Visitors to Ireland always tend to comment on the many shades of green they encounter as they travel through the country. They marvel at how “emerald” the place looks and even believe they are inhaling the smells of our greenery, as they whiz through the countryside. I always laugh, thinking these people must live in concrete jungles to not see this all the time, or maybe they just don’t notice the natural beauty in their own backyards. In any case, I will concede: it’s one of our biggest assets to be able to lure the uninitiated tourist to a deep fondness for Ireland, and to make a few pound off of them while we’re at it.
Throughout June, July and a good chunk of August, though, I was worried we would not see the “greenness” return again before the winter set in. I was looking, broken-hearted, at brown deserts where our fields normally grow, praying to the soil to let loose a few blessed blades of grass. As the rain finally came, I could start to see the shades change. The saying “watching the grass grow” usually describes a feeling of boredom. Obviously, the person who coined the phrase didn’t come from a farming background – I was never more excited to watch grass grow than I have been these past weeks.
Before the rain came back, I was down to my very last grazing field. I was buffer-feeding in the yard, but really trying to keep the cows out on whatever grass was available. Luckily, the last field is a great 20ac silage field. We should have taken our second cut of silage from it, but it never took off. I think I managed to get two and a half weeks out of it – if it was a sport, it would have been called “extreme strip-grazing” and I surely would have won gold in my category. Each day, I’d try to give them enough so they would have some fresh grass to eat and enough silage in the yard to ensure they were full and happy. It was a delicate balancing act. Every day I’d pass the field where I needed them to go next and could see it wasn’t ready to be grazed.
Besides watching the grass grow and change in hue, I also noticed different smells in the air. I’m no chemist, but it has to be something coming off the grass as it grows – some kind of pheromone to attract animals to graze and farmers to smile gleefully
Besides watching the grass grow and change in hue, I also noticed different smells in the air. I’m no chemist, but it has to be something coming off the grass as it grows – some kind of pheromone to attract animals to graze and farmers to smile gleefully. I’d love to bottle it up and use it as an aftershave, but I’m sure in that case animals from all over would be chasing me (exclusively the four-legged variety).
I knew I was finally over the gap when I went out to measure and I had just over two-fist-full-high – good enough to let them into the next paddock. That meant every other field after, for the next four to five weeks, would be good enough to let them in. What sweet relief.
Besides staring at grass, I have been back watching birds more closely. Again, to be clear, the ones with feathers. I think this is the funniest time to watch them. You can clearly see the experienced flyers from the amateurs. I think swallows are the best – they are just so sure of themselves. I watched a bunch sitting on an electric fence. They look like some kind of judging committee, as the young ones show off in front of them. Contestants are bobbing, weaving and dropping – almost like they’re being shot out of the sky. I saw two fly directly at each other, like a game of “swallow chicken” and then, at the last second, veer away.
I could almost hear the judging committee cheer from the fence. I guess this is their own personal Irish Open.
I’m feeling optimistic for the final run-in to the end of the year. I’m going to be tight on fodder. I have 15ac that I’m hoping to get bales from in October, and I was lucky a neighbour had bales of silage we could buy to help make up for the lack of a second cut. I may have to make some decisions to reduce stock, which I hate having to do as our herd is in great shape. However, I have to plan for the worst and hope for the best. I can’t be cocky, like those swallows showing off as they fly. I always say, it’s the farmers who are the best problem solvers – we’re better than any AI model.
We will get ourselves out of this and look to a better year for 2027.
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