Tag Archives: farmhouse

Buona Domenica

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It’s been one of those weeks in Hearthill, everyone from the tetchy toddler, sick older brother, cranky mommy and patient farmer need a dose of tender loving care.  And so, administrating the dose, I refer as always back to the Italians in praise of all things bright and beautiful. They do it all so well; abundance, style, living, delight.  As an Italophile I try to bring a touch of La Dolce Vita into our home as often as I can moreso to remedy any lack of lustre that the Spring might impose. Just for today, Indulge me……

The Italians take the ordinary and translate it into the exquisite on a daily basis but more so on La Domenica, Sunday. It starts on Friday evening, down the little sidestreets, at the clink of the espresso cup on saucer after the obligatory fix of caffeine coming home from work, on collection of pastries for weekend treats, you begin to hear the echo of ‘Buona Domenica’ in big cities and small villages alike throughout Italy. ‘Buona Domenica’, ‘Have a Wonderful Sunday’ and even though it’s Friday, that Sunday moment is brought forward to signal the beginning of something special at the end of a week’s hard work.

Here, in Hearthill, Sunday is the day when the wellies are abandoned, fresh coffee is brewed, hot French toast is placed alongside the Sunday newspapers. There is normally a walk on a local beach, a leisurely chat with neighbours, delayed milking. It is a day for homemade pasta, fresh herbs, bambini covered in tomato ragu, leisurely dinner time. As with all good things alas, the moment when the milk machine is fixed onto the udder arrives and the familiar thrup, thrup, thrup of the milk machine comes echoing from the parlour signaling the end of a lovely Sunday and the beginning of a new week of work on the farm.

Buona Domenica….

My First Trip to Hearthill

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When first invited to visit Hearthill, I saw it in it’s worst light. It was one of those drab and dark days that only us Irish know how to do so well. So, weather wise, I was under no illusions. It was bleak and it looked lonely. What’s more, farming smells are even more pungent in bad weather and the dampness added little to my farmer’s efforts to coax me out of my comfortable city existence.

By this stage, however, I knew that I was going to spend my life with my lovely farmer. He had, after all told me at the end of our first date that he would think of me while milking the cows.   I’ve realised since then that a dairy farmer couldn’t pay a girl a higher accolade. Dairy time equals thinking time.

On that faithful day, some ten years ago, I stood on the roadside of the farm and nodded, I might have uttered a ‘very nice’ not wanting to commit but knowing, as he did, that this was a deal breaker.  The pessimist and city girl in me wanted to run back to my car and get back to ‘civilisation’ as fast as the wheels would carry me but the optimist and country girl in me decided to roll up her sleeves and imagine how our life would be.  Thinking ‘right, how will I make the most of it, how will I design a life that works for us?’

Eventually, when the question arose, I chose my farmer. It didn’t take long for Hearthill to become home, it has been my consistent friend even on the days when I’ve felt worn by the challenge of this completely new life.  It has played its’ part in helping me to make the best of the everyday, in gloomy days as well as glorious.

On Becoming Practical

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Of all the prized traits in rural Kerry that a girl could possess, being practical is the most highly esteemed. If you are a practical Kerry woman, you will be forgiven all manner of ills. Unfortunately, whilst I’m wonderful in many areas (ahem), practicality may not have always been one of my strong points. I come from a long line of wonderful women who have never matched a pair of socks.

On a scale of one to ten, one being the girl who backpacks around the hotter climes of the world with a faux fur coat acquired en route as well as carrying several Russian (and therefore weighty) novels and ten being the woman who gives birth and then milks the cows, I can safely say, I started life in Hearthill at zero.

My initiation into rural farming life in practicality terms, was therefore brutal. The following is a short list of tasks put to me during my first weeks in Hearthill that served to highlight my impractical nature.

Running the gauntlet, I had to;

1. Catch a runaway calf.

2. Understand which way to run when the mother in law shouted ‘Go West’ in order to catch same calf (without the aid of a compass!)

3. Know how to avoid being pucked by a calf and thereby spilling the contents of a milk bucket when feeding probably the same errant calf.

