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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!
Over the last couple of weeks I’ve been stretched, scrambled and thoroughly tangled in the sharply contrasting ribbons of my life.
It was the dreaded fashion show. The last thing on earth I feel like doing at the end of a long draining winter is modelling…especially alongside gloriously nubile exquisite eighteen year olds. I moaned, complained and protested; pleaded, implored and beseeched all to no avail. I was ‘in’ – part of the show and nothing short of dropping down dead was sufficient to winkle me out. There was the demanding, time-consuming merry-go-round of rehearsals, fittings, makeup and music to be juggled around the demanding, time-consuming merry-go-round of housed animals, mind-bending bawling cows, rush topping and field rolling. It happened; it was a glamorously glitzy fashionista extravaganza and I managed to avoid catching a glimpse of myself in any of the three hundred twinkling mirrors.
I mentioned backalong my son Ben was moving to France with his French partner Berengere and their little daughter Camille at the end of April. They were keen for us to visit them. They wanted to show us the wonders of Provence (Berengere is Marseillees), explore the area they’re hoping to live in, see where they are going to work, celebrate their choice of wedding venue and of course to meet the French contingent – the whole of the Ize family. With their and our busy schedule the end of May seemed the only opportunity. On impulse I arranged our visit for the late May bank holiday, relieved once the cows were out and relishing the quasi freedom that followed.
But there was shearing to take care of and the little matter of two late calving cows that looked imminent. Shearing was planned for last Sunday but as so often with these things the rain intervened and Simon re-booked for Tuesday evening – the night before we were due to leave. As sometimes happens when things are meant to be one of the cows conveniently calved on Tuesday just before shearing was executed with efficient speed.
Now I’m writing from Marseilles, outside on a warm evening with swifts screaming overhead, being entertained by Camille and getting to know my new, and very welcoming, French family.
The cows are out! A huge and happy relief to all of us. A few days before, their unremitting bawling made me rush off to get some organic rolled barley from Roger. Roger was suffering from the same predicament. Cathartic commiseration was exchanged in the grain store.
Saturday was the day. We fed them early and had our breakfast while they packed away theirs. Organisation is the key. We knew they’d be over-excited and attempting to take them down the road in a highly volatile state would be too dangerous. They needed half a day in a home field to get rid of their pent up angst before being moved on to the grassy river meadows. First though we had to clip off an in-growing spur on one of Desiree’s horns – a cattle crush job - and pen off a couple of late calvers who will remain at the farm in Top Meadow, a stone’s throw from our kitchen window.
Gates in place, field decided upon, all inappropriate avenues of misdirection barricaded we were ready for the off….a red laval flow of jutting hip bones, moulting moth-eaten coats, snaking necks, cavernous maws and rubbery wet pink noses stampeded out of the cow palace; with saliva flying in whippy sticky streamers they bellowed and charged their way down the drive without a moment’s hesitation, calves ricocheting between flying legs and lethal hooves. It was over in seconds and in total surprise they found themselves in Cow Moor where grass is still a rarity. The bull, who seems to have doubled in size over the winter, and maiden heifers were the next to join the herd. This caused even more excitement, as heated sexual tension combined with testing hierarchical fights. Sweat and foam glistened, steam rose in huge huffing bursts.
A quick breather before hitching up the trailer and loading batches of young stock to take over to Pulworthy – the yearlings’ summer grazing lands. Surprisingly co-operative, we accomplished this in a couple of easy journeys, returning in good time to move the now chilled-out herd down the road.
They were exemplary. With heads down, grazing earnestly, we left them in the first river meadow and wandered off, relaxed and happy, to check gates and the wire across the drinking gully. Busily tightening the wire across the gap we were completely unaware that the herd had followed and were bearing down the gully in a heaving panting mass. Calves forsaken, their mothers single-mindedly exploded into the river with all the force of enormous red battle ships. Abandoned bewildered babies shouted at the retreating armada from the top of the river bank. Suddenly in unison and like wildebeest crossing the Mara they launched themselves into the deep river which completely submerged them, up they popped like corks and seemingly unphased they proceeded to swim after their fast disappearing mothers! I was paralysed with surprise and shock as was Robert, who clinging to submerged tree roots, had managed to get out of the way in the very nick of time!
“Did you see that? Did you see it?” he exclaimed “I couldn’t believe my eyes, it was just like the Serengetti! That’s extraordinary. And they weren’t concerned…they disappeared, went right under. Completely submerged, totally! Popped up and just swam as if they’d always done it. That is extraordinary. Quite, quite extraordinary.”
Having carefully checked over the herd we ushered them back into the first river meadow. Gradually peace was restored once more.
Where it reigns and reigns and reigns….
Ahhhhhh, bliss.
