Despite having spent many a day in the past few years pulling ragwort from this field on the farm there is still an abundance of it, growing in large clumps amongst the grass and thistle. Looking out over the mass of yellow blooms it is somewhat disappointing that there are only the 4 of us – it’s going to be a busy day with few breaks and lots of bending.
With 8 cattle, the field is also liberally dotted with cow pats, so many that it is impossible to avoid them all. Many of the ragwort stems have also been trampled down so that it is necessary to trace the path of the stem from the flowerhead to where it disappears into the ground, often a couple of feet away.
It takes very little time before the first of the empty animal feed bags that we are using is bulging with the bright yellow bouquet. It’s a shame to have to clear these cheerfully bright native flowers – I can’t help but think that it would be better to just keep them under control – but they are toxic and there are a lot of them, so clear them we are required to do. I try not to look at the expanse of yellow that surround me, the small area that I have cleared or the fact that this is a big field for just 4 people. Instead, I haul the full bag back to the gate and help myself to an empty replacement, having left my ragfork to mark my position, although there is so much to go around that there’s no danger of encroaching onto someone else’s territory.
‘You can’t have it.’
‘But it’s in the feed bag, ergo (would a sheep use a word like 'ergo'?) it must be feed,’ it seems to be saying.
‘It’s toxic.’
‘But it’s in the feed bag.’
‘It’s not for you; you can’t have it’
‘But it’s in the feed bag.’
Why can’t it understand that the contents are bad for it, and more to the point why am I having a conversation with a sheep?