Lazy Beds

With the guests gone and the evidence of their visit squared away, Dad can get back into the garden and check out progress on the vegetables after the week of beautiful sunshine. The warmth has brought on the peas and broad beans beautifully, so we can have a first portion  of peas with supper on Monday night. The broads will be a few more days yet but the runners and French beans are starting to flower profusely. We are also looking at some courgettes soon in the kitchen garden from which we have already been enjoying various cut and come again salad stuff.

The broader picture, though, has Dad needing to finally give in to the local method for raised beds or lazy beds and trenches. It's just been too wet this year gardening on the flat, to hoe or control weeds, so that we have a depressing embarrassing lawn of weeds between the rows of crop so that a mower is sometimes more appropriate than a hoe. The crops sulk in damp, cold misery, succumb to slugs or general malaise so that often 'we' have just given up on them and ploughed them back in.

Way back, when Mike the Cows was tractor-ploughing and tractor-rotovating he did suggest ridging it up (which is quite easy, I now know, with a couple of changes to settings on the rotovator) but we didn't really know what we were about back then and Dad thought he meant into potato-style ridges. We declined the offer, thinking we'd be able to plant rows 2 feet apart and simply walk-behind-rotovate up the rows like you would in Kent to keep the weeds down. Then came the rain for most of May, June and July and the flat rotovated land saturated and could not drain.

It was John Deere Bob who explained what was meant by ridges - three or four foot wide broad ridges (what they'd call 'breeds' in the Fens) with deepish trenches between but with the ridges/trenches aligned down the slope (we'd done our initial rows across the allotment, effectively parallel to the contours). You can either dig the whole site over and then make trenches or use a traditional Irish method which saves quite a few square yards of digging and that's called 'Lazy Beds'. You skim the turf (or 'lawn of weeds in Dad's case) off where the trench will be, folding it over to lie upside down on the edge of the ridge, grass to grass. You then shovel out the trench and use the soil to bury the rest of the ridge and the flipped over turfs. You can also then cover the whole with plastic to further supress weeds. We used plastic sheeting left over from the building project, plus we recycled the ground sheets from Mr Silverwood's thrown-away tent. We have since seen pics of raised beds and Lazy Beds in the Museum of Country Life in Turlough, Co. Mayo, so we now feel very authentic!

Now we're talking. Now the soil in the ridge tops is drying out and does not water-log and Dad can stroll up and down in the trenches easily getting at the weeds even on the wettest day. The rest of the allotment will be converted to raised beds as it comes free after we have harvested the current crops of beans, cabbages etc.

My final pictures on this catch up are just a nice shot of the High Hopes pink rose climbing up the Tígín wall and a nice box of 9 eggs showing 4 dated today (15th Aug) just because all the gals are now in production.

Finish Holidays!

As Diamond's Greek chums would have it, "Finish Holidays!" and our week of invasion is over. Our final afternoon / evening is spent relaxing with the kids all watching the film "Enchanted" after which young R (4) decides she is going to marry Dad. There are heated discussions about this as she has already promised herself to her beloved Tommo-the-Builder down in Silverwood's home town, so we wonder will she let Tommo down gently. Mum cooks everyone a lovely meal of pork in creamy mushroom sauce and there is some light packing and sorting stuff ready for the drive home on Monday. Mrs S must be home for Tuesday as she has to go on a training course.

And so Monday morning rolls round and Mum cooks everyone a huge fried breakfast; white pudding, black pudding, eggs, rashers, beans, mushrooms, toast, sausages. Stuff is hauled out of the caravan and the bedrooms and the car is loaded. It is only as the kids and animals are being loaded into the car that Mrs S surprises us by handing back the puppy Goldie and says "No, This one's staying!" It seems we are to have Towser's sister as a gift; Mrs S is not going to sell him after all. This is brilliant for Towser who has been playing really well with her all week, it's brilliant for me as the pups can plague each other and might leave me alone a bit to carry on being "Alpha Bitch" and top dog, it's good for the kittens as Goldie will take some of Towser's energies  and stop over-powering them with his 'lurve' and it's made Mum and Dad very happy too. Goldie, who was only ever called Goldie after her gold coloured collar to tell her apart from Blackie, Bluey, Silvery etc, is promptly renamed "Poppy" by Mum and enveloped in a hug bear hug. Mum is welling up a bit as the gang say their farewells and drive off down the drive.

