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Published: August 20th 2010
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Blarney House
...built because too many tourists wanted to go to the castle to kiss the stone. Actually, it\'s a much more amenable house that the family still live in to this day! On the way to our next farm we made a stop at Blarney, well known for Blarney Castle and the Blarney Stone, which when kissed, gives the kisser the gift of eloquence. The story goes that when Queen Elizabeth I was requesting an oath of loyalty to occupy the lands she sent Sir George Carew to have talks with Lord Blarney. When he arrived in Blarney he was entertained, sweet talked but never given a commitment to the Queen. When he reported this to Queen Elizabeth all she could do was explode with frustration with “This is all blarney...what he says he never means!”. Hence the word “blarney”.
The next farm we were working on belonged to Lyndsey, Paul and their son Josh (who was turning 5 soon and got on quite very well with Phoebe). Lyndsey used to run an Equestrian Centre (which was next door) but had now turned her attention to turning the surrounding paddocks and gardens into productive, vegie producing fields. As we got the tour on our first morning Lyndsey described her ambitious vision for the farm which was to grow everything that they would need to feed the family. It was still relatively early
Paul, Lyndsey and Josh
with minature Jack Russell 'Flea' days, and she had enlisted the help of WWOOF-ers to help get things going.
One of the highlights for us was working with the animals. The main lot of laying hens were let out at 12 each day to roam around the farm and it was at this point that we collected their eggs. The hens seemed to lay and average of about 12, so eggs were something that were not lacking in our diets over the following 10 or so days! We were under no illusions as to the fate of the chooks once they got too old, nor the roosters, who were due for a head chopping in September. But as the cycle of life continues, we were very happy when some chicks hatched on the second last day that we were on the farm. It was so sweet to see the Mother hen out with her new born chicks taking them for their first walk outside. Less sweet was having to catch them to put them in a coop so the dogs wouldn't get at them. The Mother hen, true to her nature, was fiercely protective and looked (and acted) like she wanted to peck my
Honey the Dog
a familiar sight....Honey with a stick in her mouth eyeballs out when I was trying to catch one of her chicks.
Also at the farm was a very cute little kitten called Burberry that Phoebe nicknamed 'Furberry'. Every morning when I watered the polytunnel Burberry would race up and stare intently at the water stream exiting the hose. She would then pounce around the water stream and occasionally work up the courage to race through it. Another highlight was Honey the dog, who had a single track mind for playing fetch. Whenever she caught sight of us she would find something throw-able and then place it at our feet. Honey had endless enthusiasm for fetch and games would inevitably end on our terms when we would get back to work and she would get the hint, only to return a few hours later with another throw-thing. One time all she could find was a piece of straw to which I informed her that pieces of straw don't do very well for throwing.
Turnips were something new to me and on our first day on the farm Lyndsey pulled up a bucket full of about 20. Of course, I have seen turnips before, but I have never bothered
Turnips
big ugly things that they are! to eat them. Turns out there's a reason for that, as they are rather un-tasty and a bit bitter to be honest. I have since found that the best thing to do turnips is to mash them with potato and add lot's of butter....or feed them to the horses.
During our stay we were introduced to the latest phenomenon in Brittish food - Hugh Fearnely-Whittingstall. An ex-chef who set himself the challenge of growing everything he eats. He is particularly enthusiastic about eating meat, and as a result, rearing and killing and eating his meat. On his show he made a butchers apprentice of a vegetarian and instructed her as to how to carve up a whole lamb carcas and then eat the offal (ick!). He also got bunch of community gardeners to rear pigs and then take them to the slaughterhouse. When I asked Phoebe what she thought of the slaughterhouse (and the subsequent killing of the pig) she replied with “mmmm, I love bacon!”, Hugh would be proud.
After three weeks of actual 'work' that we were otherwise unaccustomed to, we were feeling fitter, and felt better for all the beautiful fresh food that we had
eaten. Having been so used to working in an office I was also stunned to find how much my hands had changed over the course of three weeks. I had perpetually dirty nails, cuticles that had to be cut, and worst of all: callouses on all my knuckles and palms! However we had really enjoyed our time in Ireland and while we didn't get to really 'see' much we did 'do' much, as well a meet people we would not have otherwise met, and learnt things we would not have otherwise known. We were happy to be back on the ferry with Lentil making our way over the Irish Sea back to Wales to the comfort of Aunt Sybil's house, being happy with the prospect of returning once again to being a family of leisure.
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Grangi
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Blarney stone
Thanks for another lovely story/ photos of life on an Irish farm. Lentil seems to still be going ok for you but do you carry a few spare parts/ wheel and tools. ? The country meals on the farms sound almost memorable. Keep safe all of you. Election here tomorrow followed by parties Sat night and all day Sunday which will be either celebrations or wakes for candidates and supporters.But it is nice to share the good and the bad with friends.I hope you managed to vote Alex Love from us here in cold wet Melb