While checking the cows one evening, the Atlantic Sun, a huge RO/RO ferry that travels from Liverpool to Halifax in Canada sailed into view on its voyage westwards. It’s one of the most easily recognisable vessels that sails past on her week-long journey across the ocean. I’m not the first person to stand in the fields here and wonder where the passing ships are coming and going from. For now, our world is smaller and offers a window into how previous generations lived, without a world of information available at their fingertips.
The passing ships are something that make you aware of the world beyond these shores and are a positive sign that despite uncertainty in the economy, at least transatlantic trade is continuing.
Ships have made their way over sea lanes through times of turmoil before. Some were lost to storms or mines over the years. In 1917 alone, six found their final resting place in the sea that is visible from my kitchen window. The salvage of another, the SS Norwegian, at the nearby Red Strand led to the introduction of orange carrot seed to the locality. Until then, local carrots were yellow and used only for horse feed.
I never understood why the local shops my grandmother told me of were so close together. I understand it much better after the last week. With slower transport options than today, they were necessary. Each shop seemed to be within a mile of the next. Or maybe, as I learned during the week, they were within an Irish mile of each other. The old Irish mile is 1,440 feet longer than the English statute mile and converts into 2,048 metres, which would give us another bit to stretch the legs in if that was adopted as our exercise limit.
Almost half of my own 2km radius is in the sea but there’s been more than enough exercise within the ditches to keep me going.
Breeding
The breeding heifers are gone to the out-farm and the countdown to breeding season is on.
I had envisaged a calm time when all the small jobs that I’ve been waiting to get around to could be completed, but a cow scuppered those plans the day after the lockdown was announced. She was down and stayed that way for a few days. There was a milk fever case two weeks ago, so she got calcium but didn’t have much of a response. Bloods revealed her magnesium levels were low and she was treated accordingly.
By Wednesday morning she was standing and calved that afternoon. Not long after she stood, a calf developed septicaemia. She was born in the group pen along with four other calves. Unfortunately, two of their mothers had attitude problems. They were on the cull list last year, but were spared by a bull whose determination to seek cows in heat led him to jumping ditches and crossing roads in his efforts.
It wasn’t safe to get into the pen with them and while feeding her with a bottle through the gate, one of the cows pinned my arm against the bars. Luckily, all I was left with was bruising.
Following initial treatment, the calf was doing well, but went backwards on Friday. After losing a similar case last spring, I was determined to win this one. An IV drip, antibiotics and patience saw her back on her feet Monday morning. Maybe this week might be more relaxing.
Read more
Farmer Writes: food jumps up the priority list in new world order
Farmer Writes: a cow with an awful sense of entitlement
Farmer Writes: coronavirus makes for a horrendous spring
While checking the cows one evening, the Atlantic Sun, a huge RO/RO ferry that travels from Liverpool to Halifax in Canada sailed into view on its voyage westwards. It’s one of the most easily recognisable vessels that sails past on her week-long journey across the ocean. I’m not the first person to stand in the fields here and wonder where the passing ships are coming and going from. For now, our world is smaller and offers a window into how previous generations lived, without a world of information available at their fingertips.
The passing ships are something that make you aware of the world beyond these shores and are a positive sign that despite uncertainty in the economy, at least transatlantic trade is continuing.
Ships have made their way over sea lanes through times of turmoil before. Some were lost to storms or mines over the years. In 1917 alone, six found their final resting place in the sea that is visible from my kitchen window. The salvage of another, the SS Norwegian, at the nearby Red Strand led to the introduction of orange carrot seed to the locality. Until then, local carrots were yellow and used only for horse feed.
I never understood why the local shops my grandmother told me of were so close together. I understand it much better after the last week. With slower transport options than today, they were necessary. Each shop seemed to be within a mile of the next. Or maybe, as I learned during the week, they were within an Irish mile of each other. The old Irish mile is 1,440 feet longer than the English statute mile and converts into 2,048 metres, which would give us another bit to stretch the legs in if that was adopted as our exercise limit.
Almost half of my own 2km radius is in the sea but there’s been more than enough exercise within the ditches to keep me going.
Breeding
The breeding heifers are gone to the out-farm and the countdown to breeding season is on.
I had envisaged a calm time when all the small jobs that I’ve been waiting to get around to could be completed, but a cow scuppered those plans the day after the lockdown was announced. She was down and stayed that way for a few days. There was a milk fever case two weeks ago, so she got calcium but didn’t have much of a response. Bloods revealed her magnesium levels were low and she was treated accordingly.
By Wednesday morning she was standing and calved that afternoon. Not long after she stood, a calf developed septicaemia. She was born in the group pen along with four other calves. Unfortunately, two of their mothers had attitude problems. They were on the cull list last year, but were spared by a bull whose determination to seek cows in heat led him to jumping ditches and crossing roads in his efforts.
It wasn’t safe to get into the pen with them and while feeding her with a bottle through the gate, one of the cows pinned my arm against the bars. Luckily, all I was left with was bruising.
Following initial treatment, the calf was doing well, but went backwards on Friday. After losing a similar case last spring, I was determined to win this one. An IV drip, antibiotics and patience saw her back on her feet Monday morning. Maybe this week might be more relaxing.
Read more
Farmer Writes: food jumps up the priority list in new world order
Farmer Writes: a cow with an awful sense of entitlement
Farmer Writes: coronavirus makes for a horrendous spring
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