As a small farm, we have animals but not in the capacity of animals as livestock. There are plenty of farms that distinguish themselves as poultry or cattle farms or hog farms but we focus on the things we grow. I have nothing but respect for farmers that specialize in livestock, but it’s not for me. We eat chicken eggs and it ends there. We have turkeys but at Thanksgiving we take pictures with them and joke about how lucky they are to live here. Really it’s not a joke. As far as farm animal lives, our farm is the place you want to be. You’ll never be eaten but you could be pet or spoiled to death. The rest of the time feels like a Disney movie.
Winter is probably the only time the animals here are anything less than happy. In the fall, grass doesn’t regrow as fast and as it gets colder, it just stops growing and then every large animal transitions to a diet mainly of hay. It’s not great. It’s like getting home from a cruise and getting military or astronaut rations instead. There’s a palate adjustment and a mood adjustment that matches. It’s this time of year that I am most grateful animals don’t talk. Maybe I should say I am grateful that I don’t speak donkey, cow or horse. I’m pretty certain there is some cursing when the grass is gone.
Fresh grass not only tastes better, but it’s like the difference between the coffee you could make at home vs. Starbucks. Something about having to go get the Starbucks somehow makes it taste better. The effort it takes to go get it or the travel time gives you more time to anticipate and when you taste it, it must prepare your tastebuds to like it more. I’m guessing. I think fresh grass is like Starbucks for horses. They have to move to different locations to get it and there’s the looking for the new location and the time thinking about needing to move and then the satisfaction of getting it finally. Horses on a green pasture is the epitome of a farm scene. They are happy and content as long as there is green grass. Everyone is familiar with the saying ‘the grass is always greener….’. Yeah, horses wrote that.
Winter and a non-stop diet of boring hay sucks. I get it. Cows don’t seem to care as much as horses, but the horses don’t like it. What they don’t like even more in being kept in a smaller enclosed area for winter to keep them from trampling and condemning their beloved pasture to death by compressing it from all the monotonous standing in place. Confining them probably only makes the fact that they only get hay even more dreadful.
As the weather warms, and in their small paddock, our four horses look longingly over the fence the their not-ready-yet buffet. They can see it. They can smell it. As their winter hair begins to shed and the aroma of those baby grass sprouts dance in their nostrils, they grow short tempered and impatient with the humans who deny them their favorite food. Like every parent knows, it’s no fun having to say no and be the bad guy.
Days and days, lead to weeks and weeks of watching and giving us mean looks. The horses sometimes even team up with the bored cow to push a fence over to give them an excuse to get to the grass early. (That really happened). Not this year. The fence got extra attention and repair in the last year of Covid. The tension and mood of the herd kept building for the sake of giving the grass more time to grow.
Last weekend we had Friday rain. You can’t reopen a pasture just after rain. The new sprouts aren’t strong enough or tough enough to withstand the responsibility of growing and holding soil together and also getting smushed by 1500 pound animals. It’s too much. You can destroy months of pampering, reseeding and regrowth by reopening too soon. It’s a mistake many first time parents make: giving in to a temper tantrum only creates more troubles. I’ve done that before and now I’m committed to the untenable role of defending new grass. I take all the long looks and profanity muttered in their equine tongue. It’s what I have to do.
By Sunday, and with the help of Mother Nature, it was finally time. We walked the pasture and the carpet of grass was dry and durable. The density was thick and resilient. Without any other reason to postpone, we agreed it was ready. The horses lined up at the fence line with focused eyes and pawing feet, affirmed that indeed it was the end of hay. Patience with beautiful grass only feet away was wearing thin. After months of being the bad guy, I look forward to changing roles. No drumroll or fanfare, just opening the gate. From hell back to heaven in seconds. Relationship repaired, faith restored and four horses, 3 miniature donkeys and two cows race to get their first bites of Spring. It’s a beautiful sight. They race and kick and play and celebrate the return of their beloved grass and the contentment they can count on for the rest of summer. It’s a thrill to be able to open that gate and in so doing, make such a huge difference for doing so little.
As years go by, I think I look forward to this ritual just as much as they do. It symbolizes something so vital and vibrant after dark cold days. I can hardly wait to give them what they’ve been waiting for, as well as the pleasure it gives me to see them happy again. The thrill of the new pasture. It’s a marker that we’ve gone back to everything being good and right in the world again, and this year, it’s meant more than I would have ever imagined.
Happy Spring everybody! The pasture is green.:-)
Kuhs Farm 