4. Guess how much straw is needed to lay under a stall of calves. Carry the bales in and then spread the straw under the calves (trying not to be pucked until black and blue).

5. Invent ways to reuse the blue string tying up straw bedding so that they’re not left lying around.

6. Make sure you don’t find calf chewing and therefore choking on the blue string.

In the early days, I was determined not to let my new husband down but there are somethings that a girl doesn’t see coming, like a pucking calf or a sceptical mother-in-law. Yes, in Kerry, us city girls really have to earn our stripes especially when the farmer marries outside of the county bounds! Since then, however, I’ve gradually and unwittingly become more practical in nature. I may never reach the dizzy heights of milking cows immediately post partum but hey, if you need it, I can tell you what happens to Anna Karenina!

Stormy Weather

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So, the builders have come and gone and left a pile of 160 broken tiles in their stead. Just a mean reminder of an unforgiving storm and an invitation for all those passing to comment on what a bleak patch we live in. “Was it the design did they say?” “Will it happen again next winter? Probably.” Very legitimate questions, which I asked myself later that night during the wee hours when I couldn’t settle the children to sleep.

I was pondering on the misfortune that rattled my lovely home as I fell off the couch with Dan asleep on the floor next to me to break my fall.  We were camped downstairs around the stove to keep ourselves warm and I was trying to stay awake long enough so that in the absence of phone alarms, I could nudge Dan awake to go out and check on the calving cows (we had three in the labour ward that night). Apparently, it is a farmer’s wife duty to nudge one’s spouse awake at ridiculous o’clock to check on the cows. I wouldn’t mind confirmation on that, if only there were a manual.

Luckily, Mother Nature obliged where Electric Ireland had failed and the bellowing mothers awoke me for nudging duty at 4am. So I struck a match to offer some light to the weary farmer who had to go and tend to ‘the girls,’ ushering in another Valentine’s Day in Hearthill. Romance, as they say,  is not dead and we have survived another storm.

Anne

How many days to Spring?

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It’s a farmer’s wife dreaded time of year. The Spring.

For others, it promises new life, buds pushing through the ground, lengthening days, but not generally for the busy young mother and farmer’s wife. Reality down in the farm, the Spring takes our husbands away. Makes them absent, hairier and more likely to fall asleep in obscure parts i.e. the dinner table.

It means keeping up with paperwork, parenting alone, worry over sick animals, rushed conversations in the back kitchen. This is my eighth spring in Hearthill and whilst I’m becoming used to it’s tempetuous ways, we have not yet made friends. This year especially when the season finds me heavily pregnant whilst running around after two little boys, I’m certainly not a fan.

Especially brutal is the fact that just preceding the Spring are the two months where my husband turns into a househusband, putting the kids to bed, letting me have a lie in, cuddling up on the couch for rubbish tv and generally being there whilst the cows are dried off. Bliss.

So, how this year, do I survive the Spring as I feel the Winter sprinting away from me. My survival kit;

1. There’s still time to hibernate. Catch up on lost sleep, early to bed, late to rise. Long snoozes during the day. Christmas programming means there’s lots of films for the children to enjoy whilst you all snuggle up on the couch and store up energy.

2. Try not to complain about it too much. Ops. Make it pleasant for everyone, though deeply frustrating, we’ve got to play the cards we’re dealt. Even if it means ignoring the fact that your partner may not remember your name during those sleep depraved weeks, try not to complain too much. Instead of mourning the loss of Valentine’s day, make a romantic supper for two for whatever hour he might appear at your threshold, though pinch him if he falls asleep into said romantic meal! Just a small pinch.

3. Take the children to see Dad; there are lots of safe ways to have fun on a farm, if you are blessed with little boys, you know they love nothing more than donning the wellies and getting mucky. Feed the baby calves. Let them see a cow calving. Turn up in the milking parlour to help feed the ration. Later on the spring, bring a picnic to Dad in the fields as he’s fencing. A shared flask and fairy cakes can mellow all the family’s frustrations during that busy time of year.

4. Look ahead, the season can’t last forever.