Things that (don't) go Bump in the Night

Kato is un-impressed by my carving skills.

A quick (and short) post tonight as Hallowe'en night slips by almost un-noticed by the local Trick or Treaters. Or so it seems to us here, anyway. We have often only had one or two callers and on one occasion none at all. I think about 15 is our best score - across 4 families. Little armies of costumed un-dead usually safe inside Hi-Viz jackets and carted round by Mums or Aunties in big 4x4 vehicles. Some are let come up the drive by themselves, others come up shepherded by a parent.

They are invariably very well behaved, very polite and nervous and try to take only one or two chocs from our proffered tub. You have to insist and persuade them that it is OK to grab a hand-full. They look for re-assurance from Mum to check this is allowed. This is very different from the kids we got in Kent (UK) I remember, particularly in the Medway Towns where there was a real risk of running out of sweeties half way through the night.

As I type this it is 20 to 8 so it is probably all done (though, as I have said before, never say 'Never') and we have had a grand total of 3 kids in one family group. These were little ones we did not recognise but it now seems to be the local modus operandi that you, the householder, advertise your open-ness with a pumpkin Jack-o-Lantern lit up on your gate pier. If you don't want the visits, no pumpkins and everybody respects that.

Hi-tech cheese presses.

The only "Trick" mean-ness I have heard of is some 'egging' of house fronts in the village. My Honesty Box was empty (sold out again!) but we brought it in under the trees out of sight of the road as a precaution. Our neighbour(s) have in the past brought their small gang of 7-ish along but not this year, so I guess they are all feeling a bit grown up now and such childish pursuits are maybe not 'cool' any more. The Silverwoods are, from the blaze of pics in Facebook, still leading the charge down in Co Laois - there has been a fun-shoot at the archery and all the family seem to be carving the most excellent and intricate pumpkins.

Cheese just out of the moulds, waiting for their dry salt-cure

Ah well. What else is going on? The short answer is plenty but not a lot I can tell you about. The 'plenty' is one of those "someone else's story" things where I do not have the blessing of the key players to 'report' the story on the Internet. Sorry about that.

Home made wine. 

Other than that we are chugging along making bread, making cheese and starting into our home made wine, which is really nice and quite a revelation. We are now on GMT, of course, so all the bird lock-up and evening duties are now moved forward to 5 o'clock and the long dark evenings are upon us and I am back to being woken up by the dogs at around 7 a.m.

I think I'll leave it at that. Have a good Hallowe'en. Don't run over any little witches, ghosties or ghoulies. Or the Feast of Samhain, if you prefer.

Never Ending

Some local horses make the 365 album

With the coming and going of Hallowe'en (and All Souls' Day, I guess) we realised that we are now three quarters of the way through the 'Lisacul 365' photographic project. This year-in-the-life photographic record of all things within the 18 townlands, started on 1st Feb (that pic Liz took of our St Brigid's Cross seems a long way ago now) and runs through till 31st Jan 2017. It has (touch wood) not missed a day yet and has accumulated around 1000 pictures at this 9-month stage. There are roughly 85 more days to go.

A common sight locally. Abandoned farm buildings now
used (if at all) as barns. 

Regular readers will know that I function as 'back-stop' or 'safety net' committed to take at least 1 (normally 3) pic(s) each day so that on the days when none of the other 20 regular contributors take any, the show must go on. Hence as well as the 1000 pictures stored by Liz on the project website (awaiting final choice of THE ONE for each date), I have my own 1000-shot collection which overlaps to a degree.

Shaggy Ink Cap

By now I have pictured most of the area - I have shot scenery, farm buildings, ruins, flowers, trees, animals, birds and other 'bio-diversity', people where I could, highways and bye-ways, the weather, sunsets and sunrises. night time pictures, food and drink, events and seasonal stuff. It seems never ending. I am not trying to impress anyone here (go look at the pics and then decide), rather explaining why I am running out of steam a bit and will be relieved when it is all over. I can see myself putting the camera down on 31st Jan 2017, determined to give it a rest for a while.

These babies blundered into the 365 project when they escaped
their field and went for a stroll on the tarmac. Their Mum was
giving them hell from the field to my left but they hadn't a bother
on them. 

We will all be immensely proud, of course, of having stuck it out and 'landed' the thing but now that we are through the 'autumn colours' blaze of photo-genicity, I am looking down the barrel of 80+ days of grey skies, rain-swept muddy fields, no new plants, baby chicks or lambs. I am feeling a bit uninspired. Still, no-one said it was easy and, if it was, then we'd all be less proud of it.