We still have no grass. I’m waiting patiently for the current warm weather to have its magic stimulating effect on the recalcitrant stuff. The cattle are not! As I write this, the perfect, here-at-last, golden-green evening is reverberating with deafening booming bellows, bouncing and crashing up from the yard just metres below me. This noise thunders around my head, twangs and plunks every taut stretched fibre in my body with insistent persistent discord. Of course this is exactly what it is meant to do. I, as number one food provider, am failing at my duty. The unrelenting bawling coupled with the compelling force of combined herd psyche is designed to send me into a spin, in much the same way as the cry of a newborn.
I’ll explain. Last year’s wet summer and very late harvest meant the forage we made was not as nutritious as usual. In the winter, when the cows are in-calf, this is not a problem. But now they are coping with the demands of their fast growing calves with an ever increasing need for milk. My cows are telling me they need plenty of accessible protein, carbohydrates, minerals and vitamins as well as roughage, and last year’s haylage is not delivering. Fresh grass would!
Trouble is, the cold wet spring over the last two months has meant the ground is still soggy and producing little forage. Coupled with this, our landlord on the ground we normally turn out onto – our best drained land – has entered into an Environmental Stewardship Scheme which prohibits the use of round feeders. So we can’t put the cattle out just yet. It’s been a long winter, very nearly six months of looking after the herd indoors. And they are not stupid - they know full well they should be out by now - it’s close to summer and they can smell what fresh grass there is: it’s time to be munching that first delicious bite. So the psychological warfare escalates….
Enough, enough. Enough of the doom and gloom. I want to be cheerful and enjoy the newness happening out there. A bit of lightness and brightness to feed the soul, top up our optimism and give us the energy to face the future.
Now here’s a thought. Midges are insects. Flowers are designed to attract insects; therefore without insects we wouldn’t have the glorious diversity of flowers we anticipate and marvel at each year. In effect insects are enriching our lives too. How curious is nature? Robert is quite keen I write a poem. Something along the lines of
‘Where the midge sucks, there suck I
In a cowslip bell I lie…’ Cowslip, cow’s lip? Ummm, maybe not. I’ll work at it.
But this evening I’m off. My gorgeous friend who winkles me out of the farm and takes me to opera, theatre and ballet – recently Matthew Bourne’s exuberant, colour extravaganza Nutcracker – is treating me to a Seth Lakeman concert at Plymouth Uni.
Meanwhile I leave you with some glorious insect inspired flowers just on our doorstep!
Challenge, celebration and chickenpox
All the discussion, opinion, ideas and views on the last three posts has been great and very stimulating. Brilliant!
This week has been extraordinarily busy and I haven’t yet had the time to absorb all the information and ideas.
My son Ben, his fiancée Bérengère, and their baby daughter Camille, are leaving to live in France tomorrow and have been staying with us over the last week not only as a farewell to us and the farm but also to be at my stepdaughter’s Civil Partnership ceremony. Camille developed chickenpox early in the week which nearly put the kybosh on both their travel plans and the family attending the wedding ceremony and reception. But she’s scarcely been ill and no-one’s been worried by getting the virus. Add to that a house-full of family and friends, including Tony and 4-year old son Vincent over from Canada, a couple more calvings, multitudinous meat orders, testing weather and it’s all been pretty hectic. Not much time for writing!
A couple of days ago I sat on the bench in front of the house in a tee shirt and ate my lunch, I almost felt too hot. I cut the grass – and sweated. I flung open the windows and doors. Thousands of clusterflies emerged from the roof and the thatch tremmeled with their frenetic infuriating whine-buzz. The dogs looked for shade. The cows shouted expectantly – ‘had I forgotten turnout?’ The sheep could hardly be bothered to rouse themselves for their evening feed. And we cut our first asparagus.
Today there was no looking for midges flying over the sheep. No tea on the bench either. It was April Whiteout!
Everyday I check the ewes with eagle eye. Once over the frantic, hectic lambing and immediate post lambing days it’s very easy to rest on one’s laurels, sit back, enjoy the hilarious antics of growing lambs and the satisfying sight of the flock contentedly grazing.
One of my problems this year is too much milk…yes, too much milk! Supposedly due to last year’s wet summer I’ve had a higher than normal percentage of singles. A proportion of ewes that generally twin have given birth to single lambs and yet are still producing milk enough for two; resulting in engorged, painful udders until lamb, mum and milk sort themselves out - regulate. This can resolve itself naturally but not always, and if ignored could lead to mastitis. Mastitis in sheep is very serious, unlike mastitis in cows, and almost certainly results in the loss of the udder if not the ewe. An ‘udder’ (groan - sorry, just couldn’t help myself…) problem is orf. The stress of lambing can cause a break-out of orf pustules around the teat area (similar to reoccurring shingles in humans). It’s very painful and the ewe will prevent the lamb from sucking – and, you’ve got it…inflamed udder, damaged teat and possible mastitis if not detected and treated.
