The recent spell of fine and settled weather may herald the return of some sort of normal autumn conditions, much associated with how we recall Octobers and Novembers from yesteryear.

My somewhat vague recollections tell me we’ve had overly wet conditions these past few years, with 2023 in particular drowning all other thoughts from my memory. One thing is for certain: this time last year I recorded 165mm rain in one week at the end of October, which is roughly ten times what fell in the same week this year.

I have been acutely aware of this contrast, particularly when doing the rounds on the quad bike in the mornings.

Field conditions are satisfactory (although definitely not dry), air temperatures are mild, grass is still growing and in plentiful supply, and this combination translates into an hour and a half of intensely pleasurable farming as I purr around the local roads and fields.

I remarked to a farming friend the other day that it’s a pity we can’t bottle these brief agricultural episodes and pour some of it back out like a soothing balm in times of bad weather and stress.

Last Tuesday was a perfect example of this utopian existence, with me driving around several batches of livestock on a fine autumn morning. I was feeding lambs, checking pregnant heifers, shifting a batch of ewes and generally congratulating myself on having the best way of life in the world.

As I pulled up at a roadside gate to feed a dozen bullock calves, my dreamy reverie was disturbed by some sort of weird wheezing noise from behind the hedge. On closer inspection, it was a black bullock standing away from the rest and sounding like an out-of-tune set of bagpipes. For the time being, my illusion of happiness and goodwill to all mankind was shattered.

Vet visit

Something told me he was bad enough to warrant a vet’s visit, as this wasn’t a suitable candidate for a DIY Derek job.

So, I immediately phoned for a vet, then rang Susan for a bit of a hand.

Naturally they were three fields from the yard, but we walked him along the hedges and up a lane into the shed. Once again, I was fully appreciative of the benefits of handling bucket-reared cattle because apart from him not getting overexcited (perhaps he was too sick anyway) the other 11 in the field dandered along too, thinking it was all a bit of good fun.

Antibiotics

I have been guilty in the past of overreacting to a sick animal and getting a vet when it may not have been a life-or-death situation. But not this time. The vet gave him two antibiotics, and two anti-inflammatories, and obviously into the vein (which I wouldn’t have been able to do).

Unusually, his lungs were clear, and all the infection seemed to be in his throat. IBR was ruled out because they had been vaccinated a fortnight previously and had been together as an isolated group all year. He used a word that sounded remarkably like laryngitis but was far too long for me to accurately remember.

With hindsight, it seems he had carried a bit of a cough (despite rigorous lungworm treatments) and had simply developed an infection from that. Either way, the bullock is now fully recovered and the weighbridge tells me he had gained 0.9kg daily in the last 90 days, including his illness.

This little incident typifies the emotional rollercoaster that daily farming entails.

Anxiety

One minute we’re basking in the delights of suitable weather and its associated benefits, and on the turn of a sixpence we’re consumed by gnawing anxiety. And until that problem is finally sorted out and put to bed, there can be no appreciation of the positives in our farming life.

You might imagine that after 45 years of this lifestyle, I’d have ironed out my character weaknesses and learnt how to coast along at an ever-steady pace.

But no, my ups and downs seem to be getting further apart than ever.