I decided this morning that I couldn’t wait any longer and I whistled the cattle through to the river meadow. Grass, which has been growing and green all winter, is now shin high in places, but there are areas of wet where heavy trampling would disproportionately damage the soil structure.
April did what April does, namely cruel winds and sharp showers, perpetuating a more or less eight-month long mono-season – or perhaps that should be monsoon. Since finishing the last of my hay, I’ve had to balance protecting sodden ground from heavy trampling with losing the benefit of spring grazing. The cattle are looking at their most bucolic, blue sky unfurled overhead, a constellation of dandelions at their feet. Already they are shedding their winter coats, but, almost in contradiction, they continue to wear muddy stockings up to their hocks.