Today at feeding time I noticed a young feisty ewe with a very lopsided udder. Unfortunately the sheep were thinning out around the troughs (the easiest time to catch them is when they’re in a feeding frenzy) and she saw me coming. After several abortive attempts at trying to catch her I was about to give up when I thought I would try out some sheep whispering.
Crouching, I approached her and her lamb slowly, very, very slowly with my arms outspread. Looking her directly in the eye, I mumbled soft sounds whilst gradually moving forward. My mind was totally focused. Edging closer and closer I saw her fear and anxiety reached fever pitch then gradually subside; her breathing steadied. I was inches from her. I made no attempt to catch her. I waited just a second or so; she took a steady step towards me, looking unswervingly into my eyes she put her head forward to snuffle my hand. For a moment we were frozen together - a tableaux. She allowed me to put my arm around her chest, start the milk flowing from her swollen udder and encourage her lamb to suck.
It was over in minutes. One trance-like udder-relieved ewe and her lamb rejoined the flock and one happily flabbergasted shepherd walked the half mile back home - grinning.
continuity…joining the dots, dot’s little dot
In the glow of the setting sun on Monday evening Dot gave birth to twins. The last lambs of 2008 to be born. Dot is my oldest sheep (to find out more about her click on Sheep Secrets) and quite a character - even Robert has a soft spot for her and he has no time whatsoever for sheep. I was hoping to keep her away from the tups last autumn, but Dot had other ideas. I kept my fingers crossed that at least she would spare herself and have a single - but no, in true Dot style, she was in lamb to twins…yet again.
Old productive ewes carrying twins can run into problems during the later part of the pregnancy. Pregnancy toxaemia can develop as the fast growing lambs take more energy than the ewe can take in. If the signs are not seen early on the ewe can become so depleted she’ll stop eating all together; having reached this point it becomes very difficult to pull her back to recovery.
Over the last month I’ve watched Dot with an eagle eye and as soon as I saw her interested in food was waning I took measures to make sure she had access to an easy unchallenged measure of oats and molasses. Soon she was back to her old self, bright and lively, though still thin.
Dot gave birth on Monday evening with the minimum of fuss and bother. But she wasn’t out of the woods quite yet. With the unborn lambs having used up all her resources and her labour having sapped every last ounce of energy, she had nothing left to make milk with. It’s a fine line allowing the lambs to suckle to encourage milk supply and teaching them to suck a bottle to substitute the ewe’s milk. But with patience one eventually gets the balance right.
Old ewes can crash after the stress of giving birth, and Dot did. The immediate need for energy and the changing hormones can cause digestive upsets and prohibit the liver from working properly. So it’s careful nursing and feeding, letting the ewe have access to ivy and certain plants that will help her rebalance her metabolism. I gave her a multi-vitamin jab as B vitamins help kick start the liver.
We’re there! Today Dot is nearly back to normal and has begun grazing, making some milk and eating a small quantity of whole oats. Her lambs are bonny and bouncy and joy of joy the little ewe lamb is a replica of her mum – a mini Dot!
So here’s to Dot’s last lambs…and a peaceful retirement!
I’ve surfaced from a surfeit of lambings. Zombie-like and mindless. Why?
It doesn’t seem to matter much if you have a large or small flock – for one reason or another it evokes the same reaction in the shepherd. I started off my shepherding with a dozen or so Longwools expanding to two hundred Mules and Mule-Suffolk crosses when I was dairying, back down to a medium flock of Herdwicks which I grazed over moorland on the North Devon coast and finally to my Whiteface Dartmoors here at Locks. Oh, and somewhere in there was a sprinkling of mad hysterical Shetlands that Robert gave me as a present one Easter – never again! Each breed has its good and bad points and it really depends what you’re after as to what breed you choose. The main thing is you like what you’ve got – that will help you tolerate multitudinous sins…
Sheep generally lamb together, it’s part of their flock survival strategy. So you are dealing with rapid-fire; that’s lots of births in quick succession, many of them multiple, and associated difficulties.
And then there’s temperament, theirs and yours. Sheep have tendency towards hysteria when they lamb whether there’s a problem or not; but if you’re dealing with a complication, and the ewe you’re helping suddenly decides she’s not dying and legs it across a muddy field, or uses the lambing shed as a race track, it can be difficult to keep one’s patience and cool.
And patience, calmness and time are definitely needed - to make sure all newborns have suckled and have a belly full of colostrum (first milk full of fats and antibodies): baby lambs are tiny and it’s imperative they suckle as soon as possible after birth. Once ewes have lambed and are penned, ewes and lambs are bonded, and lambs are sucking well …it’s maintenance time - water bucket, hay net, feed, bedding. At the same time you are dealing with all this you could have a handful of ewes in varying stages of labour. It’s trying to be everywhere at once that’s energy sapping.
