Dog tired

Resting after a morning of digging potatoes

Ok, so she was chasing crows while I dealt with the spuds

Technorati Tags: rest,farming,potatoes,dog,collie

Well, stone the crows!

Wish I had photos of the crows in the field, but they’re not terribly sociable
unless they’re laughing at me from the treetops…
so a photo of the damage to the potatoes will have to do.

It’s not for nothing that I’ve had the song, “Three black crows” by Blackmore’s Night going through my head all morning.

 

I was headed out to the sheds when I saw a field of black where the potato harvest was waiting. I have to say, I love crows. I love when they sit in the trees and craw at me as I go past, as though they’re sharing a really funny joke. As pretty as the sight is, that does not mean I like seeing them all over the grain or potatoes. Crows like sharing. They’ll dig up the potatoes close to the surface, peck randomly at the potato, then, in their generosity, leave the remains of the potato for us. I’ve tried to tell them that their notion of generosity isn’t working, but to no avail.

I was going to put out stakes with ribbons of plastic into the fields and, with that in mind, I was scouting through the sheds. In my hunt, I found the recycling bin… Beer Cans! So we have stakes, a bit of twine and beer cans. I reckon that makes this the most kitsch potato field around!

Recycling at its best!

 

Technorati Tags: farming,potatoes,grain,crows,scarecrows,recycling,beer cans,cd's,blackmore's night

The indestructible spirit of the WWOOFer

A little while ago, I wrote an article for a magazine few people would get to read. It’s the WWOOF Ireland’s official magazine. I walked into the kitchen just the other day to find my own face laughing up at me. A goofier photo of me would have been hard to find! The photo was taken by a fellow WWOOFer, a lovely German girl with an bubbly spirit and a camera attached to her arm. She was relentless and the tiny hedges didn’t provide enough cover for me to hide behind.

It was with mild surprise that I found they’d published my article. The article in question was inspired by news of one particular WWOOFer who’d moved on from the farm we were at, but it brought to mind many others I’d met and some of the incredible tasks they did with smiles and a healthy dose of fun.

The indestructible spirit of the WWOOFer
by Corrianne Lasevicius

Long ago, when my friend suggested we try our hand at WWOOFing, my perception of WWOOFers was, at the very least, enormously different from what I have come to know of them. She described them as mostly young people who help out on farms. My imagination filled in the details of sun-kissed youth singing and chatting their way through apple harvests. Now, it’s not as though that never happens, but reality has painted a rather different portrait in my mind. We’ve been WWOOFing for just over a year now. The farms we’ve worked on have varied greatly, as have the hosts, but this article is about those busy ‘worker bees’ who flit though Ireland’s fields and gardens.

My thoughts go back to a German chap who was working with us at one farm. He had just left, but as happens among WWOOFers, we kept in touch for a while. He arrived at his new host, keen on the experience he’d be getting on that farm, as it was very different to the one he’d just left. The morning after his arrival, he went downstairs for breakfast to find the place empty. A note had been left on the table. The family had rushed in to hospital with the host who had suffered a heart attack after finding one of his sheep had been killed in a rather grim manner. The sheep had left behind a new-born lamb, which our intrepid WWOOFer had to care for and care for it, he did.

In what other field would you find a pair of young girls hauling logs that would make many men consider using machines and chains; all the while practicing their song they’d learnt for the local craic? There was the team of 3 who were instructed to empty the ancient glasshouse beds, the thin layer of soil hiding mostly very large rocks, then to fill them with the same plus a generous helping of manure and compost, only to be told to empty them completely for restoration.

Mud, mud, glorious mud! It isn’t just hippo’s that enjoy wallowing in the mud. Ask any Irish farmer and you’ll hear about last year’s rains. WWOOFers waded through it, turning the soil, planting, weeding – an especially delightful task in the mud. None of that came even remotely close to the sheer pleasure of chasing stroppy pigs through mud. For some reason, the same mud that sucks your wellies off has no effect on a prancing pig! We strongly suspected that the pig was enjoying watching the tiny band of WWOOFers struggle through the mud to get to her, knowing it was a futile task and we’d ultimately resort to bribery with juicy beets. Still, you’d often find the WWOOFers stealing a few moments to chat to the pigs or feed them tasty treats from the kitchens.

In keeping with the theme of Irish weather, the story must be told of the team of WWOOFers who were digging out an entire formal garden to be replanted. In the space of an hour, the weather changed dramatically every five minutes, quite literally. One enterprising WWOOFer decided to time the changes. In that hour, the ever-creative Irish weather threw sun, rain, hail, wind, then more rain, sun, hail and wind at them. It was a source of great amusement and entertainment to that team of workers.

I watched a diminutive Japanese girl overcome her horror at picking sawfly larvae off thorny gooseberry bushes to the extent that she eventually made it her personal mission to eradicate every last one of them. As she went to war on the sawfly, her attacks grew more creative. She bore her scratches by the gooseberry thorns with pride. You have to admire the spirit of the two Italian boys who dug a trench the entire length of a field with trowels. No, we don’t know why they chose to do it with trowels, but we do know that they had plenty of energy to go hiking afterwards.