And so to a day or so of blitzing the house and grounds back to 'normal'. Beds are stripped and a mountain of laundry is done. The house is swept, recycling bins filled, the corrugated iron sheeting is taken down from farm gates, where it was put to contain Max and Lily and keep them away from the rabbits, hens, lane-way and kittens. The tent, which was tired and old and was abandoned by the campers, has its groundsheets cut out by Stanley knife so that they can be used for weed-surpressing covers for the allotment. The badminton and other games gear is gathered up for storage till next time. There are only 2 packing failures - the guests manage to leave R's specs behind so we nip down to post them on and later we discover that 'Ducky', favourite night time cuddly toy of R and 'Sharky', favourite NTT of M have been left behind. We let them enjoy our evening with us and a glass of wine before posting them on tomorrow.

And so to reality.

Silverwoods Invasion

This year's Family Holiday is a change from the narrow boating of previous years for three very good reasons - 1) we're in a different country now, 2) we are in a different situation money-wise and 3) all the rivers and canals and locks we used for the last few years have been out of use for most of this year with too much water and flooding. Instead, the 6 Silverwoods plus a guest, best friend of Em-J, John the Bass Player (not her real name!) plus their 2 dogs, Maxwell and Lily and the one remaining pup, Goldie descend on us for a week.

The little ones, R (4) and M (6) have been obsessing about the chance to camp and live in a tent for weeks, so Mr and Mrs S bring the tent. We here, having survived months of on/off rain, are not 100% convinced of this as a plan and think they will be pitching it in a swamp, but, amazingly, as they confirm arrangements on Monday 6th the sun comes out and we get a week of scorcher, blue skies and hot hot hot. Talk about bringing the weather with you. We are able to erect the tent in the dry, on a dry bit of grass and R and M plus Mr and Mrs S get to spent at least that night under canvas.

The hot weather brings out the flying ants and a whole gang of them are attracted to the pale blue of the tent awning. Poor M is convinced they will eat him alive in his sleep and takes some persuading that they will be gone by night fall. Thankfully they are and he goes to bed easily enough. The teenage girls (Em-J, J-M and "John") take over the caravan as their den and sleeping pod, plus venue for Midnight Feasts and tuck parties. It's a no-go area for the boys and the little ones except for occasional deliveries of cocoa and, in Mr S's case a chance to creep over there and frighten them into squealing hysterics with torch-under-the-chin and funny voices.

This holiday is brilliant for me because I get to play for a week with my big mates Lily and Maxwell and it's great for Towser who gets to run, romp, fight and wrestle all week with his sister Goldie (pup of the orange collar colour). Lily and Max do not get total free rein because they are not quite trustworthy with the rabbits, hens, kittens and the lane outside, but they are free or supervised on the lead enough to enjoy their stay.

For the humans there are games on the front lawn with badminton set up, occasional volleyball and chasing games that Mrs S recalls from her youth - "What's the Time, Mr Wolf", "Mother, May I?" and "Blind Man's Buff" plus a lot of sitting around on the front terrace recovering in the heat, getting sunburnt.

There are outings so that we dogs actually get a walk, with leads on (!) We all go on a 'Bog Walk' (a Nature Trail through a turf cutting bog) down by Lough O'Flynn, just south of our own village (Lough Glynn). There's a trip to the National Museum of Country Life at Turlough near Castlebar, Co. Mayo where Dad loves being able to see 'live' the stuff described in the book he's just finished reading (FSL Lyons, "Ireland Since the Famine"), he loves the currachs and coracles and he loves the photos of raised bed and 'lazy-bed' agriculture which is what we're now up to out on the allotment.

Finally there is a trip to a petting zoo in Kilimagh, Co. Mayo. Here the kids buy grain to feed to a variety of hens, ducks, sheep, pigmy goats, llamas, pigs, ponies and (via a bucket because they bite) rheas. We find out that horses can have blue eyes and we all enjoy a well stocked reptile house with turtles, lizards, snakes, a skink, chameleon, dragons, and (you couldn't pick this one up) a tarantula. There are even swings and slides for the little ones and a nice hatchery bit where we can see tiny new-hatched chicks and ducklings. There are bunnies and guinea pigs.

All in all a brilliant week in lovely weather. A good holiday, if not quite as satisfying as Narrow Boating. Ah well.

Castlerea Agricultural Show

With our own livestock sorted on Monday 6^th (A Bank Holiday here in Ireland), Mum and Dad are off to local town Castlerea's Agricultural Trades and Craft Show. This is promised to be like a mini County Show and the biggest event in Castlerea's year. We have been advised to eschew the 'Family Fun Day' at local GAA ground, Éire Óg, (You Brits, pronounce it 'Airer' and then with a long 'O' as in The Pogues) in favour of it, and it does not disappoint. The Show has taken over the whole grounds of the cattle market and overflowed into a couple of grassy fields alongside. There are 4x4's pulling livestock trailers everywhere, people thronging and the air is full of the echo-ey calls of cattle and sheep in the covered market-pens. Impressively clean and primped cattle and horses are being led hither and yon by the halter, and some big bulls being led around by the nose, each with a small entourage of white coated handlers moving the public out of the way. Areas of the fields have been given over to marquees and awnings for holding the animals, and a number of show rings. The organisers were obviously expecting rain and many tracks have been laid with straw and chipped wood, but they needn't have worried as the sun shone, no rain fell and the grounds did not turn into the Somme.

