Will’s World: Forage, ferrying and a few favours called in

In the illustrious 92-year history of the nation’s most popular and prestigious farming publication, I doubt anyone’s ever started a column with a fervent expression of love for the legendary outlaw country music star Willie Nelson. Well, there’s a first time for everything.

If you’ve never listened to his seminal 1975 album Red Headed Stranger, I highly recommend sitting down in a quiet room, turning off your phone and having your soul soothed for 33 wonderfully healing minutes.

See also: How investment in a colour sorter helped farm secure milling premium

Cut, chop, pray

Failing that, you can listen to it on a tractor, as I did last Saturday, when I spent most of the day ferrying grass from a block of land five miles away.

Do other people call it “ferrying”, by the way? Or are you in the “carting” camp? I hesitate to ask, because several years back I posed a similar question online about what people call wads of straw or hay.

Before I knew it, rival militant factions emerged supporting “flakes”, “sections” and “slices’’. Some absolute oddballs angrily insisted they should be referred to as, I kid you not, “biscuits”. Anyway, that’s social media for you.

I don’t get to do much ferrying of anything these days because I’m usually on the forager when we’re silaging or on the combine when we’re harvesting.

However, on this occasion we decided, for a few different reasons, to get our neighbour to chop it with his fancy self-propelled John Deere.

First, it looked like weather-based Armageddon would be coming in the next day, which added a certain sense of urgency to the enterprise with a fair amount to get through, and second, because we were struggling for drivers to ferry the grass.

Usually, we just about manage to get enough casual staff and neighbours on reciprocal agreements, but it seemed like half the county were on holiday this time.

It took several frantic phone calls before we secured various friend-of-friend’s brother-in-law’s colleague’s mum’s neighbour’s cousins to sit on a tractor for us for the day.

On the road again

With staff secured, lunch packed and music chosen, it was off for a steady day of ferrying grass I headed.

This being a weekend, and a sunny day to boot, the first thing I encountered was the tractor driver’s arch nemesis – cyclists.

But, and this is the God’s honest truth, one Lycra-clad gentleman actually pulled over onto the verge to let me pass. I know, it’s never happened to me before either!

He even gave me a thumbs up as I went past, God bless him.

Next, it was dog walkers as I cut across a lane near the village that’s on a popular circuit for canines and their companions. I always give them a smile and wave of thanks when they wrestle their pampered pets on to the side for me, and on this occasion they all returned the gesture.

Several trailer loads and round-trips later, it was all done. I’d listened to some classic country, done plenty of over-the-hedge farming, received minimal stressed phone calls, and the silage was all in the pit for another year.

While we’re on the subject of grass, for those regular readers who’re doubtless awaiting, with bated breath, news of the freshly oversown pitches at Wrexham Rugby Club, I’m pleased to inform you that they’re a triumph, and I’m being universally hailed as a genius.

The fact that it’s been non-stop warm sunshine and rain since the seed went in the ground has nothing to do with it, of course.

What was it Napoleon said? “I’d rather have lucky generals than good ones.”