock’s restlessness and agitation had muddled her mind. She circled making a small nest in the middle of the impenetrable foliage, lay down closed her eyes and began to cud.
Sometime, a short time, a long time, she was not sure, she became aware of noise. The sounds of the flock moved closer and louder; it made her edgy alarmed eventually the flock passed by and all went silent. She didn’t stir. Her foot was hot and painful. She pulled at a young bramble shoot, slept, dozed and chewed the cud.
During the night she heard a vixen move close, hunting for her young. She smelt the musty sweetness and heard the rustle of the leaves. A young rabbit screamed. The night moved around her pocket of safety. Ears alert she listened for familiar sounds, nothing was recognisable. She stayed put and nibbled at her leg above the tender foot.
It had been light for some time when she emerged. She felt calmer now and the day was grey and damp. She’d been hiding for almost twenty four hours. She became aware of the emptiness of the acres around her. Silently she moved through the high rush in an effort to locate her companions.
Cattle were moving along the lane. She heard shouts and calls. The barns echoed with noise and commotion. Unease was beginning to return. She’d been unable to find the flock and unusual cattle activity was making her jittery. She made her way to the boundary fence down into the gully. Slipping and sliding along the steep sides she gingerly picked her way along the shallow water. Though she wasn’t happy walking in the water the coldness soothed her foot. She found a shallow mossy bank that was familiar and which led her into a small enclosed field. She stood in the middle looking at the cattle and people passing the gate.
She was now at a loss and continued to stand in the middle of the field. Some time passed until she heard the truck and people. The person she knew opened the gate and called to her, she felt safe and answered. But now there were two people, slowly coming towards her with sticks. She felt panic rising and tried to escape to the mossy bank. She was wild with fear; she couldn’t reach the bank so launched herself into a low tangled mass of willow branches. She knew she was going to die.
The heavy weight of a body landed on her. Fear made her go limp. Pain whizzed up her leg as her foot was cut, stung as spray fizzed. Motionless she was lifted into the truck and bounced out of the field. Time moved again, the truck stopped. The person she knew made her jump and she landed in another world. She stood looking, unmoving and silent, at her flock. She put her head down and began to graze.
brown hare
Still hush. I woke this morning to silence. I pulled back the curtains; the yard in front of the house was littered with a confetti of rose petals looking for all the world like pale pink snow; flags and rushes around the pond were askew and bent; tossed, trashed leafed branches scattered hither and thither. Rubbing gritty eyes I wandered to the window overlooking the back garden. Leaves were strewn across the grass, broad beans collapsed, showing their downy silver underbellies whilst the washing hung in heavy sodden droops, now leadened and deadened after a night of wild dervish dancing. The first gentle fingers of sunlight touched the farm with deceptive normality.
Wrestling on clothes, head cotton-wool and eyes still grainy. I splashed cold water. Fumbled for socks, jacket and waterproof trousers, pulled on wellies and went to let the dogs out. No excited morning greeting today, they were almost self-effacing. Patting my thigh I indicated we were going to check the cows, calves and youngsters in Flop Meadow…
Let me take you back to yesterday when wind and rain threatened - starting, stopping; spattering and retracting; dark clouds ominously collecting overhead then blown hither and thither only to bank up once more. The youngsters (still on home farm; sitting out the three weeks before their second BT vaccination on Friday) had broken through into our hay crop. Having managed to climb a vertical hedge bank and stomp-stamp-crash a newly laid hedge they then ran helter-skelter in excited grass frenzy through the meadow. Collecting them up and remonstrating with them I decided to put them in with the steadying influence of the two freshly calved cows and calves. The field was secure, there was enough grass and it was just for two days. But more chaos ensued. The yearlings, still wound up, were particularly drawn to Ginny and her week-old baby; they stampeded around her in raucous enthusiasm. Ginny was distraught and desperately tried to protect her calf from this overbearing interest. Give them a few minutes I thought and they would settle. But no, as the storm, wind and rain gathered momentum so did their high-spirited behaviour. Ginny started up a rhythmic bellowing, the youngsters echoed her, whilst the calf tried to find peace and quiet in an impenetrable patch of rush and thistle. Strangely there seemed to be no interest in the other calf and cow who continued to graze and rest calmly on the periphery of the goings on. My presence seemed to increase their agitation so I took to squinting at them through hedge. Even though Ginny’s bellows continued all day and into the night occasionally booming over the raging wind nothing untoward was happening to her calf.
