we plough the fields and scatter...

... we sang, as the children all came into Church, carrying their assortment of harvest baskets. Quite relieved they were too, to hand over their fruitful burdens (it's a long walk from school, when you're aged six carrying a pumpkin, or even aged 7, with several cans of tinned fruit, because your mum forgot all about harvest festival, and didn't call in at Tesco on the way home from work.)

Traditionally, harvest is celebrated as the end of the food and farming cycle, rewarding us for our hard work and diligence throughout the year.

How wrong can this be?

Back at the farm, Henry has just drawn a close to a very 'messy' harvest, and lurched straight into ploughing and drilling (planting) seedcorn for next year. The last wheat was harvested on 07 September, but the first new crop in another field, was already being drilled on 30 August. We are now at 09 October, and there are 90 out of 350 acres still to plough and drill.

Farmers are always striving for those economies of scale to justify the hugely expensive kit required for the job, which means they are always pushing the boundaries of what is humanly possible. There is little distinction or time frame between harvesting the old and cultivating the new.

Does this signify a 'seamless' and efficient transition - I don't think so - more like a gruelling, rural reality show: 'I'm a farmer, get me out of here...'

Gone are the days when the whole village turned out, to gather in the harvest! For many farms, the whole cultivation operation is reliant on one person and a big machine, and it's very much 'feast or famine' in terms of tasks to be done: combining, clearing straw, baling and carting - closely followed by ploughing, cultivating and drilling new crops. It can be pretty overwhelming, with much to play for and literally, everything to lose. The added complication for us, is that Henry has to fit our work around the contract combining and cultivation work that he does on neighbouring farms.

Needless to say, I tend to keep my head down at this time of year, and just get on with what I have to do, hoping that Henry manages to do the same. It is a very stressful time of year for arable farmers, and a testing time for business cashflow, until the first lot of grain is sold, and the cheque arriveson the kitchen table. Not even a comfortable harvest, with buoyant market prices for once, can take away the pressure of getting next year's crop in, before the weather breaks.

Henry reminds me of the old saying, "the difference between a good (arable) farmer and a bad one, is two weeks" - and I choose not to remind him that he is still about ten days behind.

www.dovefarm.co.uk

what a difference a day makes

Ok - so it's a day and a half - nevertheless, it has been one of those days that you wish never started.

The grass that is down for hay, got wet the same night it was cut. Not too seriously, but wet all the same. We really need a good few hours of solid sunshine, but no such luck. Thursday and Friday have remained overcast, with showers threatened at any moment (not like how it was forecast at all.)

Getting the photo above, carried the personal cost to me of: one anti-histamine tablet, one application of aloe vera/antihistamine cream, and a whole day of itching. I may not have mentioned that I am allergic to grass pollen/hay/dusty straw and all associated 'things' - unfortunate, isn't it?

More harvest time woes: the combine harvester broke down last night, with no prospect of a mechanic for at least two days. The baler has broken down, and my car has been delivered back, after having significant and expensive work done on it, with the good news that it needs 2 x rear tyres. Great.

I discovered upon getting up today, that we had run out of milk, and almost everything else! - so toast all round, with black tea, or orange squash (depending on age group). I then venture into the office to pick up phone messages and emails - and discover that the radiator is leaking, big time - all cables and wires connected to everything, are swimming, and the wooden floor is looking like a large expanse of soaked driftwood.

First, we have the job of emptying an old, double banked radiator, (the label on the back said 'installed in 1977'), removing it, and cleaning up the mess. It takes us two hours.

The day continues in much the same vein, and by the time Henry has tedded the hay yet again, (spinning and spreading it out to dry) and children are in bed, and all animal jobs are done, and the washing is out to dry, and everyone fed and machinery mended for the day - it is about 11.30 pm.

Henry and I sit down, with something alcoholic in a glass, and flick through a few TV channels - mainly to get the weather for tomorrow.

It is Friday evening 03 august. We come across the 'breaking news' bulletin, that an outbreak of Foot and Mouth has been confirmed in Surrey. It's the kind of news that stops you in your tracks, and reduces all problems mentioned above, into trivia. We look at the TV screen and for a moment we don't say anything at all.