Twelve to twenty-four hours after birth, all lambs (providing they are strong and healthy) need double-tagging in the ears, tail docking, and castrating if males; mothers need their feet trimming (they haven’t been done for the last three months of their gestation) and worming. When lambs have recovered from handling, tagging, docking and castrating they are numbered along with their mums for easy counting and identification in the field. Mine are transferred to an adjacent nursery field close to the house with access to shelter. Back in the lambing shed, the pens are mucked out and disinfected ready for the next occupant.
Every year due to tiredness or just lambing pandemonium there’s someone whose tail is forgotten, a tag wrongly recorded or a lamb who slips through as a female when he’s a male and should have been castrated. I have a note book in the shed which I translate onto the lambing sheet in the house – there are always mistakes in transcription, however hard I try!
And that, in a nutshell, explains the dazed, shell-shocked expression friends’ or acquaintances’ have when they say in a rather bemused fashion ‘Oh, I’ve been lambing’.
This weekend we burnt. Throughout the winter months Robert lays hedges. This is done in rotation over the farm and is a bit like the Forth bridge – you never ever get to the end.
The final hedge to be laid this winter is between Dillings and Rushy Field. Our third time of laying since we’ve been here. Stupid. In retrospect we should have trimmed it more often to encourage the hedge to stay thick, bushy and do what it’s meant to do; be a strong effective stock barrier as well as providing a bountiful larder, the ultimate des. res. and the definitive transport system for multitudinous types of wildlife. This doesn’t mean hedges should be trimmed every year – but once every three to four and at a slightly greater height each time. By doing this you can increase the hedge’s useful life as a bushy barrier and it should only need laying, say, every twenty years, even forty years, instead of every eight. Of course there’s the other side to the coin – if you don’t trim but lay, the hedge will produce copious quantities of firewood and won’t require hours of fuel-guzzling tractor work. Something which with our changing climate and countryside we should to take into consideration?
It’s hard gruelling work, laying hedges. Especially on our land as the trammelled clay becomes a gloopy, welly-hungry, energy-depleting morass. Over the years Robert has honed his skill and expertise resulting in hedges that are aesthetic living sculptures, works of art. My role, on the other hand, continues much as it always has. I’m the skivvy, the pack donkey, the serf that trudges up and down the hedge line bowed under huge bundles of branches and brash for the final burn and tidy. But in some perverse way it’s satisfying, hard, hot work. And a change from the intensity of the lambing and calving sheds.
okay - role-reversal. Robert wanted me to take some action shots of him for the Hedgerow Biodiversity Action Plan Group
Lambing and calving is a strange time of year. It’s unsettling. I still have masses of routine things to do. But I avoid them. I can’t concentrate on computer work, I shun the phone - where are you? the messages demand; I wander listlessly through the house and wander back again.
Happier outside. I put on my boots, hat and coat; check the sheep, ewes and lambs, check the cattle, cows and calves. Carry hay, carry straw, muck out pens, scrub and disinfect, ready for the next occupant. I’m hungry; I’m yearning for something delectably delicious, though nothing tempts me. I pick at proper food and end up eating a whole packet of shortbread, cashew nuts and maltesers which make me feel sick.
Oh it’s time! On with the boots, on with the hat, coat, pockets heavy with knife, castrating tool, homeopathic remedies, iodine, surgical gloves, notebooks and pen, twine and hanky; out again to check sheep, check cows, check lambs and calves.
Each year I think I’ll manage to avoid my slip into no-man’s-land. Cook good food, rest after lunch, keep to some normal routine if at all possible and prevent the slide. Never works.
I’m in a lull. The first snow-sprinkling of lambs born and I’m experiencing a hiatus. Surely, you’d think, a welcome break before the intensity to come; time to recoup and recover? But it doesn’t work like that. Giving birth isn’t an exact science it’s unpredictable. So every few hours it’s out to check. Waiting, I’m out of kilter; jumpy, wondering when the bubble will burst.
In the nursery field I keep an eagle eye out for any problems that may develop with baby lambs and their mums. Post-partum mastitis, scours in either ewe or lamb, orf, inter-digital abscesses, pneumonia, clostridia, failing-to-thrive and, less serious, but very uncomfortable, scraping glutinous-glue-sticky colostrum-ochre stools which gum tails hard and fast to ballooning rumps (dogs’ delight!). The first few days can be critical. Energy required by a post-partum lactating ewe is huge and demanding, stress triggering all manner of nasty surprises. Baby lambs are tiny and vulnerable, dependant on the ability of their mothers and diligence of their shepherd. But I’m lucky; my sheep are motherly and vigilant.