…and so back to this morning. All appeared calm as I opened Flop meadow gate, albeit the grass was flattened and skewed by the wind and rain. But my presence seemed to rekindle their bizarre behaviour. Odd? I’ll have to move the cows and calves out, I thought, as I headed off to the truck to check the rest of the stock.
There I found ewes and lambs clustered around the top gate in Cow Moor. Unusual. As I appeared they too began shouting, calling and surging around me, pushing to get out of the field. This was weird. They had grass, they had water; and they’ve certainly experienced worse storms than last night, yet they were tense with anxiety. Maybe I’ll have to move them too, I thought, as I drove down to check the main herd in the River Meadows.
These would certainly be happy and contented I thought; sheltered from the worst of the wind and rain with ample grazing. How wrong was I? As soon as they saw me walking over the field they started towards me, ears forward semaphoring madly, restlessly regrouping, high-stepping and collecting up their calves. I sensed the beginnings of herd panic and sent the dogs back to the truck as it could become dangerous for them. I tried moving amongst them making soothing sounds and reassuring noises. But they would have none of it. They continued to shout and move nervously about looking around for an imagined threat or imagined enemy. What was going on with all my animals this morning?
Calm, contentment and peace has now returned. What had affected all the stock? A brewing storm? The full moon? Or maybe the approaching summer solstice? Possibly a touch of all three – I haven’t experienced the like of it before.
Isn’t this extraordinary - it’s an Azure Damselfly roost beside one of our ponds. Looking at these it’s easy to see how myth and legend of fairy abound. They reminded me of…oh, what’s it? Ah yes - Harkness, Captain Jack…mysterious Torchwood. The Dr Who spin-off series set in Cardiff. I remember seeing an episode where gruesome, gargoyle fairy-like beings (bearing uncanny similarity to these damselflies) wooed and enchanted young and old in the effort to abduct and absorb them into their wicked ethereal other-world, where plans were afoot to consume the earth as we know it – well, loosely!
Imagine being woven into a web of illusion, confusion and enchantment and led, pixi-mazed, unknowingly into quietly lethal sinking bogs! The stories flourish of incidents similar to this even on Hannaborough Moor!
The Emerald Damselfly - extraordinary, but definitely more insect-like.
Broad-bodied Chaser dragonfly exuvia (larval casing)…macabre and ghoulish.
I’m going to tell you a secret. It’s a secret that’s been simmering away, weaving in and out of our lives since Christmas. No big deal but with the potential to be life-changing. Robert has been granted his voluntary redundancy.
Let me fill you in. Robert has worked for government’s arm of nature conservation since his late twenties. The organisation, then known as the Nature Conservancy Council, reinventing itself as the new-improved English Nature during the nineties and recently morphed into its present guise as Natural England. The organisation has changed hugely over the years and its latest remodelling and reshaping has resulted in a slimmed down version of the original – which, of course, is in line with government thinking. Robert needed a change and when the organisation decided to float its scheme of voluntary redundancy, due to cut backs and a shortage of funds, he applied. Why? For no other reason than he wondered what would happen!
He was told he wouldn’t get it. He voiced his objections. Papers were reshuffled. He was informed he has been moved to ‘group one’ (the most likely candidates) only to be told several weeks later that once again he didn’t stand a chance. You get the picture? Our life was on hold. Did we move forward with plans or did we put all ideas on the back burner? Negotiations continued, another deadline came and went – still we were none the wiser. We tired of the ‘yes-it-is’ ‘no-it-isn’t’ game. Got on with what we do best, but still, in the background, was this unsettling possibility. Then, last week, out of the blue, and when we really did think nothing would happen, he received an email that congratulated him of having had his redundancy…approved!
In a chaotic mix of exhilaration and downright fear our lives have been thrown into space and fallen earthwards in a plethora of ideas. Already I’ve had the builders round, been in contact with Business Link and talked to friends that have been party to the last six months uncertainties, embryonic thoughts and ideas.
