The landscape around our house in now dotted with giant bags of silage. These great ton heavy cheese wheels sit in the fields waiting for the farmer and his tractor to come along pluck them up and stack them in the yard.
I walk one Sunday afternoon with my wife and Little D past a farmyard full of them, a brisk wind has whipped up the loose strands of the plastic wrap, they dance in the wind, flap and fall, flap and fall, repeat the process as each successive bluster comes by. The landscape around Pig Row has its patterns, has its schedule to keep, the spring winds give way to wild flower meadows, buttercups and cow parsley, then red clover, and then finally heather. Then the grass grows and bows, is cut and shorn, tossed and twisted, dried and wrapped, then stacked and stored in groaning barns. The end of the growing season is upon us, take heed of the farmers and their silage, stock up, and keep well fed this winter.