March on this farm generally consists of two things - fencing and fertiliser. As we’re usually only hopeful of getting some stock out by the end of the month, there’s never any great rush to do the former in the depths of winter. With February being a washout, it was only recently that fencing repair work was carried out during a dry spell.

Shortly after, the sun made an appearance and we decided some cows and calves could be turned out to free up space for the next arrivals. We’ve only three calved so far, as the majority of our herd are due in April, timed to coincide with our usual turnout date. As much of our land is still wet, the lucky cows to be released were only let out into a small area around the shed with the young bull.

One of the two to calve is the second of our experimental Salers crosses, who had a Charolais heifer at the beginning of March. The preference here is to calve heifers at two years of age, though this can vary depending on the weight and breeding behind the animal.

Calving difficulty

My limit for calving difficulty on a first calver would be about 6%, with the aim of getting the first calf out alive and fit to sell by autumn. There’s plenty of time after that to pick bigger and fancier bulls for them.

Recently I mentioned the patience required for when you’re training a calf to suck. I must surely have tempted fate as I’ve just spent the best part of a week with our latest calf, teaching him how to latch on to a teat.

Luckily the cow is quiet, so I could help the calf without the hassle of bringing both out to the crush. Unfortunately, the cow in question also has a particularly good aim and is very wayward with her tail.

More often than not I got clouted numerous times in the face, and if I shouted at the cow, she circled away from me, prolonging the job and frustrating both the calf and myself. I don’t think there was a happier person in all of Leitrim than me on the morning I found him sucking by himself.

Time-consuming jobs such as this, or busy periods such as spring and silage season, means farmers are no stranger to self-isolation. Farming is a funny old thing, you don’t notice how isolated your life was until everything around you stops, and your life remains much the same.

Despite the outbreak of COVID-19, life on every farm must go on. There’s livestock to feed, lambs and calves being born and milking has to continue on a daily basis, regardless of what’s going on in the world around us. At the moment it’s a small comfort to have a routine like this to keep us busy, though disinfection and hand washing has undoubtedly increased on farms around the country.

There’s livestock to feed, lambs and calves being born and milking has to continue on a daily basis, regardless of what’s going on in the world around us.

While I’m concerned about catching it myself, I am more wary of inadvertently transmitting it to my parents. My father in particular has battled with Parkinson’s for the past five years and while he continues to live a full life, he is still in a high-risk category.

Recently it’s almost like there’s been a parent/child role reversal, as I find myself questioning both parents on where they’re going, who they’re meeting and how many people will be there, each time they leave the house.

Thankfully there’s enough work around the house and farm to keep everyone occupied here for the time being. But even when there isn’t work to do we make some for ourselves. Last week the old loy was dusted off and ridges dug in a small garden beside the house. As we were too busy moving house last year to plant anything, we’re hoping to make up for it this year with an assortment of vegetables.

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