Watch this space. Could it be a move to the West Highlands of Scotland to run eco-holidays? A vineyard in Provence? Or will it be converting the farm to total self sufficiency in all forms of energy, water and food, alongside an eco residential build and a green oak teaching facility? Whatever, these will be challenging, life-changing decisions.
bog pimpernel
On Monday, as I was busily trying to clear umptytiddlyone important-must-be-done-immediately stacks of paper on my desk, Ginny decided to calve - at last. She was two weeks late and though not unusual in my herd I was a little concerned as there have been rumours that Bluetongue vaccination can cause problems to the unborn calf; though I suspect this would be at a much earlier stage in the pregnancy.
As she decided to calve at a convenient time - in daylight, during the morning, in fine weather and in the shade of an oak tree almost under my office window - I was able to take photos of her during the entire labour.
Particularly interesting is the interaction between Ginny and Imogen. Being together, away from the main herd since turnout, they have settled well, formed a strong bond and have shown no distress; a little unusual as they are not from the same dam or cohort and were not closely connected within the herd.
Normally a cow, free-ranging in a grazing herd, will take herself off to an isolated secluded spot to calve, but Ginny positively encouraged Imogen’s company; so much so it reminded me of human birthing partners!
She lies down to begin pushing contractions
contractions are strong and rhythmic
the waters burst - she cleans up
nearing the end
the most enormous heifer calf - seconds old!
introductions are made - this is unusual behaviour, generally the freshly calved cow will see off any intruders.
first wobbly steps - searching for the teat
bliss!
narrow bordered bee hawkmoth
Manic, hectic, non-stop - and I’m not talking about the frenetic cutting and carrying of silage or the persistent hum drone whine of tractors, mowers, foragers, bailers and wrappers filling the air 24/7 as most of my neighbours rush to take advantage of the warm, dry weather - but of Robert’s weekend schedule. As you are, no doubt, totally aware…it’s been National Moth day, night and weekend!
chimney sweeper - a moth whose food plant is pignut
You may have gathered through various comments in other posts Robert has a keenly developed interest (obsession?) with moths – trapping, collecting, recording, rearing and photographing – the last he does with enviable artistic flare and skill. So the last forty-eight hours has been one continuous merry-go-round of places, locations and venues from first light till the early hours of the morning (most things moth taking place during the most unsocial hours). Moth traps have been set, county moth gatherings have been attended, special sites have been visited, recordings have been made and moths - ordinary-extraordinary, exquisite-dowdy, day flying or night flying - have been found, noted and documented, whilst friends, acquaintances and strangers have been persuaded, cajoled and curmudgeoned into participating in one form or another.
mother shipton - can you see the witch’s face?
I’ve cherry picked. Choosing to accompany Robert on the more social affairs, and during the hours when most self-respecting moths are tucked up sound asleep in some cool dark hideaway, safe from marauding predators, apart, that is, from the occasional unusual treasure – such as the narrow bordered bee hawkmoth.
I’ve snatched a hasty conversation with a pal on a log in an orchard whilst traps have been set and electrics wrangled with; sipped tea in the shade of a wild rose after a walk around a stunning triple SI in search of the rare Marsh Fritillary butterfly; and been refreshed with a glass of ice cold wine in the dappled sun of early evening having trekked across the moor for supper. I have also had time to enjoy the extraordinary beauty of our flower meadows which are at their peak and taken pleasure in watching and observing the stock as they contentedly graze and relax in the early summer sunshine. A perfect June weekend.
ragged robin in dillings
for heidi - our only lunar moth - a lunar hornet moth, not as impressive as yours!
As normal I took the dogs for a walk this afternoon. We went down across Marymead, through the fields bordering the river and forest, past the two deer wallows, up and across to Bill’s chicken coop where I spent a moment chatting chicken-speak to the hens before crossing the small bridge into the pheasant cover, across a little stream into the smallest cultivated mowy mead (meadow) you can imagine. Almost across the meadow, it only takes a second or so, my head was full with thoughts of hens; wondering if I should get some more, what type I’d choose, going to have a look at a friend’s friend’s, or if I’d rather have ducks and geese…or maybe all three come to that, when I had an overwhelming desire to turn around…and there rushing full pelt towards me, her eyes shining bursts of pure joy, a grin to bust all grins, her tail going nineteen-to-the-dozen, and her whole body radiating unadulterated delight and excitement, was Jilly.