Oh it’s time! On with the boots, the hat, the coat, pockets heavy…
plannin’ and dreamin’ that she’ll have some time to spare away from that lambing affair…
The dogs find this time of year a trifle tedious. Apart, that is, from the delicious morsels that come from multitudinous birthing and milk-sucking baby animal - more detail would be too much information. Read the rest of this entry »
This year’s first lambs, born at mid-day today, a few days early. Interestingly the ewe, a second lamber, lambed on exactly the same day last year. Though young, she chose well - a good time of day for their shepherd and mild gentle weather for the lambs.
Being licked dry.
A few minutes later they attempt their first wobbly, unsteady steps.
Searching for the teat. One is a little eager and is sucking hard on his brother’s face!
I’m tired. Sand-grainy, blink-wet eyes; fogwebbed clouds obscuring any coherent thought process and bumbled lips, ones that refuse to form letters, words, sentences and end up vacantly tuttering.
Yesterday was my annual Soil Association Inspection and audit. I hate it.
Annual questionnaire-accounts-invoicescorrelatingincomingsoutgoings; marketingdetails-labelexamples-derogations-restrictedpractices; croppingdetails-rotation-forage-harvest-grazing; manuremanagement-source-treatment-inputs-pestcontrol-declarations; livestockmanagementplan-movementrecords-grazingrecords-anualfeedingrecords-feedpurchaserecords-vet.treatmentrecords- vet.purchaserecords-recordsofkeepingrecords-noncompliance-crosscompliance-compliance and…oh yes, one concussed, stressed farmer!
However much I uphold the need to scrutinise all licensees to ensure they are farming and producing food to organic standards as stipulated by EU law, it is, nevertheless, a daunting task to collect, collate and present all relevant information. Because of this it’s one of those jobs destined to the back-burner until that looming deadline is kicking you in the butt, has invade all your avoidance tactics and is infiltrating your dreams!
I’ve farmed using organic principles for years and as organic farming has grown in popularity I’ve seen how the Soil Association has had to adapt and change with the pressure of growth and new legislation. One of the things I’ve found ‘challenging’ (not to put too finer point on it) about the annual inspections is the choice of some inspectors.
I’m passionate; passionate about the way I farm, passionate about the extraordinary beauty and diversity of the British countyside and the people that live there; passionate about keeping stock happy healthy and as naturally as possible; passionate about producing the best food I can. But I make mistakes and I’m certainly not infallible. Nevertheless I strongly object to inspectors, with little practical farming experience, insinuating I’m trying to cheat, to hide a non-compliance or I’m guilty of gross misconduct until proven innocent (after all, what is the point?). I wait with trepidation to see who has been sent to ‘do’ me.
But yesterday I was pleasantly surprised. I had a human! Yes, a normal, speaking, smiling, courteous person that was not only knowledgeable about organic farming but was an organic farmer to boot. He was thorough, but fair, interested yet professional. A far cry from the zealous mini-hitler I was expecting. And what a difference it made to a day that is long and demanding, especially when suffering from concussion.
Relaxed, relived and sleepy, I checked the cows before flopping into bed. Wildcat had started calving. So it was up at 2am and again at 3.30am to check her conscious of Jennifer’s long labour. Happily everything was fine and she had a very lively, bonny calf. Today I had to attend an assessment of my mother’s care plan and tomorrow I’m being interviewed for an article. So it’s off to bed to dream sweetly and regain some control of my senses before the morning. Fingers crossed there are no middle of the night calvings tonight.
I briefly mentioned that I had a cow calving yesterday. This was Jennifer. In the Social Life of Cows I mention Jennifer and her position in the herd so do follow the link to get an idea of her. I’ve put several ‘ah-sweet’ images of cows and calves on the blog previously, so I thought you might be interested in some working images, so to speak.
early stages
Jennifer is my most senior cow; she is imbued with calmness, wisdom and intelligence. This hasn’t always been the case and whilst working her way up the herd hierarchy she was aloof, independent and didn’t tolerate humans. Now respected, secure in her place and in her immediate governing council she has relaxed into being a wise and benevolent leader.
progressing steadily
She is a very experienced mother and handles her calvings in a way that many humans could learn from. She started calving yesterday morning and having put her in a calving pen I left her to get on with it. After a couple of hours I was surprised she hadn’t produced her calf; she wasn’t showing any signs of distress so I continued to monitor her at a distance.
In these extraordinary poses she is almost squatting, straining to open up the pelvic cavity. I’ve never seen another cow do this other than Jennifer.
Another couple of hours went past; I was getting a little worried, even though Jennifer appeared unperturbed and was calmly working with her contractions. I decided to check the calf was presented correctly and alive. Everything was as it should be, so I left her to continue. At last, at four-thirty the feet were out and the head had filled the birth cavity, almost six hours after her water sack had first appeared; now she was exhausted.
the last stages. you can see the two white hooves, still in their sack, and the bulge of the head behind them.
