Common opinion among the farming community seems to indicate this spring is the worst in living memory, especially when linked to the difficult autumn of 2017.

With livestock housed early, it was generally agreed that the best (and only) solution to the lack of fodder on many farms would be a good start to the growing year. To say this hasn’t happened would be the understatement of the century, and wet ground conditions have added to the lack of grass growth, with many fields being too soft to carry tractors and fertiliser sowers.

However, the oft-repeated phrase that 2018 will ‘‘live long in the memory’’ is one of those peculiarities in our farming world that is just not borne out by hard facts.

Let’s face it: how many good years, following a bad one, does it take for us to become complacent to the point of careless? In 2013, I experienced my most difficult spring (as far as I can remember) and subsequently made many promises regarding shut-off dates for autumn grazing, silage and straw requirements, and stocking rates.

I seem to recall a lot of farming publications questioning the wisdom of higher stocking densities, without some sort of contingency plan in the form of extra housing or spare fodder supplies.

And, yet, here we are again. Using this farm as a prime example, it has only taken two or three years for me to sail far too tight to the wind on all those fronts. I’ve bought 20 bales of haylage to carry me through April. I’ve been rationing straw since February, cattle and sheep numbers have crept upwards for consecutive years, and I now wish I had closed off more land a month sooner last autumn.

Ewes

The biggest lesson from the terrible weather in 2013 was the need for ewes to have a good milk supply during the first five or six weeks of lactation. With the benefit of hindsight, I skimped a bit too much back then, and spent the rest of the year playing catch-up. Not only did lambs underperform physically, they also had far more problems with worm burdens and appeared to have trace element issues.

I learned a harsh lesson that year, and now recognise the importance of milk yield for the first six weeks of a lamb’s life. You can rough them or store them at a later stage, but never at the start.

The upshot of that experience means that I am miles over target for purchased meal, with last year’s benchmarking figure of 55kg per ewe being a forlorn dream.

Some days I wonder if, at the end of the season, I’ll have bought double the intended amount (I think I am currently at or near 70kg/head).

About 30 years ago, a neighbour told me the way to winter-finish cattle was to pretend meal was free, then feed as much as they would eat. I am currently employing that tactic with my sheep enterprise.

Cattle

The cattle have been less affected by the weather travails and will suffer slightly from a delayed turnout.

I had visions of a few of the dairy-bred heifers being slipped out in late March to some sheltered wee field with grass waving in the breeze, but that plan was ripped up months ago.

However, my biggest regret concerns a reseeded field that was earmarked for silage.

During discussions with my benchmarking adviser (in late January), I made the ridiculous statement that I would have too much grass by mid-April and was considering letting that six acres for a cut of silage. I now cringe with embarrassment every time I recall the conversation.

Fertiliser

At the time of writing (14 April), I have managed to sow fertiliser on 18 acres of grassland, without disappearing out of sight.

I walked another few fields yesterday, but anywhere that sheep and lambs grazed during bad weather (in other words, everywhere) is lying far too wet.

There is no doubt that the result of all those little hooves puddling the surface of the soil is greatly impeded drainage in the short term.

The final change of plan concerns silage ground, and I haven’t got a clue when I’ll be able to free up enough land to shut off fields. But it is bound to happen sometime.

One of my farming friends sent me a photo from last year, along with the message, ‘‘You were mowing this field on 26 April last year’’.

My response was short, and not repeatable in this publication.