Spring is shot through with rebirth. You catch it in the song of a bird and the quill of a hedgehog; the eye of a pheasant, or the way the turkey stag
fans his voluminous tail. It’s in the pairings of owls, magpies, muntjak, mallard duck.
The ensigns of spring are everywhere.
On the land the wet monotony of winter evaporates. Ploughs glint in the sun turning land over, making it well again. We plough shallow to avoid leathery soil, forsaking the winter legacy of streaming rain which wrecked crops and livelihoods.
Farm manager Michael Summerland drives forward, ensuring no opportunities are missed. The farm’s starting to sing. Woodlands is coming back to life.
Spring drilling’s underway, brassica planting happening, onions next.
Our organic soils look well. The organic matter they contain helps them offset a
degree of water, and provide a seedbed.
The bellies of the cows swell as their time draws near. Something of them, when you spend time with them, rubs off on you. What is it? A deep sense of contentment? A sort of refreshing ‘just let it happen’ attitude? Or does it have to do with their nourishing, enveloping warmth? Probably a combination of all three.