There can’t be a more soothing linctus than sitting in a field of buttercups on a sunny afternoon.
This springs bizarre weather seems to have bothered the buttercups little. Our field is swathed with them.
We do little to our meadow, it gets cut for hay* (or haylage) depending on the weather by a neighbouring farmer, he ‘mucks’ and harrows it as required. And puts sheep on it to graze it for a few weeks each year. We pull out a few docks and clumps of nettles each year; but other than that, nature takes its course.
If it were a commercially farmed field I’m sure it would have been ploughed and re-sown by now, the luxury of lolling around in the buttercups I suspect is not a financial option. In the photo below you can see another field across the valley that would appear to be managed in a similar way to ours, if the yellow haze of buttercups are an indicator that is.
I suppose we have a wild flower meadow, although in my head I think that would mean more diversity and less buttercups, I don’t know. I need to do a little research.
This year is the 150th anniversary of Manchester to Buxton railway line, look I’ve managed a shot of a train trundling up the valley (I was lolling around for quite awhile, as whilst it is a vital line, that fortunately escaped Beeching’s axe, its not a busy one)
* Hay from this field smells sweeter than anything Penhaligon’s could sell you.