I decided to attach ropes to the calf’s legs and help her with this last stage. It took hardly any effort on our part; she’d worked so hard at relaxing and opening the birth canal in preparation for the birth. So with a firm but gentle pull from us and a final push from her a monstrously huge but beautiful calf was at last born. Worn-out, shattered, she nevertheless immediately turned her attention to her calf; lowing in gentle velvet-soft tones, nickering and licking him into rosy pink life. Sneezing and jerking he gradually opened his eyes becoming aware of his surroundings and his mother. Buffeted and stimulated by her rasping, massaging tongue, almost immediately his pink wet nose and softly whiskered mouth indented, his tongue lengthened and curled as he nubbed and bumbled his mothers damp red hide searching for milk.
This calf is bigger than Jemima’s born just over a month ago! Generally big calves experience trauma during their birth making them slow and a bit addled – standing, feeding and sucking can be a big problem. Jennifer handled the whole calving in such a way that not only was she undamaged from having given birth to such a large animal but so was her baby. He was standing and sucking within the hour and though Jennifer has taken a bit longer to cleanse (expel the afterbirth) they are both doing well.
Yesterday a heavy metal shearing stand fell, with some force, onto my head and shoulder. Taken completely by surprise I couldn’t answer the urgent questions as to whether I was okay. I had no idea.
I’d been waiting for Simon, my shearer, to come and dock the ewes prior to lambing. Yesterday morning he called to say he would be over mid-day. We finished getting the lambing shed ready during the morning. The shed originally housed cattle; since building the cow palace it’s become a useful covered area to store the tractor, stock trailer and other pieces of farm machinery. The problem we face each year is finding a home for the various bits of machinery whilst the sheep are in situ. Once we have squeezed turners and toppers, tractors and trailers into impossibly small vacant places we put up pens, plumb in water-troughs, install hay racks, straw down, and, hey-presto, we have a lambing shed conveniently near the house, yards and nursery fields.
All had gone smoothly. The ewes had been gently and expertly docked. Robert, Simon and I were chewing-the-cud over various topics whilst clearing up. We’d noticed an udder that was particularly full and another ewe that appeared to have an overly fat tail. Chatting and moving through the sheep, not wholly focused on what was happening behind me, there was a sudden shout from Simon… a rather strange noise followed – metal connecting with my head and shoulder. I had no idea what happened. I have recollection of eyes and mouths worriedly speaking to me. I remember easing myself to a bale and thinking what the hell are they going on about? I felt none of the anger or immediate pain one usually does when you’ve banged your head, elbow or toe. Just mystified and, well, dazed. I remember saying I had to go in and get a jab for a ewe and sort of wandered off.
So here I am. I might be mightily changed, for all I know. I’m waiting for star-spangled clarity, inspirational thoughts and the sudden ability to be a truly remarkable solver of the world’s problems. Unfortunately none of these things have manifested themselves as yet. The head seems to be in one piece, albeit with a rather large soggy bloody protuberance on the back and there’s also a bruised swelling on my shoulder and neck. But having calved two cows today I guess I’m still just the ordinary old Paula – though do let me know if you see a change!
Two days of inspiring spring weather. Uplifting: good for body and soul. When I walked down to the river at Scadsbury, the wild daffodils were already in flower. Small, delicately-pale cream-lemon-yellow petals, translucent against the light, the base and trumpet a brush stroke more vibrant, each flower set-off by green spears of thrusting leaves. Nodding, softly swaying in the breeze from the fast-flowing water, they resembled clusters of coy, yet animated, bonneted maidens. A far cry from their loud, brash and quarrelsome cultivated cousins.
After the success of their outing last week I decided to take the cows up to silage barn again today. Still aggravatingly itchy from mites I felt they would benefit from the fresh air and sun on their backs. This week they were ready for me. Gone was the spontaneous joyful and scatty hiccupping down the lane, instead there was a wall of solid red determination! Ranks mustered, eyes forward, they surged as one. Occasionally a foot soldier would break ranks to snatch hastily at a particularly flavoursome plantain, a bind of ivy or a clump of rank, wet grass - otherwise they were single minded in their resolve – they were going out to grass. When we stopped at silage barn it took a lot of persuading and cajoling to get them through the gate into the yard. This was not the game plan. Yet once they knew my determination was every bit as strong as theirs they conceded, eventually, and didn’t have too bad a day. Returning to the cow palace for tea they ambled along quickening their pace as they got nearer home – there, in full view of the young stock, they milled around the pulling at grass, brambles, whatever was to tongue, and shouting, with mouths full, about the heavenly day they’d had out to grass.
Not to put a dampener on the glorious day I will leave my next post about bluetongue till tomorrow.
Yesterday was not a ‘remembering remarkable holiday’ day. It was a full-on farming work day.