Dad has been to many Agricultural Shows in Kent and Sussex and in Nene Valley (The East of England Show) and his ex wife’s family used to show Suffolk sheep but Mum, although she'd attended Kent Show for work reasons had never been able to find anyone to take her across to the livestock areas, so she was keen to see some sheep and cattle judging. Dad was keen to find the goats and poultry sections and they both wanted to look round the "Flower Show" bits, trade stands and townie/public bits.

They loved it and had a great time as well as finding and getting talking to a) mythical near-neighbour artists who do framing and are good painters and b) 'Oliver Splits', local tree feller, logger and log-splitter man with chain saw about 3 times as long as Dad’s. Chainsaw envy? They bought the obligatory burger (Dad) and hot dog (Mum). They went in to see some lamb classes through the judging, with Mum proving to be remarkably good at picking winners. They moved outdoors to the cattle ring areas to see some very nice glossy/velvetty black Angus cattle get judged. Mum was not quite so good at those, but they both think that an Angus is a good honest very attractive beast. They are proper cow-shaped, not like these ridiculously double-muscled Belgian Blue freaks with their arses looking like they are wearing distended jodhpurs. They are big too, the Angus cows. Mum and Dad watched a cow-with-calf-at-foot class and those ladies are enormous. Never mind getting charged by the bull if you got too close to the calf, 'Mrs Angus' would be quite capable of doing you some damage.

And so home to a mad house blitz and garden tidy prior to The 6 Silverwoods arriving with “John the Bass Player” (teenage friend of Em-J; John is not her real name!) for a holiday here till at least the next weekend. As we predicted, we “may disappear off line and not post for a couple of days”, buried under the demands for breakfasts, child-wrangling, dog management and the occasional glass of wine. Bear with us. We will return.

Kindergarten

The kindergarten grows from strength to strength. The pup, Towser, at 10 weeks has almost doubled in weight from his 7 week old arrival weight (1.2 kgs) to 2.2 kg now. The kittens, Blue and Rolo are now 1.2 kgs up from 700g or so and all have come on in leaps and bounds (literally) in terms of their mobility, stairs-climbing ability and pushing back the boundaries of the territory they explore when allowed out. The three of them all play well together, all be it, Towser sometimes gets a bit rough with Rolo, who seems to be his 'best mate'. I am slotting into 'Aunt' role very well, much to everyone's delight and while I never let anyone get tooooooo close (this first picture is a bit of a lie - Towser was in the bed first and this is me trying to 'cuckoo's nest' him out; I would never let him join me in bed if I was already in it!) I do tend and mind them all and occasionally let a bit of scampering play happen, especially if I can cuff the pup and bowl him ovber occasionally. This is just to show him I'm still bigger than he is.

Towser gets into a few scrapes like in the 2nd pic, where he was 'busted' by Dad breaking into the chicken run through a narrow gap under the door. Rolo nails his first shrew out in the yard and then runs around with it in his mouth growling very professionally at all comers including me, who wanted to get a look in. The three of them frequently accompany us out as far as the rabbit run now and here are some pics of various babies meeting Ginny and Padfoot. The buck rabbit 'Rogers' is still with us but manages to stay out of most of these pictures, leaving the camera time to his ladies.

They are all also generally on hand to assist with gardening jobs. We have a heap of soil in the bit of garden still called "The Bit We Don't Talk About" into which is mixed a decent supply of coal and anthracite after the mini digger driver scraped up a load of topsoil when clearing brambles and unknown to him, a rotten pallet of coal bags buried in the grass. This fuel is still useful so Mum and Dad decided to dig through the heap and liberate any useful sized coal lumps and anthracite 'nuts'. Towser decided to help and is pictured here in the bucket Mum was using to gather coal.

Finally just a few pics of babies because they are cute and fun. Enjoy!

When is a broody hen not....

