Day: August 9, 2022

Dia is Mhuire díobh go léir a chairde and welcome to my report.

Great to be here on this beautiful sunny day   Today (Monday) I was up a little earlier than usual and it was worth it. A blanket of fog covered the land and as it melted more and more places came into view and it’s wonderful to know that tomorrow will be the same and so on for the rest of the week. It gives everybody an opportunity to plan no matter what is your station in life. Plan to take the children to the beach or get some of the early harvest work done on the land.  It’s autumn, the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness.  Season of blackberries, hazel nuts, torn hands from binding corn, season of the chance of finding beautiful wild mushrooms. When seasons were the soft days of autumn were great for bringing them up and we searched for them early and late to get that unique taste that the mass produced ones don’t have. With the saving of the hay and the turf done, in the summer there was still plenty to do when it came to the  autumn/harvest time. The  grower kept a close eye on the planes of golden corn and wheat and barley  as he roamed the fields in the cool of the evening testing the grains between his teeth to see if they were fit to harvest. We hated binding the corn, but our bonus was that we were kept at home from school to help. My Dad would sit on the  two horse mower, rake in hand and as the horses moved along the rich bounty would fell and he would divide it into bundles known as sheafs. It was our job then to take a bit off of each bundle and use it to bind it securely. Back breaking work and it was made all the more painful if there were thistles or nettles in the mix  and when we cried out in pain at being stung by a nettle, we were told to find a dock weed and squeeze the juice of it on to the problem patch. This we always did, but I never seen it to work and there was no use in going back again there was nothing more for it, you were told what to do so bind on. At night when the days work was over the scratches and pricks of the thistle came into their own and also the scratches from the remains of the corn left standing called caoinleens, (oh they were sharp on our bare shins ) often kept us awake after a hard day but come the morning we didn’t say a word in case we’d be deemed not fit for the cornfield and have to go to school. Tea out in the meadow was the thrill of a lifetime. It made a welcome break from work and gallons of half hot tea and fresh homemade bread plastered with butter and new seasons blackberry jam was a tonic for any pain or ache. Another autumn task was the digging of the spuds. In the country they were always called spuds, while our town colleagues called them potatoes and chided our country lore. Again time off school to follow the spade all day and rattle the sods to get the last one out. In time we got a potato digger which was pulled by the horse and the spinning wheel broke the drill into shreds and tossed it aside exposing the grand display of our food until the same time next year.

[read more …] “Eily’s Report – 9th August”