Every year, about half way through the winter housing period, I muck out the cow palace. I do this for several reasons – the dung is beginning to build up, to make sure that parasites or fungal growths such as roundworm, lice and mites that thrive in moist warm dung are removed; and, most importantly, to help get rid of any bacterial build up before calving. This seems to be more important during recent winters as we no longer have any sustained cold spells to inhibit the growth of pathogens.
And every year I look at the job in front of me and think ‘it’s never going to be done in a day’ ‘how have I ever managed before?’. This year Olly was my helper and, taking on board what was expected, he just looked at me and said “You gotta be joking! It’s impossible! We won’t do all that!” With false cheer I replied “Yup, I, we, will. It’s done every year. I know it looks daunting. But we’ll get in done. And in plenty of time too”. Read the rest of this entry »
Busy, busy, busy. I’ve been catching up on all those little problems that happened whilst I was away.
Ginny developed a bad foot the day before I arrived back (foul-in-foot) and needed treatment. Several of the cows and the bull have a nasty case of mites and are driving themselves crazy with itching. It’s extremely contagious and the whole herd has to be treated – similar to children getting head lice. So this afternoon I had great fun trying to aim 40mls of the appropriate chemical along the backbone of all the cattle, who were convinced that I had devised a homecoming gurgle-torture…they are paranoid about white plastic bottles that gurgle!
This morning after a prolonged feeding, tidy-up and general check over of all the stock it was onto the bobcat for a-shifting and a-building of the dung heap in preparation for mucking out the cows on Friday in readiness for calving.
The dogs are dillirious with excitement at resuming their daily walks with me, and even the deer in the wood sounded their wierd ‘dolphin-barks’ as I passed by.
And what a gorgeous day! Cold, but dry with sun from dawn to dusk. Desk work will have to wait till tomorrow.
panama post 23rd january
Today’s my birthday! We celebrated with an early morning swim. A full moon white and bright played hide and seek behind low streaked clouds whilst the sun erupted above the horizon changing the smoked-glass sea into an oil smooth mirror. Kingfishers craaked noisily skimming low over the water. Herons, silhouetted against the pale sky, flew with long steady wing beats. Far out in the bay a dolphin breaks the sea glass, leaping fast and furiously chasing his morning breakfast. I slowly glide out into the bay reveling in the sensuous warm silk of the water. Robert signs - come back, come back! I shrug my shoulders – why? ‘Predators’, he mimics, ‘this is the time’. I lazily pull homeward enjoying the flipper-like feeling of my limbs and instinctual harmony with the sea and swimming. As I near the landing stage I feel a long-past remembered tingling sensation along my arm – jellyfish - a million minute stinging cells shed as she drifted past left to cling and sting tender white northern skin! Read the rest of this entry »
Jane has asked for my opinions on set-aside. So here goes, not, I’m afraid, a terribly sexy subject!
Set-aside was originally put in place in the early nineties as a production control measure to take around 10% of arable land out of cropping; it was not an environmental scheme. I can remember the huge outcry from the farming community as some of England’s good arable land lay fallow. Apart from letting the land revert there were specific things you could and could not do to manage the land; these requirements changed over the years. Back at the beginning, for example, you could grow fodder legumes (lucerne, vetches and clovers) and graze at certain times with goats, camilids and horses (hence the exorbitant prices alpacas and lamas commanded back then and the start of the huge surge into horsiculture). These things stick in my mind as I was running a milking herd of goats that benefited from a neighbour’s lucerne hay and some herb-rich grazing. There was some talk of environmental opportunities missed, but the increases is farmland birds and rare arable plants that followed was incidental, not a planned benefit. Read the rest of this entry »
jemima calved early this morning
Jemima is a young first calving heifer and the daughter of Desiree one of the herd’s senior high-ranking cows. I wrote about Jemima back in the summer, in the Social Life of Cows, explaining how she was beginning to take on some herd responsibilities and appeared to be turning into a scout cow – the animal the herd relies on to find new and better pasture; this, in their domesticated state, generally involves making their herdsman, me, know that the grass is getting short and it’s time to move on. Jemima was always a friendly happy-go-lucky youngster though has taken her new responsibilities seriously and as many young upwardly-mobile heifers, became slightly more aloof to humans during the course of the summer. Read the rest of this entry »
I hope you’ve had a good Christmas. We have, time has flown and I’m having difficulty knowing which day of the week it is. Family is still gathering making every day an excuse for celebration. And the realisation it’s New Year’s Eve the day after tomorrow is just dawning on me.
