April 2009 - Posts
Moles
It's that time of year again when the moles start digging and pushing up soil in their inimitable way. Nearly always on the best bit of lawn, following in the hedge bottom then branching out under the grass in the most unpredictable directions. In the fields they work the same pushing soil up into mowing grass which inevitable get into the mown sward to contaminate the silage heap.
A bit later in the season when tunnels have got well established, you can see where the ground goes very hard, where cattle funnel towards a gateway or vehicles doing the same compacting the soil, they will have dug a tunnel across that way and its too hard to dig another. Father always said this will be like a trunk route where all the moles in that field will pass through at some time or the other, making it the prime place to set your mole traps.You are able to re-set the trap in the same place until all are caught.
These Little Creatures Burrow
These little creatures burrow, and dig endlessly all day,
In total darkness all their lives, don't have time to play,
Every here and there they push, mound of soil up top,
In the most annoying places, n' nout to make them stop.
Their coat is fine and silky, and it brushes either way,
Because in tiny tunnels, shunt backward with no delay,
In good rich soil finding earth worms, catch them unaware,
To feed his busy little body, with no one will he share.
His feet are as little spades, to dig a longer tunnel,
And with his back feet shove the soil, up a little funnel,
This is when you see soil move, pushed up from below,
A mole is what I'm looking for, just to say hello.
Countryman
At one time we had a family of moles working there way across a low area of meadow ground, running into a substantial depth of peat. Every now and then we get a summer flood like we did last year, just after we had got all the silage bales away.
This one particular year we were in the middle of actually baling with the small conventional baler, and left the baler on the meadows. Over night there was a substantial down pour, and the ditches and the brook that they run into are well weeded up and it impedes the flow.
As you see from this pictue the ditch is well weeded up and the cattle tend to reach down into the channel for that tasty leaf of grass or plant just out of reach, but it is decieving an inch or so of clear water covers abot fifteen foot of peat. The crust of turf on the meadow bends with the weight of tractors and such like, then spring back up as you pass, and when the cattle come running up to you the whole area shakes like a lelly
So it did not take much for the meadow to flood, much to the annoyance of the moles. I went to retrieve the baler in about six inches of water, and to my amazement saw a couple of moles swimming for dear life in the wrong direction. Of coarse it was much too dangerous for me to follow them, as the area is dissected by deep drainage channels, the flood levelled the meadows off, so you could not see where they are.
This picture is taken from a bank on the edge of the peat, our meadows are the between the two woods, they have been mown mid July and aftermath is being grazed, the rough grass strips are the drainage channels which are weeded out each year in September by the river board for which we pay a drainage rate.
We have called cattle off those fields in flood from time to time, the older ones seem to sense where to go, but the followers, that years spring born calves soon find out how to swim, and swim towards the cows.
Our cows have all been born on the place and know not to get in the peaty ditches, learning as calves. Once one has been in the ditch, they never go in again, and remember that all their lives.
The calves can most often get out themselves, being agile and not too heavy, the evidence of which is a black tide mark up to a few inches from the top of the shoulders, although they must be counted twice a day and the ones that are stuck got out immediately.
It makes me wince when you see the firemen have been called out to get a cow out of a peaty ditch, a whole crew of men or perhaps two crews trying to get a fire hose under the belly of the animal. On the odd occasion when I have bought in a cow or in calf heifer, and they got stuck, I take an old cow chain and a length of rope and the fore end loader.
I put the chain round the cow's neck, attach the rope to it under the cows chin, and then fasten to the loader. Lift gently but firmly, and start moving back, the cow's neck looks long at this point, but don't worry it will hold the whole weight of her body. Once out they stand up in a daze, it gives you time to detach the chain and rope. The whole operation, one man and tractor, ten minutes at tops. Never lost one using this method, or pulled its neck out, but a horse I am told by the old men of the village would soon get a broken neck.
I was told that before the days of tractors the way was to take the old iron wheeled muck cart, the ones with five foot wooden wheels, back it up to the ditch and remove the horse from the shafts.
