Harriet Cowan Reflects on Responsibility, Land and Why “Good Fences” Make All the Difference

In the second of a three-month exclusive column for Farmers Guardian, Clarkson’s Farm star Harriet Cowan talks about coming full-circle back to farming and how the industry is part of who she is

It’s official, I’m ready for winter to be over. I know spring is right around the corner but it just feels that little bit harder to get out of bed in the morning when I can hear the rain pelting against my bedroom window, knowing I have to work outside all day in the cold.

Oh well, good job I got some new waterproofs for Christmas.

The idea of spring is exciting, but it’s one of those seasons that creeps in quietly, as each day stays lighter a couple of minutes more than the last.

The birds start to wake you up again in the morning, and there’s that familiar feeling in your stomach saying right then, here we go again. For farmers, winter is about sticking it out, getting your head down and pushing through, whereas spring is about gearing up and getting ready for the silly season. By the time February rolls around it feels like time’s flying away and soon the sheep will be lambing and cows calving. Time is running out for hedge cutting, hopefully there’ll be no more frosts for muck spreading (well, that’s if we have a warm spring, fingers crossed) and there’s still machinery to service and fences to fix that didn’t survive the winter. It’s the season of preparation.

The work that’s done in spring decides how the rest of the year will pan out.

On our farm, February is the month that machinery comes in for the proper once over – not the rushed checks you do mid-season, but the honest kind where you fix what you’ve been ignoring since summer.

There’s something grounding about this kind of work. Grease under your nails, oil stains on your clothes, knowing that soon, you’ll be spending endless days on this machine.

Then there’s fencing – my least favourite job and it feels never ending.

You bodge it over the warmer months, whilst the animals are out, then in winter you walk your field and think ‘that post has had it and that wires not going to keep anything in’ and then suddenly you have a hole 100m wide.

It’s unglamorous work, but good fences are a farmer’s dream. Knowing you can turn in a rook of sheep and have trust that they can’t get out, well. there’s no better feeling.

And then there’s the animals. Sheep need scanning, hoping all that work during tupping time was worth it.

This year we separated the ewes into three groups so we could turn out different tups to different groups of ewes. We had a group of mule crosses that went to the new Charollais tup, the Texel crosses went to the Cheviot tup and then the shearlings went to the Charmoise tup as, in theory, he should produce smaller lambs.

So, when we scan, we will find out which tup was on his A-game.

This week’s job is to stock up the medicine cupboard in time for lambing and calving because I am leaving the family in charge of it this year, as I’m off to go lambing in Scotland. I know, I’m crazy. I think if I don’t go this year, I’ll never go so that’s the plan.

I don’t know if every farmer feels this way, but spring to me feels bit like a reset – longer days mean a little more energy and a lot more tolerance. You notice it in yourself and those around you; more conversation in the yard, more planning over cups of tea and even a few smiles here and there – except from dad, of course.

Hope is powerful and it’s what most farmers run off at this time of year. But the coming season has always felt like a reminder of why I chose this career: it’s physical, demanding and sometimes relentless, but it’s real and you get to see the results of your hard work from winter, keeping the stock in good health for them to have babies and for you to become a sleep-deprived midwife for a few weeks.

Last year I slept in a caravan in the lambing shed and lambed 24/7 for around three weeks – it was freezing. So, in Scotland, working only during the day and getting a house and a bed sounds like bliss although I’ve a funny feeling it won’t all be.

Anyway, on that note, that’s me off to local agricultural supplier to stock up on lambing bands, vet lube and marker spray.