Silage
Outside it is raining. Nothing odd about that. This is Wales after all. If it's not raining then it's just gearing up for the next shower. The difference with this downpour is that I welcome it with open arms. I feel almost compelled to wander out onto the lawn and embrace the wetness as only a dachshund truly knows how.
For this morning I can breathe.
Clefyd yr gwair, they call it in Welsh. Sickness of the grass. Hayfever. Misery. There are endless words for the suffering that summer brings. And there's no worse time around here than when they start making silage.
My eyes itch like there's a hundred tiny insects crawling around in them. But I have learned not to itch them. Oh no. Do that and they'll swell up like I've been nine rounds with Mike Tyson (except I understand he's a bit of a pussy now). My nose is both blocked and yet runny - as if that were supposed to physically possible. And every five minutes I have a spine-threatening sneezing spasm that can last right up until the next one starts. My sinuses hurt like there's a party going on up there and my throat feels like I've been drinking battery acid.
Sleep is not an easy thing at this time of year. The silage making frenzy goes on through the night if necessary. If the 'beep beep beep' of the reversing warning on the tractor weren't enough, the sticky heat and breathing difficulties are sure to make any slumber I do manage to steal light in the extreme.
But there is some small relief. The worst thing that can happen to your grass, between cutting it and getting it into the silage pit, is for it to rain. Therefore, with the inevitability of mountains, as soon as the grass is cut, it will rain. And for a few short hours, or maybe a day, I have a little relief from the torment of summer.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going out to get wet.
For this morning I can breathe.
Clefyd yr gwair, they call it in Welsh. Sickness of the grass. Hayfever. Misery. There are endless words for the suffering that summer brings. And there's no worse time around here than when they start making silage.
My eyes itch like there's a hundred tiny insects crawling around in them. But I have learned not to itch them. Oh no. Do that and they'll swell up like I've been nine rounds with Mike Tyson (except I understand he's a bit of a pussy now). My nose is both blocked and yet runny - as if that were supposed to physically possible. And every five minutes I have a spine-threatening sneezing spasm that can last right up until the next one starts. My sinuses hurt like there's a party going on up there and my throat feels like I've been drinking battery acid.
Sleep is not an easy thing at this time of year. The silage making frenzy goes on through the night if necessary. If the 'beep beep beep' of the reversing warning on the tractor weren't enough, the sticky heat and breathing difficulties are sure to make any slumber I do manage to steal light in the extreme.
But there is some small relief. The worst thing that can happen to your grass, between cutting it and getting it into the silage pit, is for it to rain. Therefore, with the inevitability of mountains, as soon as the grass is cut, it will rain. And for a few short hours, or maybe a day, I have a little relief from the torment of summer.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going out to get wet.
Comments
I feel your pain.