Farm Diary by Gwyn Jones

A window of opportunity appeared on Friday morning and I took a very deep breath and allowed the silage contractors to cut the grass. By Saturday night they had cut the lot '“ all 435 acres of it! Half of it had been spread, and they had started rowing up, ready for the forager on Sunday morning.
By The Newsroom
Published 21st May 2007, 10:33 BST
Updated 8th Jun 2018, 03:51 BST

Both days were fine with sunshine, but there was a distinct smell of rain on Friday night, and on Saturday afternoon, which was worrying to say the least. By midnight on Sunday they have picked up over up over half of it and I am resigned to the fact that it is going to rain today.

The crop seems to be nice and leafy, and of average tonnage. It has wilted well, and is fairly dry, which is what we want in an ideal world. Now that the ground is moist, it should grow back nicely, ready for a second cut in early July. The contractor's machinery gets bigger each year, with incredible output. It wasn't many years ago that clamping 100 acres in a day was a real feat; now it is more than double that, so that the average dairy farm is less than a day's work.

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Lorayne and I (farmer speak for mostly Lorayne) have been looking after Gwenan's animals whilst she has been on a well deserved break. She has three groups of young stock at Tillington, all grazing on a rotation behind an electric wire, with the youngest heifer calves being fed a few nuts, and running in and out of the shed, where there is some nice straw to eat or lie down on. Switching off the electric fencer, means that the three fences need to be moved smartly or someone may find out that the power is off! I shall need to think about bringing the in-calf group home in a month or so, by which time the spring flush of grass will be over.

Herding the chickens in at night is even more of a problem. Apologies to neighbours who have witnessed this demented character running around the buildings shouting 'Fox '“ the fox is coming!' out of sheer desperation. If I leave it until dusk, the chickens are in, but the ducks are still out messing about, apparently oblivious to any danger. If I arrive at a sensible bed time, they are all out; and that is when the chasing starts. The guinea fowl goes berserk, chattering at the top of its voice (which is considerable), and then I find the goats standing in the doorway, head butting any chicken that comes near.

For full feature see West Sussex Gazette May 23

Related topics:West Sussex Gazette