Through all this seasonal excitement and disorder there is a constant – the stock – and the twice daily routine, come hell or high water, is as about as grounding as you can get. Read the rest of this entry »
It’s a week since Jilly died and I’m beginning to be able to remember her in a softer, gentler way without so many of the sudden punches to the solar plexus of raw pain and horror. Skye and Ness, though still clingy, seem chirpier too and are beginning to reinvent the pecking order between them. Read the rest of this entry »
All weekend the firmaments hurled oceans of water at us. The wind howled, shrieked, wailed banshee-like; crashing brutally, tearing viciously. I was as brittle and unstable as spun sugar; as transparent and fragile as old glass. I could at any second splinter into a million tiny fragments and dissolve into a small insignificant stream, disappearing and absorbed by the watery world. Read the rest of this entry »
Five things to do on a rainy weekend.
1. Fluke the calves and young stock 2. Fluke the bull 3. Fluke the lambs
4. Fluke the rams - and for a bit of variety…5. Dehorn a six month old calf
Fasciola hepatica - liver fluke Read the rest of this entry »
It’s cold. It’s wet. The land gave up. Suddenly. We brought the cattle in.
I’ve been lucky this autumn; it’s made up for the diabolical summer.
The sun and gentle mild days have made the grass sweet and palatable, and with the lack of consistent autumnal rain we’ve avoided the sodden, muddy quagmire we’re usually experiencing at this time of the year.
Words flow when I’m excited, upset or angry. Having a rant or getting nitty-gritty isn’t a problem. But the gentle, dry autumn weather has soothed and calmed, I feel peaceful and relaxed. The words in my head are amorphous, languid and nebulous; hardly entertaining for a punchy, pithy post. Read the rest of this entry »
He decided to lure me away. Promises of a romantic night in an ancient manor house. Being wined and dined. Lazy morning (no animal checking) and colossal breakfast.
What girl could resist?
Then came the rub: ‘Well actually, I really do have to be at the national hedgelaying championships’
‘What – all day?’
‘Yess…ish. But then we’ll go home!.’ Grrr…eat. Read the rest of this entry »
It’s difficult not to trot out trite, naff, clichéd metaphors about the week’s autumn magnificence.
To read part one and two of the Shorts story click Shorts in the category section on the left hand panel.
I looked at the trailer and felt daunted and helpless - didn’t know where to begin - doubts and uncertainties raged about in what little insides I had left. I should explain, I was about seven months pregnant. Sitting down on the dusty cobbles I began to cry: emotions, overblown by pregnancy hormones, didn’t need much encouragement. Read the rest of this entry »
Luckily Pavla needed me to hold the shop reins yesterday and not today.
This morning, after I’d rushed about showering, laundering, bed and bread making in the dark (such mornings and I don’t mix), I peered out to make sure I could see in front of my nose, donned overalls, boots, tried to control raucous dogs and made for the truck to begin the morning stock check. Read the rest of this entry »
Every year I sell some of my cows and heifers. Generally it’s a handful of my yearling heifers and a few cows from the main herd.
Heather’s a young down calving heifer who’s up for sale. She’s due to calve in the next few weeks with her second calf. Yesterday when I checked the cows she looked very imminent. Her vulva was engorged and she was holding her tail high, her bones were soft and her udder was beginning to fill. I decided to bring her back up to the farm to keep an eye on her. Read the rest of this entry »
Sheep…
Sheep…I’m writing about sheep.
I’m telling you about harnessing and marking up the tups, sorting out the groups of ewes, colours, counting, feeding, watching …and all those things that help make my lambing easier and less stressful.
Pictures too. I’d taken some interesting ones.
But the silence is white noise in my ears. Read the rest of this entry »
I’ve just heard some news that’s sadened and upset me.
This morning I phoned Mike to book in my Christmas steer and some lambs. After the usual, good humoured tongue-in-cheek banter about my fluffy inadequacies, he turned serious…
‘You’m heard the white stag’s been shot?’ Read the rest of this entry »
We have had two days of the most perfect autumn weather. Cold misty mornings, bright sun-filled days, and colder clearer nights. I’m shocked, though, by the speed with which the days are drawing in. I don’t mind the darker evenings as much as the dark mornings – getting up when it’s still pitch black is hard and I never get used to it. Read the rest of this entry »
A quick post to let you know that I have a large gathering of the clan happening from today and won’t, I shouldn’t think, have a moment of time to write. Read the rest of this entry »
The FMD story grows alarmingly. There appears to be chaos and confusion once more. Misinformation, non-information and contradiction.
With DERFA’s website appallingly devoid of basic facts and figures it seems that even those worried farmers and smallholders in the protection and surveillance zone, desperate for hard news and exact locations, are being kept in the dark. Read the rest of this entry »
On Friday it was Robert’s birthday. I love September; a golden, mellow, honeyed-quince month. Robert’s not so keen…on September (the days are drawing in) or on birthdays (why celebrate one’s demise?). Read the rest of this entry »
Yeay, yeay, yeay! We’re clear!
I’m at the top of the roller coaster…wow! Got through it again.
Threw my stick on the ground, punched the air and hugged the vet.
A reprieve of six or twelve months, depending on regulations. Read the rest of this entry »