One of the reasons we opted for our current farm was the goat milking. Having worked with goats before and loved them, sweet darlings that they were, I was keen to befriend another goat. Wait! This one has horns and knows how to use them. If just the right leaves from her favourite tree aren’t offered, she’s likely to use the horns on you. I learnt that the hard way. Day one left me with bruises. Day two left me without milk in the bucket, though the dogs enjoyed the spoils on the floor. I’m pretty sure that it’s the WWOOFer spirit that drove me back to her side for another go on day three. We’re friends now... at least, on days when all the stars are aligned.

Is there any other ‘career’ where the workers drag themselves home at the end of the day, exhausted and bone-weary, but rise to go back to the same work with a spring in their step, chatting and singing all the way... voluntarily?

Technorati Tags: ireland,farming,gardening,writing,wwoof,wwoofing,wwoofers,volunteers

The Hermitage

Today, I truly feel like a farmer’s wife again. As I sit here, I have a pot of Hermit Soup (a name I’ve just given it… for fun) on the stove - to be served with buttery slices of crusty Killruddery cheese bread.

Jurgis is snoring in front of the fire, sinking ever lower into the couch. We have spent the dark afternoon time watching videos on permaculture planning and design, drawing up elaborate plans involving chickens, vegetables, fruit trees and forests. At this point, I’m relatively content.

It’s out second day at The Cottage in the Wicklow mountains. We woke up to what we thought was a thick frost layer this morning. It was, instead, thin, icy snow and it stayed. Needless to say, I slipped on an icy log. I consider the place now initiated into my stability. No harm was done, though my dignity suffered yet another blow.

I set up the compost bin today and frittered away 10 minutes picking up pine cones, which are now, hopefully, drying out nicely over the fire. If not, they look decorative(ish). Jurgis has started clearing the pine. That will be a major job. We’ll need to get some serious equipment in to clear the part we’ve demarcated for the veggies and fruit trees. Right now, cleaning and clearing is about as much as we can do… at least until we get to see the owner again. He was meant to arrive last night, then today… maybe tomorrow. Time will tell. I have an internet bone to pick with him *Needs Internet*. The cottage is warm. Barring a fairly serious plumbing issue that was meant to be sorted out today (I think the plumber got lost or something), we’re fairly comfortable. It’s a huge change from the ‘palace’, but has its own compensations.

So why hermitage? We’re about 4km away from the nearest village, Roundwood, which boasts a population of 800+ and 5 pubs. Yes, it’s like that. We’ve met one of the local population, a chap who came to drop the top halves of a few pines that were threatening to fall on the cottage. He was nice and is now a familiar face. We’re considering a walk into the village on the weekend to see what it’s like and perhaps meet a few locals.

Life, at this point, is pretty good. Now if I could just get online… I’m missing talking to my little girl.

Technorati Tags: hermitage,roundwood,cottage

Starting over

I found this article recently and it got me thinking. Actually, it doesn't do much to get me thinking of our dream. A while back, Kippy and Jaime wanted me to talk about my perfect home. Then just recently, someone mentioned being envious of a life of ease. I often say "I'm jealous" and you'll usually find it's relating to a certain way of life... a life we'd love to live again, a truly simple life.



Second Act

"We embark on a career path or a job before we really know ourselves at a very early age, but I think we're still a work in progress and over the course of your life you can stitch together a quilt of what you want to be and who you want to be." Lisa Schwartz

Now, if I were envious of a lifestyle, it's the one this lady has built for herself. That is a dream!

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A couple more videos of people starting over and fulfilling a dream... truly inspirational! I've linked to the videos, so I don't overload this page for those with slow connections:

http://vitality.yahoo.com/video-second-act-mandy-aftel-20592908
http://vitality.yahoo.com/video-second-act-donald-arthur-20045514


Gypsy (back), Vilkas (left) and Noble (front right), our 3 Muskateers. Gypsy was the older, sensible one, who kept the brats in check. To the left was the raspberry patch - wild and thorny, but a thrill to harvest. Through the gateway behind them was the stand of mulberry trees, kids' paradise, and beyond that, the stream. The dogs were lying under the pretty, but infernal Tibouchina tree - the leaves, when dry, make excellent dye *sigh* It never comes out!

For those new to my list or those who missed the original post, this blog speaks about the life we came from, which is poles apart from the life we're in now. We'll have that again : )

http://tintalasia.multiply.com/journal/item/282/I_remember_Whensday

Last night, Tat and I were chatting. A possible hermitage came up, but she's not the hermit type, being gregarious and all that. We settled on farming with goats, who are pretty cool critters, with Jurgis taken along as slave labour, something he seems to thrive on. Ah... now there's a life, hm?