Lift the shafts skywards until the rear of the cart is in the grass. Rope or chain round the cows neck, or in them days round the horns, and threaded up over the front of the cart and tied to the shafts. I know there was always more men about back in them days, so about four men were able with a bit of luck pull the shafts down to the ground, and a man on each wheel wheeled the cart forward thus extracting the said cow,( not dead) cow.
When we first had a Fordson tractor and the next four tractor generations of tractor as well, they had no cabs and only later did we have one with a loader fitted. The removal of a cow from the peat went like this. Reverse up to the ditch, hitch onto the cow as described before, and feed the rope over the top of one rear tyre and tie it off down the far side. It is important to be dead in line for this, and someone with a hand on the rope easily guides it over the centre of the tread, and gently drive forwards. The whole reason for this lifting as opposed to dragging, is that a cow dragged will put her from legs out straight in front to pull against the rope and push her front legs under the turf bank into the soft peat and anchor there, that would be a good time to pull her neck out. So lift and pull is the name of the game, this is made a lot easier with the modern four wheel drive loaders and tractors.
I think I could give tuition to the likes of the fire men, but as so often happens, their chief know best how to make it into a whole days work for eight or ten men and couple of appliances and maul the animal half to death, creating vet bills on top as well. You see the result of there work on the evening news or in the weekend papers, most of which could be avoided.
Not being critical, its just practical experience, its costly if you get it wrong, and as a farmer, if it hits you in the pocket, it is remembered for ever.
If there comes a little thaw,
Still the air is chill and raw,
Here and there a patch of snow,
Dirtier than the ground below,
Dribble down a marshy flood,
Ankle deep you stick in mud,
In the meadow while you sing,
"This is spring".
Christopher Pearce Cranch A Spring Growl
After around three or four minuets cutting, the bulls horn eventually dropped off, a nice clean cut but we had three spurts of blood,
Life does not get any easier, what with the budget and the economy, and nearer to home we had two cows lost the calves at birth, looks like the cow lay still, with the veil over the calf's nose and suffocated it. Also to make up the numbers a cow had twins, of coarse it had to be the oldest and thinnest cow, the one to be run baron this time and culled. So we are in the throws of settling one of the twins onto one of these cows, so far she is taking to it well. The second cow to loose her calf I have bought in a calf off a neighbour, but she is an angry cow, and she has a pair of sharp horns and knows how to use them on her companion (the first cow to loose her calf). We have often said that the horns aught to come off, but as a suckler cow living out all the year round there was no need to have the operation.
In order that we can hold her long enough and still enough for the new calf to suckle, we have borrowed a neighbours crush, it has side panels that open to let the calf suck, ours has solid sides. Being such a strong crush, and seeing as how she had drawn blood and gashed her companion quite viciously, we decided that the horns can come off NOW.
Injection to numb the base of the horn, count to a hundred and one slowly, and cut them off promptly with a wire. So quick and efficiently with hardly any blood, we looked who else qualified to have the same opp. And there he was , the bull, standing quietly by the gate, opened it and he walked through, and voluntarily walked as far as he could down the race and got stuck in the first half of the crush with his horns wedged firmly and diagonally in the hinges of the side panels top and bottom. With halter now on his nose and round his horns he was persuaded to wriggle up as far as the yoke, got one horn stuck firmly in the mechanism and could not budge him for a full quarter hour. The only way to release him was to cut three inches off the tip of the jammed horn with the wire, this we did as he stood calmly watching through one eye. The instant it cut through he stepped forward and he was duly in the yoke.
