are grasses tall and wavering in the breeze. are leaves long, short, serrated, flowers and spikes and seeds. more varieties than I can count on my hands. are the sign of something alive and healthy underground…
ben came into the room where we were busy egg cleaning, you have to see this, come now, bring your camera. we followed hurriedly, babe in alex’s arms, camera round my chest. what would he show us I thought, a new calf born? not yet. something just as good, something better. the release of an electric fence. the opening of a patch of luscious “ice-cream grass” to the dairy cows; three pregnant and one newly nursing her young. as ben reeled back the fence the girls moved in close, snuffing and swaying with excitement at the feast that was within munch. midnight, the beautiful black freesian-guernsey, was first in the grass. soon afterwards the fudge-coloured jerseys dolcey and prawn. then mama swiss-brown, sweetie and her wee silas. chomp. chew. munch and moo. sounds of pure and simple satisfaction. we watched on and were filled with the same sort of fullness, in heart, in mind. reuben tangled himself up in long stalks of grass. this is what I remember as a kid, Ben said. This is what its all about. the harvest. ah yes, cows were meant for this. us too, I think.