Last month, we made a choice on the farm in the midst of the spring drought. The grass was going to seed, risking the quality and amount of hay we could produce. We decided to “top” the meadows early and hope for rain rather than settling for a poor crop.
So far, it’s paying off. There has been rain, and the grass, stimulated by mowing, is at last swaying in the breeze. A late hay harvest now looks possible.
The drought, paradoxically, has brought a benefit. The grasses, so often dominant, have been suppressed, giving wildflowers a head start. The grazing pastures are no longer monocultures. This year, as horses swish flies, the fields are full of oxeye daisies, creating a landscape as bucolic as an Alfred Munnings painting. Also paying off is my prediction of a bumper orchid year. Wading through the wildflower meadows, I find bee orchid after bee orchid. Each has a pale pink, three-petalled flower with what looks like a fuzzy brown and yellow bee resting on it.
If this were southern Europe, a species called the long-horn bee would think this was a female, misled not just by appearance but by the mimicry of pheromones. He’d have a go at mating. Whether the male ever realises he’s been tricked into “pseudo-copulation” with a fake bee I don’t know, but either way, he has pollinated the plant. In the UK, the long-horn is so rare that the bee orchids self-pollinate.
Then I start finding pyramidal orchids everywhere in the meadow. On top of each long stem is a flower spike, packed full of tiny, delicate individual flowers. Each has that distinctive orchid shape, varying in colour from light pink to strong purple. These ones are such bright magenta they almost glow, and will be pollinated by long-tongued butterflies, and hawk moths, whose proboscis can reach 25mm long.
I pick a handful of the sainfoin fronds – loved by horses, naturally anti-inflammatory and anti-parasitic – and return to the stables where the leaves are gratefully munched. In the eaves, the baby swallows are also open mouthed, gaping and calling as the parent swoops in with food. I found a chick dead on the ground this morning, but three remain, looking more ready to fledge each day.
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