Into the start of August we finally get some decent weather and can start spending proper time in the garden. Wandering Wendy decides this is also a good time to go broody and is spending long sessions on her eggs in the nettle patch. On the 2nd she's out there from 0930 and still sitting there at the end of our day's gardening at 1630, so Mum and Dad decide she's now serious. We believe she's got a clutch of 6 eggs in there or maybe 7. There were 6 in there yesterday and she's been sitting all day. It comes on to rain a bit, so M+D decide to gather her and her eggs up and move them to the safety and dry of the calf house. Dad creates a 'broody box'  and lines it with new hay. Dad grabs WW and Mum the eggs and we all process back to the calf house. WW is not too happy with this disturbance and 'growls' at Dad in the special way broodies have. This is a GOOD SIGN.  WW is settled on her eggs after a bit of a battle of wills and we retreat quietly to await developments. Will she stay put?

Meanwhile, as I said, we all enjoy some good gardening time.  The two big old perished tractor tyres we inherited from TK Min get that cliché, white paint on the treads and are filled with soil from the inherited pile as planters. One gets a purple verbena which will be, we hope, mother of many a self-seed, the other a perennial wallflower. They will get other stuff, or course but they look quite nice sitting down by their gate pier.

We have almost written off the 'Secret Garden', Dad's first attempt at veg plot, done before we knew just how shaded that would get under the trees, but also before Mike-the-Cows ploughed the ground for the allotment. The beans and other stuff there in has grown weedy and thin and wasted away in the shadows, but the spuds, surprisingly have survived and avoided blight, so we have hopes that we may, after all, get a few tiddlers off the patch. Various new climbing roses appear along the hay barn wall and in the kitchen garden (New Dawn, Joseph's Coat, High Hopes, etc) and the tubs in the yard get love-in-a-mist, Lucifer crocosmia and a yellow potentilla.

By lock up time, Wandering Wendy has abandoned the eggs and made her way through the outbuilding, including climbing over an internal wall, and is with the other 'hins' all be it outside the wire. Dad gives up on her broodiness for the night and allows her back in to sleep with her sisters, The eggs get moved to the nest box in the coop, in case she should show an interest tomorrow (She doesn't). Dad's internet poultry discussion-group all seem to be saying that this weather has made a very bad year for anything going broody. These are very young 'hins'. Maybe next year. The eggs are gathered up and used up in the normal way, first checking each one in case of the start of baby chicks.

A long time coming....

Huge apology. It seems to have been an awfully long time since I last posted in here. The 28th, in fact so it's over 2 weeks. In my defence, we have been extremely busy, in part because of an invasion by the entire Silverwood tribe so that the day I'd normally have written to you we were tied up getting ready for that but it's still a rubbish level of service and I will accept any slaps on wrists which are coming.

Dad's mission for Monday 30th July was to head for Carrick on Shannon to buy wood for the door of the hot press (airing cupboard). C0S is hometown of Anna L, the lady from whom we bought the house, and who is fast becoming a firm friend. Actually we bought it from the Three Sisters, but Anna took the role of spokesman and it was with her that we seemed to be doing the negotiations and the business around buying the extra field to square off the property. Mum and Dad therefore decide to text Anna to say they are going to be in town, and arrange to meet Anna at Esquires coffee house for a coffee. From there they all adjourn back to Anna's so that M+D can have a look at the garden and admire the burgeoning crops of beans etc. Our own stuff, started late due to the house building and then held back by the rain, wet and chill, is all very backward and pathetic by comparison. "We will get there!", says Dad but we are all praying for some kind of a Summer to start. We give Anna a jar of our home made blackcurrant jam and she gives us a bag full of broad bean pods.

M+D nearly do not make the coffee appointment, when Wandering Wendy stays rather too long on the nest in the nettle patch and appears to be going broody but eventually, just as they've given up and got in the car, out she wanders and strolls round to the run asking to be let back into the run. In your own time, Wendy.... no rush.

Mornings are now  falling into the routine of pup and kittens. Dad and I are woken at 06:30 by the clamour from the kitchen and Dad gets up to release the gang into the backyard. While they chase about he gets a chance to mop up the inevitable pee and poo most of which is, admittedly, in the cat litter tray or on the pads and paper we have put down. This usually involves a bit of wiping floors with tissues held in one hand while batting away pup or kittens with the other. The kindergarten gets fed. Preparing the food is a bit interesting as the kitten Blue is quite good at climbing the whole height of a person, starting with a leap onto the back of a calf-muscle. Yowser!

With the kindergarten feeding happily, Dad can go release and feed chickens and let the rabbits out into their run. By now I have stretched and luxuriated enough and join him for the walk out to the bunnies. Back indoors we all settle down while Dad has a coffee, at which point I generally wander back upstairs and hop back onto the big bed with Mum, where no pups and kittens have yet ventured. Dad brings Mum a cup of tea at 0800 and the day proper begins when Mum comes down.