Thoughts of summer in February
Having diversified into tillage last year, on 40 acres, I have decided to continue with the grain, but will possibly change from spring barley to wheat.
About half of the ground I used last year is probably more suited to wheat, given its slightly heavy nature. I ventured down into one of those ‘heavier’ fields late last week, and was very pleasantly surprised to find it was relatively dry underfoot. The dryness was a result, I suspect, of the extensive drainage works I undertook last year, followed by the ploughing, which seems to have broken the underlying ‘pan.’
I am tempted to turn it back to grass — not because the grain didn’t grow well, but because of its very sheltered location. It’s one of those places that on a moderately windy day is almost totally calm. It’s a field that I have used over the years, like a valve, to take pressure off some of my more exposed paddocks, moving stock into it in advance of a storm or blustery weather. However, the nature of the ground is heavy, and the wet summers of 2008 and 2009 played hell with it, to the point where a complete overhaul was necessary, starting with the new drains and the decision to plough for barley last year.
Meanwhile, back in the yards, I pulled two bullocks out of one of the pens last week. Both animals were stiff, and beginning to show signs of not thriving. I decided that a spell outside, in the small paddock next to the house, was in order. I watched as they bucked and raced around after their release, and I went off about my business, contented. An hour or so later, as I was putting silage into the big shed, one of them wandered into the passage way. “Right” I said to myself, “How did you manage that little trick?” Back out I went. His comrade was lying contented, with the fence around the half acre unbroken. Gaps and wire were again opened, and the escapee returned to the paddock. I waited to see what would happen.
He watched me, and I him, as he walked around the boundary flicking his tail in a sign of agitation.
I went back to the shed, and after a little bit of reorganisation, took the 12 biggest bullocks out of one pen and divided them between two other lots. This left just four in the smaller pen. Then, with the loader, I tossed a big round bale of straw onto the slats — much to the joy of the four.
Five minutes later, I added ‘Mr Agitated’ and his colleague. Everyone was soon settled, and looking very comfortable. The two lame boys are still stiff, but becoming less so as the days pass.
I’ve bedded cattle this way before, and despite the misgivings of my slurry contractor, I’ve never had any real problems with agitating or spreading the tank, just as long as you have a thick mat to begin with, and don’t put too many animals on it at any one time. The straw lasts and lasts.
Like many at this game, I consider myself to be a middling farmer, not brilliant, just average. But I do like to think I respect nature and the needs of my animals. I mention this because I was appalled after watching Ear to the Ground last week, showing the farming practiced by some New Zealand dairy farmers: the deliberate starving of animals to save on feeding costs in the drying-off season; inducing cows to abort so they can be milked alongside their calved sisters.
I wondered: a drive for profit, or just simple greed?
