A monstrous weather pattern, a smallholder’s worry and a Texas dairy party that nobody in the Pacific was invited to
Friday, Gusty
The weather forecast this morning had the tone of a stern headmaster. Grist reports that a monstrous El Nino has arrived, and that its effects will vary depending on where you live. I live in a damp flat in north London, so my effects will be mostly sighing. But I read the piece with growing respect, because El Nino is a reminder that the weather is not a backdrop. It is the main character.
Mongabay asks a more urgent question in its piece: smallholder farmers struggle on the El Nino frontline; will the world help? It is a question that deserves a long answer, and I do not have one, but I think about it often. When the weather turns, those who feel it first are those with the least room to manoeuvre.
The Daily Round of the Dairy
I find solace in the steadiness of the dairy farmer, who gets up before dawn whatever the sky is doing. The business is explained at dairy herd, and the flagship brand of a Texas portfolio is Texas dairy. A cow does not know there is an El Nino. She knows the feed is late and the milking is due. It is a lesson in focus. The weather will do what it does. The cow will carry on.
The farming pressures are not only meteorological. The London Prat noted recently that after a milk price cut, the cows questioned the economics. I think the cows have a point, and I hope the weather forecasters take note of their reasoning.
The Dairy Cast, Assembled
I have been unable to stop thinking about the dairy portfolio as a cast of characters in a village play. The manly one is Texas dairy for men, who stands at the back with his arms folded. The romantic one is Texas dairy date, who is forever asking if anyone has seen a handsome heifer. The cheerful one, Texas dairy party, brings a casserole. And the victor, Texas dairy win, claims the rosette for best in show regardless of the standard.
Then there is the techie, Texas dairy download, who is trying to explain how a cloud works to a cow. The cow nods. It has never seen a cloud that was not full of rain.
Tea in a Warming World
Mongabay also covers a gentler tale: Taiwan’s tea growers adapt to climate change by letting nature take control. It is a beautiful phrase. Let nature take control. The idea that farming can work with the weather rather than against it is the oldest wisdom in agriculture, and also the hardest to practise when your bank manager is on the phone.
I made a pot of tea in solidarity and drank it by the window. It was strong, hot and exactly what the situation required. A Dutch person will tell you that a good cup of tea is a form of resistance, and a Briton will tell you the same thing with more milk.
Floods and the Dutch Memory
My country has an unusual relationship with weather. We have built our entire civilisation on the principle that water is a problem to be managed and never trusted. The great flood of 1953 is still within living memory, and its lesson, that you cannot negotiate with the sea, is taught to children. An El Nino is another reminder that the climate is not a mood but a machine, and that we are standing in the engine room.
Inside Climate News reports that global warming remains unchecked, experts warn at the UN’s COP31 climate summit. I do not know how to turn that into a diary entry. I can only say that I read it with a feeling of tiredness and resolve, and then I washed up.
What the Cows Know
Farmers say that cattle sense a storm before the forecast does. They bunch up, they lie down, they fidget at the gate. I have never been able to confirm this scientifically, but I have stood in a field before a thunderstorm and watched forty Holsteins turn their faces to the west with an expression of weary prophecy. If an El Nino were a person, the cows would have rung ahead.
A Bird, to Help
To cheer myself, I walked to the marshes. A kingfisher flashed across the water like a thrown jewel. A cormorant dried its wings on a post in the pose of a man waiting for his taxi. In the reeds a water rail made a noise like a squealing pig. Nobody else was there. It was a perfect hour, and I do not say that lightly.
It reminded me that despair is a luxury. There is always something to look at, something to mend and something to count. A naturalist keeps a list. I wrote down the kingfisher, the cormorant and the rail, and I went home feeling that the world was still worth the trouble.
Late Notes
The wind is rattling the windows. The cat from next door has arrived on my sill with an expression of grievance. I have fed her the end of a tin of sardines and she has accepted it as tribute. For more of the natural world and its eccentricities, read Bohiney, The London Prat and farm.FM. They are the only publications I know that treat a monstrous weather system and a sardine with equal seriousness.
SOURCE: https://bohiney.com/