news from a small corner of far away

by William Castle of Shropshire, UK

Dear Lynn, dear Everyone,

It has been a year since my last ‘letter from far away,’ and I thought one or two of you might like an update.

It has been a different year this year, as my focus has been more on the house than on outside activities, though I still grew a garden and cut the hay. The reason is that our 1860s brick-built house has needed some work for some time, the boiler was on its last legs, most of the windows were rotten and those in the original part of the house were still single glazed. Added to that, the staircase was rotting at the bottom where it was resting on tile placed on soil and with the inefficiency of brick at keeping the heat in, there was plenty to do.

We started the work on the house in April, so there was time beforehand to get the vegetable garden dug over and the small plants started, the plots in the field ploughed and worked down and to get the potatoes in the ground. The first period of destruction, removing the old plaster and digging up the ground floors, coincided with warm dry weather, which, with little rain, pushed the maturity of the grass, so much so that when a clear week of weather was forecast at the end of May, I cut my hay. For us here in England, that is very early, mid-June being the first time you would usually even start to think about it. Although it seemed all wrong, the checklist of prerequisites all added up, a period of warm settled weather ahead, the grass and clover in flower, and due to leaving it a few inches high in late autumn, the crop was quite thick enough to get a reasonable crop. Also, Lucy was fit, having daily dragged sledge loads of rubble to the track round the field, so we cut hay. As usual, I cut a few rounds the evening before the main cutting to spread out this hard job for a single horse, but in fact there turned out to be little hurry as the weather stayed fair for two weeks. It did, however, take a day longer than usual to get the hay dry, and then it was all done, safe in the barn.

It was a good thing too, not only because hay making coincided with a slack time in the building work, but because in mid-June it started to rain. Around that time, my brother, who runs a few cattle on rented ground, contacted his local contractor to get his hay cut, but in mid-August he rang him up again to say not to bother, he had just turned the cattle into that field because during that time it had hardly ever stopped raining, neither here or there, certainly not long enough to make hay except on tripods or drying fences, and it carried on raining right through August. In early September there was a change, the second week it was 10 degrees C [about 15 degrees F] warmer than August, hot and sunny, so some people squeezed in some hay making then, but I expect much of it got baled and wrapped for haylage instead. The continuous wet and the need to work on the house has meant the weeds have had a field day this year, and the growing areas are the worst they have ever been. We still have had produce, though the cool weather prevented us from getting any of the zucchini family, and even the onions were small. Once again, since early October, the soil has been so wet I haven’t been able to cultivate where I lifted the potatoes, to uncover and gather the rest which I am sure I missed. Next year I hope and intend it to be better, but I suspect that is going to be dependent on me getting to do jobs at the ideal time rather than relying on the hope of good weather to come.

The other news is old news, and sad news, because after a summer at grass last year, old Molly was even thinner in August than she had been in March, so last autumn I got the vet to come with his gun and shoot her. Those who have or have had workmates like Molly will know just how painful a decision this is, but it was the right thing to do. When the vet came, I tied Lucy to the barn, out of sight, and led Molly to within easy reach of the field gate, gave the nod to the vet, gave Molly a scratch on her neck and on her forehead, and while I was still collected, said ‘as soon as you like.’ Within a few seconds he had pulled the trigger and Molly was dead. I moved the electric fence to include Molly’s body in the area where Lucy could get to her and once the vet’s car had pulled away, turned Lucy loose. She came up the track, looking suspicious and went through to where Molly was lying, looked around, sniffed her a few times, grazed a bit, looked again, and carried on grazing. When I went back to check on her an hour later, she was lying down, head up, a few yards away.

Later in the day, a man came to take the body away, once I had taken Lucy out of sight again. Afterwards, there was no calling, as sometimes happened when I brought Molly in and left Lucy in the field, which is why I organised it as I did, getting horses used to new things being best done in steps that a horse can cope with. Nowadays especially, I am sure that plenty of people would think I did it all wrong, that Lucy shouldn’t have been allowed to see Molly’s dead body and that Molly should have been ‘euthanised’ with drugs, have been ‘put to sleep’ gently, in fact when I spoke to the receptionist at the veterinary surgery, that was how it was presented, in a subdued caring voice, avoiding any hard words that said it as it is. But that was not what I needed, I needed a straightforward factual discussion of how, why and where, what was possible, what was easy, what was best for the horses, which is exactly what I got from the vet who came and did the job, who, like me, is around sixty. His view coincided with mine, that especially with a big animal that takes some time to die with drugs, is that it is more humane to do it instantly. Having held the lead rope when Molly’s halfsister was shot and having seen a dog needing a second injection, this time into the heart to get it to die, I know which way I prefer. No doubt, seeing a huge animal instantly drop to the ground is a bigger shock for us humans, but this is one of the many times when we shouldn’t put ourselves first. The vet’s younger colleagues, apparently, all use drugs in this situation; more’s the pity.

Afterwards, I didn’t feel like working Lucy much, but needing to get things done, soon enough she was back in harness, every time we worked together lessening my hurt. And then I faced a decision, whether to get another horse. For Lucy, having a companion would definitely be better, but at my age and with no-one to follow on, do I want to start another horse, especially as I can do the work I need to do with just one? I haven’t decided yet, but as Lucy seems settled on her own, perhaps that is my answer, at least for now. But these thoughts do raise the question of continuity, of who will follow, who will know how to adjust a mowing machine, fit a collar or make hay on tripods. In thinking this, I know I am showing my age, but it can’t be wrong to hope that the next generations will do better than us, in part because they have the skills, useful skills that can only really be passed on by watching and doing?

Take care,
William