If you stand in our hay meadow on a warm summer's morning, you notice the sound before anything else. A shimmer of insects in flight, the whisper of grasses moving together in the wind. It's easy to overlook — but once you tune in, it's impossible to ignore. To me, it's the sound of balance returning.
That field — less than a single acre, tucked beside the River North Medwyn on our small organic smallholding — is growing towards its summer haymaking right now, and it is, if I'm honest, rather magnificent.
Colin and I began its restoration in March 2021, through a NatureScot-funded project called the Birds and Bees Project. The statistics that prompted us are sobering: traditional meadows have declined by 97% in recent decades, and Plantlife now estimates they cover barely 1% of the UK. Every surviving fragment matters.
Our starting point was deliberate, if counterintuitive. We grazed the field very hard with our Soay sheep to weaken the dominant rye grasses, scarified the ground, and over-seeded with a 16 grass and wildflower species native mix. Then we waited, and watched.
Every species in the seed mix germinated — but what truly astonished us was what arrived uninvited. Harebells, orchids, devil's-bit scabious, wild thyme, bird's-foot trefoil. The old seedbank had been sleeping in the soil all along, waiting for the right conditions. Our new management regime had simply given it permission to wake up.
We've also learned to use our animals as a management tool, alternating winters between our Soay sheep and our rare breed Bagot goats, each grazing the meadow differently and — we've discovered — each doing it good in their own way.
Last year, native breed and wildlife conservation experts visited and by then we had counted over 80 wildflower species in our meadow. They were delighted with the yellow rattle — the plant known in folklore as the meadow maker, which weakens competitive grasses to let wildflowers flourish — and declared it was doing exactly its job.
Right now the meadow is moving towards its most glorious: tall grasses, a carpet of flowers, and a density of insect life that still stops me in my tracks. In the early mornings when the dew is heavy, the whole field glitters with spider webs. Field voles and other small mammals thread their runs through the litter layer beneath the dense grasses.
Last summer we baled 125 bales of organic, species-rich meadow hay — more than half again of what we managed the year before. Graham, the local farmer who cut and baled it for us - called it the guid stuff. We were rather proud.
I should say: we are not experts and we have learned most of what we know by reading widely, meeting generous people, and paying close attention to what the land itself has to tell us. What five years of this meadow has taught us, more than anything, is that restoration is possible on even the smallest scale — if you are prepared to step back, observe, and let nature do most of the work.
If less than a single acre can hum with this much life, imagine what might happen if every farm — or garden, or verge, or school field — set aside even a small corner for nature. Meadow makers, I've come to believe, come in all shapes and sizes.
Come and see for yourself. We're hosting a free farm walk — The Making of a Meadow — at The Lint Mill on Saturday 4 July, 10.30am to 4pm. Parking is available on site. Whether you farm hundreds of acres or tend a back garden, you'd be very welcome. Click on the TicketTailor link to reserve your place.