He is a Hereford bull that I bought last year and is about three years old, it is his first calves that are dropping now. We then put a second halter on to try to stop his throwing his head about and proceeded to injected round the base of his horns with Lignocane to freeze the area. As you can imagine he was not too keen on that, and then we checked over the cutting wire and its handles on each end, and the lad helping me flexed his muscles as an athlete would and the tension grew. Wire went round the first horn just up from the flesh, and started the sawing, it gradually sank in out of sight, a little dust or smoke from the heat was soon stopped as we hit first blood. It had the function of lubricating the wire, and the cutting continued. After around three or four minuets cutting, the horn eventually dropped off, a nice clean cut but we had three spurts of blood, the two smaller ones were dabbed with a hot iron but the main flow the iron would not stem. This was when we fell back onto what the vet did some years ago in the same situation, we plugged it with a match stick. The second horn we cut the same but the bull was getting a bit annoyed and throwing his head about breaking one halter and the snatch against the wire we broke the end off the wire. I think my mate was glad of a pause and a breather while the end was threaded back on the wire. On again with the blood lubrication helping the cutting, until the second dropped to the ground.
By this time the first match stick had been knocked out and four spurts of blood fountained up, however like a good boy scout I had got two hundred and fifty more matches in me pocket. With a bit of hot iron and by now three matches sticking out of each horn wound the flow was well under control. What blood he did loose would easy fit on a shovel and he had got plenty more to keep him going. Never again will he get his head jammed in the race and crush or in the feeder in the winter, he was released back into the field looking a little dazed and bewildered, and walked off to find the cows.
The following morning the bull had congealed blood all down each side of his head made to look all the worse by the fact that he has or had a white head. Most Hereford cattle have horns that curl gentle forward but this chap his horns went out a good three feet wide, he never used them other than rub his head in a sand hedge bank, and he does not seem to be any worse for ware after his operation.
We endeavour to dehorn the cattle as calves, a lot easier to handle at that age, but when a calf kicks it can certainly whip its legs out fast.
I Remember Father's Cattle
In the mid 1950's vets were recommending worming young stock with a new product called phenothiazine.This was a powder and had to be mixed with water and a pint or so was pour down their throats.(drenched)
I remember father counting, cattle each and every day,
He counts and looks at every one, to see they're all OK,
Now one day he sees's one cough, and then it was another.
If we don't do something quickly, we'll be in a bit of bother.
So off down he goes to get, some wormer in a rush,
And back he comes and reads the label, says get them in a crush,
No crush have we, but four strong lads, we'll get them in a stable,
Mix water and green powder in a bucket, put it on the table.
Four long neck bottles we did find, for dosing all the cattle
Phenothiozine, it's called, and keep it stirred or it will settle,
The pop had gone as we made sure; we loved the fizzy taste,
One pint and half was dose that's needed, over dose was waste.
Pint ladle and a funnel now, into the bottled it was measured,
Us lads went in among the stock, as tight a they could be,
The bottles we did pass to one, who had ones chin held high,
Uptip the med-sin to back of throat, do not look down or ni.
The cow that coughs, coughs both ends, and chuck it back they try,
Its just a waste as we were told, but hits you in the eye,
Soon learn to leave it quickly, as soon as we could shift,
As dosing cattle get there own back, now who's being thrift.
We often wondered why we lads, had grown so big and strong,
When other lads around us, were only lean and long,
Put it down to fresh air, and read farmers weekly magazine,
But all the time it wasn't, twas Phenothiazine.
Countryman
The friendly cow all red and white,I love with all my heart,
She give me cream with all her might,to eat with apple tart.
Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894)
The fields both large and small have names, you wouldn't dream exist,
Some relate to owner past, and others the type of land persists,
Hanging Bank is most sinister name, it's a cold north facing bank,
More research into this is what's needed, but all we've drawn is a blank.
It seem most important to British people that their Boundaries are marked by a fence or ditch and hedgerow or both. It is also important to know who's responsible for its maintenance and repair. On farms it is your own responsibility to keep your own cattle contained within your boundary. Having said that, in the early days you marked your boundary by digging a ditch along your side of the line, and throwing the spoil back into your own side, then plant a hedge on top of it. In other words it's your boundary if the ditch is the other side of the hedge or fence. Internal ditches were often dug and a hedge planted, to pick up springs and tile drains that crossed the farm, and clear storm water to prevent shallow pools forming, which would kill the grass after a few week submerged.
