We are very much in the troughs of autumn. It’s cooler, darker and things are starting to slow down. The cows are being right divas, they just don’t want to do the long walks anymore and it’s an absolute pain to get them in and out of the fields. Especially the older ladies – they have seen it all before. They know winter is not too far away and, soon, they can put their hooves up in the shed and have their dinner brought to them.
The younger ones just look for any opportunity to break free. Usually, when I get a few going, the rest will follow purely out of FOMO (fear of missing out). No one wants to be the last cow to get to the fresh grass, no matter if it doesn’t taste as sweet at this time of year.
Following on from the summer drought, I’m still doing a bit of buffer feeding with a few bales of silage here and there. Just like us humans, the cows need to keep up their fibre intake. Actually, that might be a good business idea: Overnight Oats for Cows. I must get on to Flahavan’s.
The pregnancy results are in and they are very good – too good, actually, and I am slowly realising I will likely have too many to handle next year. Hamish, our Angus bull from Co Limerick, didn’t seem to shoot any blanks. Add to that, the synchronisation with sexed semen on our heifers was hugely successful. There will have to be a few squad cuts, I’m afraid. We have a few older cows with higher cell counts, and there will be some late calvers we could also move on.
The grass is starting to slow down, but we still have a good bit ahead of us to keep the girls happy. I was in a field one day and all the grass was covered in spiderwebs. As I walked, my wellies looked like they were covered in candy floss. A lot of the birds have migrated and it’s definitely quieter in the meadows. I’d say the younger ones finally mastered the art of aerodynamics and were keen to fly to warmer climes.
We are getting close to Halloween, or Oíche Shamhna to go by its right name. At this time of year, I always think about the small ringfort on our land.
The story says a farmer was ploughing his field and came across a flat stone. He began to dig around it and got interrupted when he was called in for dinner. He came back, and the hole had been covered over. He made the foolish mistake of cursing the fairies
Like many farmers, I would be a bit superstitious. I don’t necessarily believe in ghosts or spirits, but I do know that whatever you do, you don’t mess with the Little Folk. I went on duchas.ie recently, which is a great website full of old stories gathered by Irish kids in the 1930s. It is full of interesting stories about local people and landmarks. I looked up our own place name and fort to see if there was anything to read.
One story described a suspicious well, found locally. Some old lady was using the well to somehow produce more butter from her cows than her neighbours. They were all jealous of her and claimed she was either stealing from them or that there was something more sinister going on.
Reading further, I came across another story about a crock of gold. My interest was immediately piqued. The story says a farmer was ploughing his field and came across a flat stone. He began to dig around it and got interrupted when he was called in for dinner. He came back, and the hole had been covered over. He made the foolish mistake of cursing the fairies.
Suddenly, he heard a cry from the farmhouse – there was a fire. He rushed back to put it out, but died as a result of his efforts.
Years later, a few others went looking for this stone and dug around it once again. They found something written in Latin: for the treasure to be found, three men must go into the ground. That night, one greedy man came back to try his luck. He was found dead next to his spade. They reckon he was the second victim.
Anyway, if you’re in the vicinity and you stumble upon a flat stone, would you let me know where it is before the Little Folk come for you? I could do with a bit of gold to sort a few things on the farm.
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