September 29th – Jockey Meadows and the surrounding farmland are shrugging on their Autumn jacket now; the colours are moving from greens and golds to taupe and dark brown. The crops have been harvested, and I expect soon these fields will be ploughed.
This is the sadness of the time of year for me; not yet 7pm, and getting dark; the colours of summer to the colours of cold, and hibernation.
And so the seasons tick on. I can feel the darkness creeping in…
September 14th – My pals the coos are back at Jockey Meadows. It seems to be the same beef herd of young males that was there in early summer, and they seem to have settled back in well. They’re clearly enjoying the job – managing the meadow by grazing, browsing the scrub, churning the soil and spreading the cow-pat love.
Generally laid back and relaxed about life, they do tend to investigate anyone who comes to the field gate. Such gently nosey, lovely animals.
September 2nd – As I squelched past Jockey Meadows, I stopped to look for my mates the coos. I noted they were on the far side of the meadow as I rode past on my way to work, but they were too far away to make a good photo. On my return, they’d gone, which I was sad about.
However, this female pheasant seemed to be enjoying the opportunity for browsing presented by the freshly turned meadow. Off that she seems to have lost her tail-feathers. Didn’t seem to bother her, though.
August 26th – Returning late in a glorious golden hour, I stopped to look at Jockey Meadows, as I hadn’t done so for a while. The coos are long gone, and the harvest done and dusted, and the countryside here is wearing an autumnal jacket, everything in the late summer slumber that pervades this time of year.
The days are cooler, and drawing in. I’m going to be controversial here, but I don’t think it’s been a bad old summer.
July 14th – A desperately grey journey home in fine rain. Totally uninspiring. Even my mates the coos of Jockey Meadows have – literally – moved on to pastures new, and the water meadow is recovering from their attentions. It looks good, although you’d not think it at first glance. But a lot of the invasive fast growing stuff has been grazed out, there’s lots of soft earth and mud turned by the lads and plenty of poo to spread the fertile love.
I love this land. It’s like a barometer of the seasons, and even without the coos, it’s fascinating.
June 17th – I cycled past the coos of Jockey Meadows at half six. It was clearly knocking off time. It had been raining and everywhere was grey and dismal. But something about these gentle, inquisitive beasts always cheers me up.
Here’s to the coos.
June 3rd – I found myself riding home through Walsall Wood and on through Brownhills in a gorgeous golden hour. The coos of Jockey Meadows were waiting at the gate, and keen to investigate me as I stopped to take their picture.
On the canal, the greens are still magnificent, and something about the light and water interacted and made the evening precious.
May 28th – I came past Jockey Meadows in the early evening on my way home, in bright but cold sunshine. As usual, I cast my eyes to the right to see if there was anything interesting over the fields, and spotted three red deer – two does and a stag, all yearlings I think.
Looking healthy and better now the moult is nearly done with, they weren’t too phased by me and continued to browse the meadow.
A joyous sight, and one I’ll never tire of.
May19th – I set off in reasonable weather. The coos of Jockey Meadows knew best, and were lying down.
Always pay attention to the coos. They know what they’re doing.
(Thanks to Susan Marie Ward who got that ‘coos’ is the correct regional pronunciation for these dribbly, nosey, sagacious and truly meteorologically insightful bovines).
May 11th – This evening when I passed Jockey Meadows, the cattle were obligingly close to the field gate – and what handsome fellows they are. I think there are ten in total, and it looks like they’e been having a paddle in the mud. The work they do is essential – cropping fast growing species, churning the ground up and spreading the poo love.
They are collected in the evening, and I wondered if they were waiting for their lift, which raises again my occasionally mused question that they must regard this as work, and knock off at a set time.
Coos are more intelligent than we give them credit for, I feel.
Meanwhile, at the far side of the meadow, a small group of deer were loafing in the reeds. This place really is alive right now.
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