I think ‘twas my Granny Twomey used always be looking forward to the spring each year with a great old saying; “Once we pass Little Christmas sure the days will be getting longer by a cock’s step every day”. Now I don’t know what term of measurement one would use for the walking habits of poultry but we knew what she meant!
From the darkest day of midwinter on December 21 until January 6 is but a little over a fortnight – the darkest time of the year surely but always ‘brightened’ by the candle-low of Christmas and the New Year. Then the great cycle of life ‘rotha mor an saol’ starts twisting again and in no time at all we’re well into January and away we go once more.
I never studied astronomy and how the tides ebb and flow remains a wonderful mystery to me yet I never cease to marvel at it all. As I pen these few words on the feast of all those who ever loved or yearned for love – St. Valentine’s Day, a harsh cold breeze blows up along the Owenacurra valley from East Cork. Yes it’s cold but as the old people said ‘there’s great drying in it’ and in fairness the last month has been unbelievable.
I walked the farm, every single field of it, last week and even the Top and Bottom Bogs were dry. Many’s the year I recall ‘twould be after Patrick’s Day before man or beast could set foot or hoof in these same fields. We still call them the bogs though ‘tis over 60 decades since they were drained but old habits die slowly and the bogs they were called and so it shall be forever I suppose.
Ah yes indeed there’s a grand stretch in the evenings with the last few weeks and these past few evenings I heard the Angelus Bell ring out before the sun had finally sunk away in the west.
I suppose one of the things that keeps me in love with the land is the variety, the ever-changing face of the countryside.
I cannot imagine what it must be like in the middle of Australia or the dustbowl of America where day in, day out, night in, night out the unforgiving landscape never changes.
The awful, terrible scenes we’ve witnessed in Turkey and Syria would bring blood from a stone in terms of grief. The vagaries of climatic extremes across the globe serve as a daily reminder of just how lucky we are here in Ireland.
Leaving aside climate change we truly have the best of everything and not too much of anything. Ok we have a really bad winter now and then and, like last year, we occasionally suffer from what we wrongly call a ‘drought’. In essence we are blessed with an abundance of sun and rain - granted sometimes at the wrong time of the year but generally speaking we cant complain weatherwise.
No doubt climate change is with us – no point in virtually sticking our heads in the sand and praying ‘twill simply go away. Despite all the ups and downs somethings never vary much. Back in 1998 we started recording the daily rainfall for the Met Office. In a quarter of a century we’ve seen variations annually but no real discernible patterns of change in the quantity of rain can be observed. Of course some years we have a very dry Springtime - like this year so far, and other years we’ve seen very wet summers. Overall the annual rainfall here hasn’t varied more than an inch or two.
Our cows have started calving in the last week. We had four ‘new arrivals’ on Tuesday last so next week our milk production for 2023 will commence once more when the bulk tanker lorry will make it’s first collection.
The day I cease to be gobsmacked and filled with awe at the birth of each new calf is the day I’ll stop farming.
We’ve cut back this year in cow numbers but we’re looking forward any day now to see our little herd back out on grass once more as February gives way to March.
We’ve a rookery here near the house and the cawing of the black birds is sweet music to our ears - like a backing track for everyday farming activities. Aunty Jo always said that the crows here would never start building their nests until the day after Patrick’s Day - and if March 17th was of a Sunday they’d wait ‘til Monday. Even the crows way of doing things has changed and I’d not be surprised to see them looking for planning permission for new nests next week!
One tradition our crows still stick to is the way they flutter and fluster every morning, wheeling and dealing and squawking away raucously before heading off to Youghal. Well as children that’s what we were told. In truth they do head off East for the breakfast and then as the sun is setting they return from the same direction - some things never change.
‘If oak comes before ash we’re in for a splash, if ash comes before oak we’re in for a soak’ is an old saying as the timing of the buds appearing on ash and oak trees is supposed to be a sure indicator of the coming spring weather.
Well I’m anxiously awaiting such spring signs in the coming weeks.
I’m not overly worried about the possible rainfall, no, what I’m worried about is the future of our 32 year old ash plantation. The dreaded ‘Ash Dieback’ disease is rampant all over the country. Initially, when first noticed - maybe ten years ago, ‘twas thought it would only affect young saplings and that once trees were ten or 12 years old they’d be - pardon the pun - out of the woods in terms of disease. Alas this has not proved to be the case. Last autumn I saw a grand ash wood, 25 years old, in Tipperary and every single tree was dead or dying.
Over the years I’ve cut down crooked or poorish ash trees for firewood - the best fuel in the world. I’ve also sold some grand ash butts for hurley-making. It pains me to think what will happen if the scourge of the dieback comes here. I had planned to leave some of the ash trees grow away for as long as they lived.
I’ve about 200 oaks and they are ‘in their infancy’ in tree-growth terms with a maturity age of about 200 years.
The beauty of ash and oak are reflective of farming in general. They change with the seasons - unlike the monotonous evergreens, and are so important for wildlife and biodiversity.
As I said I’m no scientist but another natural ‘miracle’, in my mind anyway, is the ability of these grand trees to literally ‘suck’ carbon from the atmosphere and turn that same carbon into timber. The more broadleaf trees we have the cleaner and healthier our air will be.
Next Wednesday is Ash Wednesday, the start of Lent and as Granny Twomey used say ‘Fasting and prayer are good for the sinner but the working man must have his dinner’! Ah yes that circle of life goes round and round. The palms we carried in procession on Palm Sunday last year have been burned and the ashes kept to make The Sign of The Cross on foreheads next week.
And the seasons, they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We’re captive on the carousel of time
We can’t return, we can only look
Behind, from where we came
And go round and round and round, in the circle game
And go round and round and round, in the circle game
Read More
Tale of emigration that reunited American with his Cork roots More in this section
login
who are we?
contact us
qosheapp
Toi Staff
Gideon Levy
Andrew Mitrovica
Mort Laitner
Grant Arthur Gochin
Priyamvada Gopal
Poonam Muttreja
Zaher Sahloul
Patrick Gathara
Obaid Mir
visit website
