Marie Halicki, a newly established farmer in the French Alps shares with ARC2020 her fight against Bluetongue virus (BTV) in 2024.
To all those who have given everything. Who give everything. And who will continue, no matter what.
Being a livestock farmer sometimes borders on madness. The gentle madness of daily life, of time spent tending to animals, somewhat dreamily. Or the furious, unleashed madness, when facing weather conditions, hard times, and the blows of fate.
The end of summer was particularly harsh for the sheep, cows, and goats. Our girls were not spared.
Bluetongue virus (BTV) hit the herd hard in mid-August. I lost twelve animals out of sixty between August 28 and October 15, 2024. 20% of the herd, as statistics would say. We also lost two cows. The others, the survivors, lost a lot of weight, some had trouble moving. I had to help two ewes get up for a week. Two others completely shed their wool among brambles and tall grass. It’s November now and they’re just starting to get better.
We had to manage the disease while dealing with births, building fences, hay-making, and harvesting. Manage is too grand a word, actually. Hope, try, shout, cry, rage, give up, try again, scream more, fight. Relentlessly.
BTV is a virus. Antibiotics therefore have no direct effect on this disease. We can only “manage the symptoms”. We all tried the miracle remedies, far-fetched solutions, and experimental treatments to help our animals pull through as best they could. Homeopathy, herbs, anti-inflammatories, willow bark, aspirin, and the list goes on…
I oscillated between the sudden joy of seeing a ewe “bounce back” after using essential oils and the deepest despair of watching two others die with the same treatment. During the first five weeks when the disease hit the herd, the animals held strong. And I was quite proud of my girls. Despite the fever, mouth ulcers, mucus, facial swelling, they held on. Between August 8, when the first symptoms appeared, and September 9, only one animal died.
Morning and night I took their temperature, morning and night I gave the sick ones a mixture of essential oils and herbs. I thought I would make it through. That I would be among the small number of farmers where the disease had little impact.
The sixth week hit me like a sledgehammer. A ewe named Vanilla started wobbling. I brought her in with her three newly born lambs. The fever went down, disappeared. But Vanilla stopped eating. And after five days of care, she passed away. Two ewe lambs followed the same path the week after. Then Ambel, my old Ambel. My first ewe. I swore to the gods I would wring their necks myself if they took her. I heard their laughter, I think. And they took Ambel. Then Cerise, then the young ewe lambs.
12 animals. 20% of the herd, according to statistics.
Every morning, we had to hunch our shoulders, bracing for a likely blow to the ribs. A cruel twist of fate, the kind that knocks the wind out of you. Dead or not dead, this animal we’ve been treating for several days? In remission, this old ewe we care so much about? Or relapsing? Some were sick for three to four consecutive weeks; oscillating between precarious health and overwhelming fever spikes, foam at their mouths and glazed, wild-eyed stares.
In the face of fate, it takes more than hope for things to improve. A kind of listless patience. We sink into routine: wake up, feed, treat, repeat. Every day. We laugh less, shout more, get angry, worry, and wait. Because that’s all we can do.
We try to contact other colleagues, get updates, ask questions. We look for solutions that work better than others. In truth, we’re all looking for just one thing: a miracle solution. We know it doesn’t exist, but still, we hope someone will pull it out of their magic bag. You never know, just in case. Even the veterinarians can’t save us. They are just as helpless as we are.
There are crisis meetings with the GDS (Departmental Health Group) and DDPP (Departmental Directorate for Population Protection) where the level of empathy and understanding of the agricultural sphere borders on disrespect. “There was a vaccine, you should have vaccinated”… but I ordered those damn vaccines three weeks before the epidemic. And I’m still waiting for them, in mid-August, while the midges, carriers of the disease, buzz in our ears. I would have wanted to vaccinate, to avoid losing Ambel, Vanilla, and Cerise. They told us about laboratory stock shortages, then distribution platform management issues… They advised us to spray the animals with insecticide to protect them, to bring them in, then take them out, to give antibiotics “just in case,” to vaccinate anyway, right in the middle of the epidemic.
We get few answers to the questions we ask during these meetings. Worse still, by my faith, animal movements between different departments continue, agricultural shows are maintained. In short, sheep and cows are dying, but everything’s fine.
To reassure us, they talk about compensation. For those who can hold on, who have the cash flow and still have morale, this will allow them to continue with some hope for next year. For the others, who have lost more than 50% of their herd, their animals, their girls, they might as well close up shop. After all, we’ll still have New Zealand lamb for the holidays, and it’s cheaper too.
But the bad news continues, in the heart of summer. BTV doesn’t just kill animals. High fevers lead to numerous miscarriages, rams become temporarily sterile in some cases, milk-producing mothers dry up. 2024 is awful but 2025 isn’t looking any better… Fewer lambs will also mean less income.
Here, we had to buy 15 ewe lambs to make up for the losses, as among the survivors, some will absolutely not be fit for breeding. 12 ewes and ewe lambs lost represents an economic loss of €1,800, to which we must add the purchase of 15 ewe lambs for a total of €2,350. Our two dead cows represent a loss of €3,000. To which we must add veterinary expenses amounting to €1,000. And vaccination that will cost us around €3,500 for the sheep and cows. A hole in our cash flow of €11,650… that hurts.
We now hope that our ewes are pregnant and will have beautiful lambs next spring. The figures mentioned only concern 12 sheep and 2 cows at our farm. Other farmers have lost much more.
The latest news came in mid-November. For now, only animals affected by BTV 3 (a variant) will be compensated. We were mainly affected by BTV 8 in the region of Rhône Alpes. So we won’t be priority cases. Only animals over one year old are counted, and only if they died between August 5 and September 30, 2024. For the others, too bad…
I started farming professionally this year, on January 1, 2024. Quite an odd year. Others would say “a shitty year”. BTV confronted me with a reality: you can lose everything, no matter what you do. Because of a midge. Even if you do everything right.
But this disease also showed me that if you hang on, if you hold your breath until the end, it can work. I lost 12 animals, but I saved 48: Crème, Vadrouille, Salazie, Domino, Gringalette, Galipette and the others. They’re still here. And they’re doing well. And for them, I’ll keep getting up. Keep struggling, complaining, raging, grumbling.
And many other farmers will do the same. In agriculture, there are incredible free divers, who know how to hold their breath, how to hold on. Iron wills, passionate people, animal lovers, crazy ones who have given everything. Who give everything. And who will continue, no matter what.
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