At this point in the year, when the\u00a0growing season seems so far away, last summer\u2019s hay harvest is most remembered, sometimes rued. The\u00a0hottest summer followed\u00a0the driest spring in over 100 years in southern England. And although making hay while the sun shines is genuinely crucial, rain is critical to growth. Last year produced a very poor harvest, and hay is now running out.<\/p>\n
Traditionally, two cuts are made, in late spring and summer, doubling the yield. It\u2019s an ancient, ingenious and hopeful system, and in the case of meadow hay (rather than single-species ryegrass) it benefits nature, removing nutrient\u2011laden grass and encouraging biodiversity. But long-term studies show that as our weather patterns change, grass-growing potential has declined greatly<\/a> over the last 80 years.<\/p>\n Low hay stocks in the barn, which are protected from the elements to a degree. Photograph: Nicola Chester<\/p>\n Last year, many farms could only make one cut of a thin, drought-stricken sward. It didn\u2019t grow back. To compound the issue, many began using hay as feed in summer. Olly Morris, a hay merchant in nearby Thatcham, warned early that yields were down 60%. Prices for small bales, usually \u00a34-\u00a35, have doubled to \u00a38-\u00a310, reflecting the haulage costs from further afield.<\/p>\n I open another bale to feed our chestnut mare. I\u2019ve lost my bale cutter knife, so I pick up the orange twine from the previous bale, find the knot in it, tuck it under the strings of the new one and seesaw it till the string breaks, and the bale bursts open in sweet-smelling summer goodness. A quick sniff tells me there\u2019s no trace of mould. The dog attends. Once, a tennis ball rolled out from a sprung bale, and she\u2019s remained ever hopeful.<\/p>\n Horses stand beside the hay trailer in a field of parched grass, summer 2025. Photograph: Nicola Chester<\/p>\n The horse munches her hay rhythmically, pulling it from a stuffed hay net, which makes it last longer, mimicking grazing and preventing wastage and trampling. Stems and seedheads fall to the floor inside her stable: there\u2019s timothy grass<\/a>, cocksfoot<\/a> and the dried, still-fragrant petals of bedstraws<\/a> that she\u2019ll lip up later.<\/p>\n It is 5.02pm and still light. Outside, a mistle thrush carols into\u00a0the wind and rain. It\u2019s been such a wet January, but perhaps there\u2019ll be early warmth, the muddy fields will recover, and the\u00a0grass will grow again.<\/p>\n