I’m starting to wonder if I’ve done a Rip Van Winkle and fallen asleep for a couple of months unnoticed by anyone.

Walking through a field yesterday, I nearly had to do a double take upon noticing a hedge of blackberries almost fully ripened.

It seems like it was just the other day that cattle were being let out and we were planning which way we’d work grazing with two separate groups of cattle while hoping for a dry summer.

It’s becoming clear now that none of us will be complaining of sunburn this year or having our 99s melting before they can be scoffed in the car en route to the beach.

It almost feels like we’ve been cheated out of yet another summer as even if one isn’t on holiday, sunny days make farming an enviable career choice in comparison to being stuck in a sweltering office.

Though this envy is reversed in winter when it’s pouring rain, the stock have escaped next door, there’s a hole in your welly and you’ve just ripped your waterproof coat crossing barbed wire.

Grass growth remains sporadic here with some of the more sheltered areas faring out better than the exposed hill pasture.

Our second cut of silage is growing well but could have done with more sun and heat to help it along.

Now we only await a few decent days in order to get it cut and baled, though it’ll be down a few bales on the same cut last year.

It’s hard to believe that we’re still tracking fields when moving the creep feeder for the calves, even with the four wheel drive.

It’s to be expected in April or October, but it’s almost unheard of for it to continue throughout the entire farming year.

The only thing which seems to be thriving in this weather is the buachaláns or ragwort.

While we never have much of an issue with it (it seems to prefer drier land than our Leitrim daub) we get our fair share of marsh ragwort, its less domineering cousin which likes damper conditions.

Luckily it seems to have taken up residence in only a couple of pastures and avoided the meadows.

Like many of us, I did my fair share of pulling ragwort, albeit when I was working at equestrian centres instead of farming and the only more tedious job is picking stones. The cattle avoid it in any case.

They say a woman’s prerogative is to change her mind and that certainly is the case with myself at times.

Having been adamant our little blue heifer was too young to be taken to shows, we’ve gradually been swayed over to thinking otherwise and a decision was made to bring her to Mohill on 18 August.

At two months she’ll be dwarfed by some of the other calves, but although small she’s well put together and as the saying goes, if you’re not in, you can’t win!

While we’re not expecting much, it’s the first commercial calf we’ve shown in many years which should bring a bit of fun to our day out and get her used to the showing atmosphere if we decided to bring her to the Carrick Fatstock later in the year.

Thankfully she took to the rope like a duck to water and has been following me around the place like an ungainly puppy each day, though for a few days the cows became concerned that I was stealing a calf from their midst.

So, if you’re there and spot a little black heifer with white socks, come say hello.