Ten years ago, the real estate agent brought us to a derelict dairy farm. He set us down at the top of a modest incline, under a river red gum, where the house came to be built. ‘Just look at that feed. You could run a thousand head of cattle on this property.’
Today I slashed that barley grass. Through winter and early spring, barley grass provides some sort of feed. The sheep have certainly fattened on it. But now it is a nuisance.
In late spring, the heads harden off. When young they are juicy and supple. The stiff older heads catch in the throat, irritate the eyes, snare in the wool and scar the hide.
I slashed the abundant crop.
It obstructed the slasher and in lifting the mower, I left mounds of cut grass dotted about the front paddock. Such a waste.