Despite the unseasonal and fickle weather, it’s still my favourite time of year. With the pressure off on calving, slurry and our first cut of silage, there are more hours which can be spent simply enjoying the long days while they last.

On good evenings there’s nothing like a wander through the tangle of small lanes around here, and having grown up wandering these back roads, I’ve learned the location of each patch of wild strawberries and froughans.

Most times I’m left to my own company on these meanderings, as I resemble an old cow moseying to parlour, grazing the verges, and anyone who decides to accompany me could nearly do with a stick to poke me on at times.

In the brief period of good weather we finally got our slurry out, and not before time, as with two meadows being held up for a second cut and five fields yet to cut our pastures were beginning to look a little sparse, despite shaking a few extra bags of fertiliser.

Our breeding has gone surprisingly well so far, with half gone in-calf and with the others being late calvers, they haven’t shown heat yet. To aid with picking up these later cows, we will be introducing our young, nine-month-old bull into that group. Although he will have to be closely watched, as being inexperienced, he’s rather over-enthusiastic towards the ladies.

Our last cow to calve until autumn was taken in to calve, and being an experienced lady, she followed after a bucket into the shed by herself with no hassle and duly delivered a Belgian Blue bull within a couple of days. Of course, sods law prevailed, with it being a beautiful roan bull, but as he arrived with no trouble and was up and suckling within an hour, we couldn’t ask for much else.

There’s a saying around here that show-quality calves are sometimes hidden in the rushes for a couple of months before being registered, and at this stage some of our fields could not only hide a calf but a cow or two as well.

It’s certainly the sign of a bad year when you have to put on the rotary mower to cut rushes instead of the topper and this year is one of the worst I’ve ever seen around these parts after most people were unable to treat or cut them since early spring last year.

Our downed cow is finally starting to rise after almost three weeks and I don’t think there’s a happier household in Ireland (bar perhaps a few in Galway on the previous Sunday after their monumental win over Dublin), as she’d been at the forefront of our minds each day she stayed down. It certainly showed that meitheal is alive and well in Leitrim, as there was a plethora of people willing to help turn her and do everything they could to aid in her standing. Between massaging her hips and attempting physio, she got rubbed with everything from Uddermint to poitín, which was the original go-to for a cure.

While she still has a long way to go, and we have yet to see if she’ll take to the calf, we’re hopeful that it will happen in time.