“How can you tell if a sheep is zinc deficient just by looking at it?”
This question brought a room of 150 people to stunned silence. Many were farmers I hugely admire for their knowledge of our natural environment and passion for sustainable food. But none of us could answer the question.
I was attending a conference at Althorp House, the magnificent country home of the earl and countess Spencer and the childhood home of the late Princess Diana. Walking down corridors trodden by Nelson Mandela, Winston Churchill and royalty throughout the centuries, my fellow Gareths (readers of my previous columns will know exactly whom I mean!) and I were warmly welcomed by Countess Spencer (introduced informally as Karen). She encouraged us to make full use of every room, from the picture gallery lined with stunning paintings to one of her favourites, the library, which holds 10,000 books. We didn’t need asking twice—we explored the Marlborough room, which has a table seating 42 people, the billiard room, and the great dining room.
I’ve never studied in more beautiful surroundings. But far from being a glitzy affair, we spent two days getting deep down and dirty in the world of soil, on a course that took me to new levels of geekery. We were led by Nicole Masters, a confident and supremely knowledgeable Kiwi, who is in my opinion the world expert on agricultural soils. She had flown in from Montana to address us at Althorp, a perfect setting for her since she’s farming royalty.
For those readers who would struggle to fill the back of a postage stamp with their knowledge of soil, let me tell you: there is a huge, exciting world beneath our feet, with a hectare (10,000 square metres) of soil containing an average of 1,000kg of earthworms, 1,700kg of bacteria, and 2,700kg of fungi. During our stay we were immersed in ecological holobionts and humates, learning about everything from potassium to protozoa, cows to compost tea, microbes to mycorrhizae, weeds to worms.
A key theme of our lessons was the importance of manure, because a healthy soil ecosystem is dependent on dung from herbivores—cows, sheep, deer and hares. My biology teacher at school was, it seems, correct when he said “there are two key factors in biology; one is poo and the other is reproduction.” Thanks, Mr Earl.
We discovered that plants themselves are not vegan, emitting a liquid from their roots to explode microbe bodies before absorbing their nutrients. And we learnt why our joints creak when we stand up: a boron deficiency.
Science is amazing, and so are nature and soil and the whole environment around us. I wish our politicians could see soils as farmers do. I wish those pushing factory foods could understand the benefits to the planet (and ourselves) from soil health. I wish that all of them could visit a farm run by people who understand what it takes to produce food regeneratively, rather than in ways that degenerate our most precious resource. There is no substitute for getting down to ground level, running your fingers through that gorgeous chocolate cake-like humus and filling your lungs with petrichor. I hunger for a world where decisions are made by those who understand the workings of the complex underground ecosystem, rather than those only hungry for re-election and who are “tired of experts”.
I’m also saddened that the national narrative casts the cow as the enemy of the climate. I feel that cows should continue to play a part in the ecosystem of our richest soils, which are highly effective in removing greenhouse gases from the atmosphere. I’m concerned that much of the population think that farmers adversely impact the environment. Spoiler alert: we did, unknowingly, in the past, but we were instructed by successive governments to do so to keep your grandparents alive. As a farmer of today I know that, in rebuilding our soils, we rebuild the nation and rescue the planet.
Oh, and apparently—prepare to be amazed—for some breeds, you can tell if a sheep is zinc deficient if its white wool grows slower than its black wool.
