If I didn’t have a wee baby, I had all the time in the world and money was no problem, I would build a three-wire perimeter fence with big ass vine posts spaced ten meters apart. Zap the top two and ground the bottom. After personally slamming in hundreds of posts I would sit back with my glass of champagne (RM of course … CM will do) bought directly from the producer and giggle my way to a wonderful night of snoozing.
But I don’t have that luxury and I’m left with a long term plan of getting to that blissful moment. There are thankfully a lot of fences around the farm that we’ve been using. They are typical French farm fences. Though it appears that a wire is hanging off little, wooden posts closely spaced, what you’re seeing is a magical illusion. The truth is the wire is actually holding the posts vertical. The cows seem to adhere to the Gascon ways, but I’m not convinced. Brent and I built a fence around Colorado that has big-ass vine posts and two wires that were never challenged by the herd. Even when pressured by one of the dogs, they dutifully respected the power of the fence and stopped as quickly as they started. Now, the girls are in Florida, which is rampant with teeny, tiny little posts and an oooooooollllld steel wire wrought with rust and hacks.
I worry about them getting out, but they’ve been the best cows ever. We’ve not had a break out in a very long time. Every once in awhile a heifer will get to the other side of our strip-grazing plan, but that’s to be expected. A girl can’t help but follow her heart to greener pasture. We shoo her back in or get the herd over with her during the next move (which happens daily). I’m the type of person who enjoys the benefits of a backup solution. My three-wire perimeter dream is my belt-and-suspenders*.
*this is a phrase I picked up from Brent who (I think) picked up from Joel Salatin who picked it up from who knows …
This is Brent mowing hardcore the old cornfield. He should elaborate on his field plans because it’s damn geeky and timing is everything … especially when you’re in the middle of a drought.
The old cornfield is called Hardcore? I thought it was called Nebraska!
heh. very funny. Though “hardcore” is a good name for something on the farm. bull? next year IS an ‘h’ year.
Oh, right! “mowing hardcore” was meant to be taken literally. I figured that the pic was unrelated.
sigh. oh jaygo.