Very old hedgerows are often made up of many species, ranging from Hawthorn and Blackthorn to Brier and Elder, the latter two being not very desirable, as livestock tend to eat through them. Unless the hedges are trimmed each year they soon become open in the bottom, and very loose in the top. Hawthorn and Holly make a good tight knit defence against cattle, but can soon become gappy when Elder which is a quick grower becomes dominant. Then when livestock are turned into the field, they eat it.
In one of our hedges, a botanist counted over twenty different species of hedgerow plant in a hundred yard stretch. This is a hedge that had evolved over the years in a grazing pasture, where cattle have made their contribution to pruning. Only the less palatable species dominated and maintained quite a good hedge.
Often the best trees to grow from saplings are the ones that are growing in the hedge bottom, when they appear out of the top of the hedge they can just be cut round and simply left to grow. No problem of transplanting or guarding they grow on to make splendid trees with no setbacks.
Hedgerows are important to birds, for nesting and for berries for winter feeding, and the hedge bottom, is shelter for a wide range of small mammals.
The ideal hedge, I was told, over fifty years ago, should be A shaped, and when in full leaf sheads rain like a thatched roof. This gives maximum shelter to its inhabitants, and a wide and dry undisturbed hedge bottom, , and a build-up of dry leaf mould, for hibernating wildlife like Hedgehogs and Toads. Rabbits like to burrow under hedges, as very often the soil is relatively loose and not too compacted, the roots of the hedge also hold the burrow open, and no danger of collapse. Also growing on top of a small hedge bank, it is well drained and dry. Badgers often dig in old rabbit warrens, particularly if they hit a good seam of sand that is just below a hard gravely layer. Here they can dig rapidly forming great mounds of sand that could turn a tractor over, if you're not concentrating.
Field mice and voles find shelter in the hedge banks, running among the tussocks of grass. At harvest time they venture further out in the field margins foraging for shed grain, where they fall pray to the kestrels and buzzards. When they spot a mouse, they hover then dive, carrying them off in their talons, owls too like this type of habitat.
On our estate fifty years ago, the woodman when needed would cut down an oak tree. The main trunk would be cut into a 5ft 6in length and 10ft length and multiples of that to make best use of the tree trunk. These large sections of tree trunk were then cleft (split) with wedges and a sledge hammer to make fencing posts and the longer ones into rails. This practice is never used nowadays, but cleft timber was always better and stronger than sawn timber. This was because split timber always followed the grain of the wood, and sawn timber inevitably crossed the grain somewhere along its length and could break in that place. There are still examples of cleft posts and rails in parts of the estate but they are getting few and far between.
In the Moor Cover wood there always used to be a section in the lower part of the wood that was coppiced. The stools that had been harvested two or three years before were again ready to be cut. The most common use was for hedge laying stakes, and the whippy tops used to bind the top of the laid hedge. When completed this binding would look like the top edge of a basket, holding the light stakes and laid hedge stiff, durable and stock proof. Another use of the lighter stakes was for thatching pegs, these needed to be about 2ft long the thicker ones would be cleft into two, they would then be sharpened at one end to make it easier to push into the stack of hay or corn. The brash left after coppicing found it way into many of the village gardens as pea and bean sticks, and no opportunity was lost on finding a new seven or eight foot cloths line prop with a natural forked top.
Field Names of Seighford
Out in Britons countryside, looks like a patchwork quilt,
Of roads and lanes and field tracks, evolved and some were built,
They lead from towns and villages, and farms, map nailed on beam,
Each field a hedge and ditch and gate, watered by pond or stream.
The fields both large and small have names, you wouldn't dream exist,
Some relate to owner past, and others the type of land persists,
Red Rheine's is one of these mean fields, when ploughed reveals red clay,
Unless the frost into it gets, no seed bed though you work all day.
Best known one I've no doubt, behind Yews farm is Cumbers,
Ten houses built along the village, take that name and numbers,
Down by the ford is Mill Bank, four acre few trees by the brook,
The Hazel Graze another great name, nut bushes to make a crook.
