Tag Archives: silage

On Silage

You may read this, and I hope it happens, and feel a wave of nostalgia at the image of the pit. ‘Come down off that, you’ll tear the plastic!’ Personally, as a city girl, I feel robbed of the endless days running over tyres and sliding down plastic. As the country mother, I feel the sheer dread of the forty foot drop over the top of the pit. As the farmer’s wife, I breathe deeply with relief at the mountain of silage ahead of the cows for the winter.

It’s done. The silage is in. The week was spent busily feeding ‘silage’ men and keeping children inside the gate. As you can imagine, ┬áthe small boys just wanted to be on the road looking at the huge machinery bringing the grass into the pit. ‘Come in off the road!’ By Thursday, the men were on top of the huge mound rolling down the plastic to cover this year’s pit. Tyres were piled on top on a blustery June week to keep the plastic down and weights were placed around the border to ensure it stayed put. In it’s winter home, the grass sealed in plastic without air will become pickled in it’s own juices.

The tractors on the road are fewer, the slurry needs spreading on the bare root fields after mowing. The farmer is happy with the crop this year, knowing that he’ll peel back the plastic slowly this winter and with the loader of his tractor, chomp into the mound to feed his cows. Phew.

May All Your Sons be Bishops

I’m right in the middle of the nesting phase in Hearthill. The fine weather has allowed me to get all the necessary baby accoutrements and clothing washed and aired and so we’re ready for the arrival of my little Brosnan. The fine weather and by fine I mean, warmish, dampish, soft (a great Irish word for describing the rain that just dampens the grass and ground enough whilst leaving the rest of us soaking) has meant that silage ground is ready for mowing. It’s an unspoken topic here really. Should he mention to the hormonal other that a silage dinner may need to be cooked in the next few weeks? Best not. But we can see the grass grow now. Everyone in Hearthill is happy and ready for what this fine Summer has to offer.

As for the title? I overheard it last weekend in the local hospital where one nurse was thanking another for lending a hand. First coined by Brendan Behan, the lovely Kerry nurse had used it in thanks. So to you who has been reading along this last while and to you who has helped the grass grow, in the Kerry way; ‘Bless you and May All your Sons be Bishops.’