A Bitter/Sweet Week 14th Sep 2009

A Bitter/Sweet Week

Sunday, after a week of contrasts, found me on the high moor on a bright, still morning,

At the end of a"curate's egg" of a week, Sunday found me on the high moor to locate the cattle I had not seen for four days.  The week really had been bitter/sweet, with a visit to the herd in Wiltshire revealing that a young cow had died of peritonitis, following a premature calving, probably brought on by stress in handling for testing.  If that was not bad enough, I was also told that a significant number of spring-calving cows had failed to get in-calf again -- costly in terms of interrupted production; left Pewsey feeling very gloomy.  And then the "sweet".  On to Kempton Park where our home-bred horse, Perfect Silence(Dilly), was on a retrieval mission, following an inexplicably dismal showing at Newmarket four weeks ago.  Unlike last time, she was alert in the parade ring, and raring to run.  She started well, and at a swinging pace, took the lead and kept it until the final furlong, when the other runners came at her, and she was headed.  She would have none of it however, and running her heart out, she quickened again to get up on the line and prevail by a "head" -- magic.

Following that, and two busy days at market, a gorgeous morning on the moor was just the place for some quiet reflection. Nineteen cows and calves were close to hand, on the sweet grass by the Metherall brook; the remainder were not to be seen, probably on the forest. higher up.  A walk up to the ridge on the skyline revealed them just out of immediate view on a bank below the stone row.  Sat on a rock with the cattle around, grazing or sighing where they lay. 1500 feet up, bright sun and barely a sound; a kestrel was quartering the hillside below, while further down the valley a young buzzard was meewing.  A mile below, the first group of cattle, small, and shiny black, were clearly visible, while beyond the boundary wall on the far hillside the mown hayfields that that I had been waiting for 6 weeks to cut -- now the weather was set fair.  Away to the North, under an hazy fret, the outline of Exmoor, and behind me, over the ridge to the west, the prison, and Cornwall.  

Dartmoor has shown some gems recently; last week a fine red deer stag (unfortunately he saw me first, as I was walking into the sun), and also a peregrine falcon, which although about, are not often seen.  Sunday lunch was all the more to be enjoyed following such therapy.