Fosters by the railway line, named after a soul long gone,
And Pingles also down the Moor Lane, that defiantly is a mystery one,
Noons Birch is the most beautiful name, one that congers' you mind,
Public Field it was part of the land , run to the pub up back and behind.
Hoble End is another nice name, where two cottages stood in the fields,
No track did they only footpath, lonely place only a well and concealed,
Moss Common a field where the ditch, springs in the middle to pick up,
It is important that they are there, to water the ewes and the tup.
Ash Pits are three fields in a row, the Big the Middle and Little,
Ash trees are the obvious reason, and only one pit in the lot,
Hanging Bank is most sinister name, it's a cold north facing bank,
More research into this is what's needed, but all we've drawn is a blank
Lanes to the fields also have names, Moor Lane runs way from the ford,
Connecting with that is Love Lane, a grassy rut track half way Bridgeford,
The Oldfords Lane goes up to the farm, to Coton not a short cut by car,
And Smithy Lane runs way through houses, the shortest of all by far.
Moss Lane is one that runs eastwards, cow lane that it is can be seen,
Grass up the middle and is long, see cattle grazing fields so keen,
It has path that runs up it, and gates shut on each end,
The path is quite long; it comes out near Doxey on bend.
Countryman
See also my recent blog Post and Rails of Oak. Tag "Fencing"
If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant, if we did not sometimes taste adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.
Anne Bradstreet (1612-1672).
The roses get the green fly, the taters get the blight
The cabbage get the caterpillars, what a blooming sight,
Apples there are plenty, grub hole in every one,
Birds have pecked the plums, the rot it has begun.
A gardening Blog
Many potential gardeners who work, and travel some distance to and from work, just physically do not have much time to do what they would like to do in the garden. Then there is the people who just cannot stand gardening, like a neighbour we had in the village, (the wheelwright), his wife loved her garden, and he was committed to mowing the lawns front and back, and always commented to who ever would listen, that his garden should be tarmac end to end, side to side, then each spring he could just sweep it off and paint it green. This was about the time they were building the new M6 motorway, and different "cowboy" contractors were "peddling" tarmac at night and weekends, to do the drive or garden paths, at a rate never to beaten, cash only, right into their back pockets. However his wife would not here of it, and they kept to lawns and boarders on the front and a veg. plot and some lawn at the back of the house.
This is how I sum up gardening
Gardening as a Pastime
The lawns are mowed the grass removed, starve it if you can,
Start in March or sooner, cut it twice a week's the plan,
Grows like mad till the summer, then brown and crusty goes,
Precious water sprinkled on, the time and cost who knows.
Had the mower sharpened, through mole hills it has cut,
They're only after earth worms, to fill their little gut,
Got to have a blow hole, to push the soil out,
Maize of tunnels under the lawn, so tough and black and stout.
The roses get the green fly, the taters get the blight
The cabbage get the caterpillars, what a blooming sight,
Apples there are plenty, grub hole in every one,
Birds have pecked the plums, the rot it has begun.
The wasps are round the jam pot, flies around the meat,
Its summertime enjoy it, try getting out the heat,
Cooler in the evenings, sit in the garden to relax,
Midges bite your arms and legs, round ya head attacks.
Cut the hedge about three times, clearing up the leaves,
Hawthorne holly and brambles, full of thorns it heaves,
Fingers sore and bleeding, enjoy the job they say,
Out in fresh air and sunshine, all this work no pay.
Nettles in the corners, tackle then if you dare,
Just the lightest touch from one, it'll make you swear,
Cut they come again times ten, fresh and green as ever,
Save them for the butterflies, neglect'll mek ya look clever.
Green fingers what a laugh, muck builds up under nails,
It keeps you fit and healthy, keeps ya weight off the scales,
Organically grown is good for you, but pests they are a pest,
Work with nature is what they say; you can only do your best.
Countryman
This is the bit the misses looks after and is in charge of, were both getting no younger and the veg garden went some years ago. Its trim the lawn, trim the bushes, cut the hedge (with the tractor flail hedge cutter I can manage that job well) boarders and bedding plants to the minimum, just enough to give a bit of colour and interest.