“Lilla? Lilla!” A whoosh of tingling pricklings rushed through my body one way whilst pure happiness flooded the other. Just before she could fling herself at me and explode with enthusiastic delight she evaporated…poof, just like that as fast as she’d appeared.
“Lilla, oh Lilla, Lilla.” I whispered. “Was that really you? Stay. Don’t go. Not just yet.”
And then immense, bottomless, black empty grief drenched and saturated every cell of my being. Hot tears welled up and cascaded down my face. I was looking through a dark watery lake. I felt the two hard panting bodies of Skye and Ness pressed close against my legs. I turned to go, not seeing, not caring, only aware of consuming sorrow and anguish.
Just as rapidly as the grief came it went leaving me exhausted, empty and shell-like-fragile to walk home. That’s when it came to me in a flash…it’s the exact day, the exact hour, the exact minute, possibly even the exact second, that Jilly had her fatal accident – six months on.
On Sunday it was Open Farm Sunday, and we went to visit a farm. It was in a beautiful hilly, undulating part of Devon, a part I’m not too familiar with and so very different from around here. Red, dry, stony land that drains far too efficiently and as a result suffers from drought. The farmers there think of it as marginal land, though to me it looked like an answer to a prayer.
It was a large arable and grass farm sporting a huge renovated farmhouse surrounded by landscaped Japanese gardens, red brick walls, laid brick drives and wrought iron gates. It receives substantial payments from set-aside and various agri-environment agreements. It’s heralded as an environmental flagship farm.
My impressions? One of wealth and prosperity. The farm has served its owner well in acquiring all manner of subsidies which I felt were not an actual necessity in the survival of the farm or the farmer. What did I feel it was delivering in terms of environmental benefits? And value for money to the tax payer? Not a lot. True it was in a beautiful part of the country and the views were stunning, true it had a fine example of a catchwork meadow and true it had some interesting swards. But nothing spectacular or mind blowing. I felt the farm lacked purpose or soul and was being managed to prescriptions laid out on paper without any real raison d’être. No stock, no vibrancy, just neat, polite management filling coffers from the public purse.
I know I’m being harsh; there were plenty of people, especially families with young children, who were really enjoying their visit. It was a good day out. The farmer had worked hard to make it a success, and it was.
Nevertheless when I think of the thousands of farms on the poorer marginal soils of England that can deliver as much, or more, in terms of the environment, landscape and biodiversity by using only a fraction of the money that’s being handed out to some large prosperous farms, I wonder at the injustice of it. To these marginal farms government/public support can make the difference between sinking and swimming.
I know very well that subsidies are not there to bolster up bad business and I’m not suggesting for a moment that they should. But it seems fundamentally unfair that farms which have taken care of their environment over the years and kept flower-rich meadows and such like in tact should be low down on the list for receiving public support, while those, often more productive and more profitable farms, which have in the past ploughed up their meadows and removed their hedges should now be being paid, as a priority, for restoring such things.
On a walk around the spectacular limestone Calanque de Marseille we came across a bumble bee that was unnaturally still on a flower; on close investigation we saw it was quite dead, held firmly in the jaws of a crab spider. The spider was nearly impossible to detect as she matched the colour of the flower she was inhabiting exactly. Returning home we read up about the habits of said crab spider. Her ability to change colour allows her to hang out in exposed positions on a flower where she ambushes pollinating insects. Her venom is so potent she’s able to prey on insects much bigger than herself and as formidable as queen bumble bees. The prey is not mutilated in any way whilst it’s being consumed and ends up as a dry but perfect husk! The book says reassuringly ‘In spite of the horrifying ease with which they will take prey larger than themselves, they are perfectly harmless to humans.’ Well, thank god for that!
And guess what? Today, at home, we found another crab spider, a different species, with a burnet companion moth as her prey. At first we didn’t notice a tiny male scuttling around behind her. He apparently walks about on her abdomen before copulation and the matings are interspersed with little perambulations too. After forty-five minutes or so of kama-sutraesque love making they separate and the male wanders off leaving the female to finish her gourmet meal in peace (which I expect is quite reassuring as he’d most probably be eyed up as a tasty little aperitif).
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