The morning sun in the east and clear blue skies show west Cork in its best light. There are great views from the youngstock yard as it’s about 200m from the highest point in the area which my grandfather referred to as “the tower”.

The Napoleonic-era structure officially known as Galley Head signal tower was built as an early warning system in the early 1800s and from its vantage point it has commanding views of the southern coastline.

It looks east across Clonakilty Bay to the Seven Heads Peninsula, or Barryroe as it would be more widely known as. Facing west, the vista is much broader.

Toe Head, the eastern end of Roaring Water Bay is relatively close and Cape Clear peeks out from just behind it.

Much further west, the flat top of Hungry Hill on the Beara Peninsula is visible. About half way between the two stands Mount Gabriel close to Ballydehob and it’s on top of this that a modern warning system can be found. A radar station.

Rough patch

On clear mornings the pair of white spherical radar installations stand out against the brown mountain. I had occasion to view them closer than usual not once or twice, but four times over the past week as my textbook calving season hit a rough patch and it necessitated the journey west to Collins Brothers'' knackery near Ballydehob.

Sunshine, good views en route, and the fact that all four cases had no connection were of some consolation.

Prior to last week, it was a textbook spring and a calving season, minimal interventions and only one calf lost. That was a heifer who had a calf with a leg down and it was born dead. Tuesday morning, a calf who had both legs down when calving was gone. He had sucked the cow but always struggled getting his back legs under himself.

On Thursday morning, the latest calf to be born went from being a bundle of energy to lying out flat and straining. There were two old cows in together and I’m not sure if they were over protective of their own calves but I suspected this one had got a belt. Whatever happened she passed away later that day. Twice the car was faced west.

A cow roaring mad

Things happen in threes I thought to myself, so what’s going to happen next? A cow roaring mad Saturday morning triggered me and when I went out the field to investigate her calf was dead.

Small consolation but at least that’s the three things out of the way. It wasn’t. To round things off, a cow had a large dead calf on Sunday morning. At least that saved me three days on a row on the road.

The run of bad luck is tempered by the fact that it’s outside the back door and a mere inconvenience in the greater scheme of life. Back in 2013, rotavirus hit and there was a 10-day spell where there was a vet in the yard at least once a day and you were nervous to open the door of the shed to see what disaster was ahead now.

An abiding memory from then is that it always seemed to be dark. What else would you expect in February, I suppose. That spring triggered a change to later calving. As inconvenient as the past week was, I’m glad it was this spring it happened and not last year where the weather was appalling and it seemed impossible to catch a break.

Every farm gets a bad run of some form at some point. It was last week for me this year I’ve no doubt someone else is this week. Nature has a funny way of balancing things out.