This is my effort on the yard in an old concrete water trough last year. No farmer ever looks at the flowers twice, but study what in the background, an old upturned grain hopper, five bays filled with HAY, and some haylage under cover, silage bales are stacked outside out of the picture. My loader will only reach to stack three bales high, thats it on the Agrotron in the background, and the hedge cutter on the Fastrac. The old barn legs have started rotting and have had a tump of concrete two foot up the legs. Standing parked between the green tractor and the barn, the Landrover flat trailer with an old three furrow Fordson Elite Plough, trust me if you look real close, you can see two levers sticking up, to see a better picture of the plough press the tag "Tractors", or" Plough" it on the page or blog (Two More of my Tractors".
This is just a farmers view of a tub of flowers, one line of writing for the flowers, and six lines for the background, think thats pretty normal.
Around this time also that it was fashionable to sow turnips from the air in June /July into the standing crops of corn, (wheat barley or oats). In this case it was barley, and the top end of the field was a single cottage, folks came out of their village houses to watch the aerobatics as the plane swooped low over the crop, dodging hedge row trees, then up almost vertical, turn and back down for the next run. The man in the cottage watched as it swooped and turned short of his house, having got a grandstand seat so to speak. In the next few months the crop of barley was combined, and the rain and moisture had germinated a good stand of turnips in the stubble, trouble was the cottage garden had also got turnips growing in the garden, and worse still, a full and vigorous crop was growing in the gutters and spouting all round the house. Of coarse when the seed was being dropped no one knew why he was diving and swooping and the turnip seed is so fine and no dust trail as the seed fell.
It was only a few years that that aerial spreading of seeds and sprays lasted, as the drift into adjoining fields and crops, and houses brought it to be banned, so the turnips sprouting in the spouting only happened the one year in our village.
This same cottage, the occupant often went to the local market to take eggs to sell, often a sitting of hen and bantam eggs. It was in the spring he came home with a sitting of goose eggs, and set them under a couple of broody hens, they duly hatched and rapidly grew bigger than the old mother hen, they started running and flapping their wings when they were loosed out in the mornings , as geese do. Then to his amazement one morning they took off, and flew round and landed back in the garden, soon they flew off for half an hour or more but always came back. The sitting of eggs he had bought were that of Canadian Geese, and in the autumn one morning they took off and he never saw them again. No goose for Christmas for him.
If there is no gardener there is no garden
Stephen Covey
This is a short report on the Staffs Vintage Machinery Club ploughing match at Seighford Staffordshire 5th April 2009.
After having nearly a month of dry conditions the land was in excellent order for such an event, the morning started with a slight frost which the sun soon shifted and remained fine and bright all day.
Ploughmen came from all over the midlands the furthest it seems travelled some 180 miles from Carmarthen in the south west Wales, another 165 miles from that same direction. In the north West it was as far as 110 miles, North East 100 miles North 104miles, and numerous others from all points east.
There were ninety seven tractors entered and from the look in the field there was only just the odd gap left here and there due to none arrival. All ploughing had been completed by two o'clock, and by three the raffle drawn. My wife and I were honoured to be asked to present the prizes and cups to the winning ploughmen, in the usual tight circle of round the table full of trophies.
From the comments I had back in general everyone seemed to have had a good day out, with a lot of spectators including folk from the village had walked down.
Being host to such a large gathering made it difficult to concentrate on my own ploughing, talking too long at the end of each bout, seeing folk who I have not seen for a long while which included my own brother who live a long way east (an hour and a half). Had I realised I could have entered him in the match with a spare old B250 International and a trailer plough of mine. However he had got a second mission that day as well as the match, family tree investigations.
By this morning, Monday morning, the contractors came to spread the huge pile of muck obliterating all the excellent ploughing that had taken place the day before. By mid afternoon the ploughman arrived and had completed over ten acres. With rain expected for the rest of the week, it will be good to finish the messy job of muck spreading , another four hours in the morning would see it done, although its not been too messy today.
I will try and post a few picture, as and when I get hold of them.
Fred