Winter, more than any other season, is a time of routine. As an upland farmer, I have to be happy to repeat the same jobs day after day with little variation, from now until the spring. I love the regularity of winter, and feel no desire to escape from the monotony, whatever the weather and however difficult it becomes.
The first job of the day – while my son forks silage to his cows that are now in the barn to protect the wet ground – is to feed the hens. Avian flu regulations mean our hens and cockerel have to be confined to a wire pen so that they cannot mix with wild birds. They are normally free ranging around the farm, so this confinement feels harsh, even though it is to protect them.
