September mornings are probably an ideal time to showcase our farms.

Fields are still green, hedges are heavy and berry-laden, livestock generally look their best, and distant trees are beginning to change colour.

These days, my pre-breakfast job is to feed a few store bullocks, then move an electric fence with the dairy heifers. I find this the most efficient way to utilise fairly heavy grass covers, but, more importantly, it’s simply a job I enjoy.

I know I’ve spoken about it before on numerous occasions, but it really is a grand way to start the day.

The heifers are currently grazing a seven-acre hill that runs down to a wooded area (two acres recently established and five acres of ancient woodland) and the early morning birdsong drifting up from the trees is worth listening to.

Until recently, I would have said the music was coming from WBBs (wee brown birds), but the app on my phone is a bit more specific.

Apart from the familiar call of crows, pigeons, jays, robins and chaffinches, I am accurately informed that blackcaps, willow warblers, tree creepers and chiffchaffs are all lusty participants in this daybreak chorus.

The RSPB carry out biennial farmland bird counts on this farm, and it is a great pity they aren’t allowed to record any birds heard or seen along the margins with the woodland. It throws up a slightly misleading survey result, which appears to show that hardly any birds are present.

Daft thoughts

Moving the fencer gives me time to plan the day ahead, but more usually it allows me the time to idly consider all sorts of daft thoughts.

For instance, yesterday’s ridiculous thought for the day centred around the gender of farm machinery. How come, when we are discussing the likes of a tractor driving a forage harvester, we’ll say, “Boy that thing is on her knees”, or a combine climbing a steep field would be described as, “I didn’t think she would have managed that hill. She can quarely climb”.

Never in my life have I heard a piece of agricultural machinery described as male. I mean, you would never tell someone that your favourite tractor had given no bother in 20 years because he is a good ’un. It just wouldn’t sound correct.

Over breakfast, I mentioned this conundrum to Susan, and (predictably) she said it was because females are generally the stronger of the species and to refer to anything as female was a sort of compliment. Fair point.

Walking back home across three fields each morning also gave me time to notice how much growth was on the hedges. Because most of them haven’t been cut for at least two winters due to extremely wet weather, they are heavily laden with berries. But not any more.

We are supposed to trim a third of our hedgerows each year, thus ensuring a continuous supply of food for the birds. But that is another example of textbook farming, which only works in a theoretical situation.

This is not a dry farm, and so my contractor can only get here (he’s a busy man) during a longer spell of dry weather when field conditions allow. After the past few wet winters, my hedges were in bad need of a serious attack and really needed smashed back a few feet. It was most obvious when leaning in to open or close an awkwardly positioned gate and when trying to slide the bar in, a big briar or thorn would slap me in the face.

Berries

Therefore, we trimmed a higher-than-normal percentage of hedges here recently and massacred a lot of hawthorn berries. Despite them now lying on the ground, a surprising number are still left on the hedge. I’ll admit it was slightly annoying to see so much winter feeding going to waste, but on balance the excellent ground conditions were too good an opportunity to waste.

I suppose it’s just another example of the change in mindset as I get older. With less work on my plate, I have more time to consider the wider picture regarding all aspects of our farming life.

There is little doubt that 30 years ago I wouldn’t have given a moment’s consideration to either the crop of berries on my hedges, or what birds were going to benefit from them.

In addition, a recently retired wife seems to be having more and more of a say in farm policy and that voice is getting steadily louder. Given how we lavish praise on our machinery using the female gender, maybe that’s a good thing?