Pond frozen for the first time this winter
on Monday 7th Nov

Also in the 'Going on for ages and now finally nearly done' Dept is THAT election in America. Liz has, you will know, always been a fan but I am only this time finding myself drawn into the drama and intrigue, listening to pod-casts and punditry on the Internet. Well, they all went to the polls today and I am reverting to my less-interested 'tell me in the morning' mode while Liz is about to pull one of her all-nighters, simultaneously watching news feeds, Twitter hash-tags, Facebook and her own private chat-forum groups. Tomorrow has, of course, already been taken off work as a holiday.

Snookered today by having to wait while the People exercise their democratic right, she was reduced to ironing, going to Knitting Club and Drama Group and, very nicely, feeding K-Dub and I tea and buns whenever we took a break from 'doing' the new kitchen wall. When she returns from drama-ing (about 11 pm) the polls will have closed in US-time and things might be starting to move for her night-owl surfing. By my next post, presumably, it will all have been decided, the winner 'crowned' President and the loser, just maybe, conceded with good grace.

Tell-tale blue turf smoke. 

Meanwhile, Monday saw us with a first frosty morning of this winter and the pond frozen over. I am not 100% sure, but I think that ram-lamb Silas, may have been having a little go with our Jacob-cross ewe, Polly. I think she has the faintest waft of smokey blue colour across her rump. What we need is a great wet slapped dollop of the stuff so that we would know for sure, but this might be an early teen-age fumbling. Polly's wool is quite dark anyway and can appear a blue-ish grey in some lights, so you'd not swear that it was raddle-grease on her but we remain hopeful.

Silas the Tiny (and Blue)

Travelling First Class - Silas arrives in Sue's car.

"Holy Apostle", Silas you may recall from your Sunday School days, was one of Paul's merry men from the adventures preaching to assorted Thessalonians, Corinthians, Antioch and the like. Or you can look him up in Google, the same way I had to! Well, to us, now, he is much more recent and way less holy - Silas is this year's 'tup' or ram-lamb, staying here for 5 weeks or so while he works his way round our 4 ewes getting them all into lamb. Possibly. I say 'possibly' because the lad is still rather small. The name comes from a white cross on his face when he was a young one.

Larruping the gooey blue 'raddle' grease onto Silas's chest

Born this year he has not grown anything like as fast as our lambs and was about a month later coming into the world. His size is probably something to do with the fact that he was an orphan or 'sock' lamb and had to be hand-reared with no real ewe's milk to go at. No matter, we are going to give him a try out and he will no doubt enjoy the practise this year and whether or not he 'scores' we are fairly relaxed about how many lambs we get in 2017. We will have him back next year (all being well) as an 18 month old, bigger and more experienced chap.

Sue leads Silas out to meet his new 'women'

Because we want to know if and when he does manage to mount the ewes (so that we can do the 5-month calculation on the calendar), we have 'raddled' him; in this case bright blue. For the uninitiated, raddle is a coloured oily mess you slap onto and massage into his chest and lower neck so that, when he mounts the ewe he cannot avoid 'painting' her rump with the stuff. You buy it as a tub of 450 g of blue (or other colours) "chalk" powder and mix it to a sloppy paste with ordinary vegetable oil. You can, if you prefer, and have more money than we do, buy it as a fancy wax 'crayon' which fits into a leather harness which holds it in position under the boy's chest. You can even buy it in 'hot weather' and 'cold weather' versions to adjust its 'painting ability' to the frost and sunshine. Yeah right.

Please don't leave me behind.....

We had Sue deliver him while he was still wearing his head collar and lead, so that she could keep a hold of him while I smeared him blue and then lead him in to meet the ladies. He was a bit nervous when faced with these 4 bigger sheep and none of us could shake off the impression that he was a small child being taken to 'big school' by his Mum on that first day. He clung to Sue a bit and didn't really want to be left behind.

It's only vegetable oil - it washes off (I was relieved to find!)

Our biggest and possibly 'alpha' ewe Myfanwy came over and gave him a good sniffing including that lift-the-upper-lip thing they do when chatting each other up. We took that as a good sign. Myf' also gave him a couple of play butts just to make sure he knew she was boss and our new this year ewe-lamb (Rosie) also showed an interest. So, there he was. He's in there now and looks OK. He certainly has a strong appetite for our good grass and fiercely defends his corner of the breakfast (crunch) trough. As of tonight he has not 'scored' yet (no blue rumps, so far) but that would be normal. The ewes would expect to come into heat in the presence of a male, and may take some days. They may not have been anywhere near ready, living in the ladies-only flock as they were up till yesterday. Patience is the thing.

An interesting use for left over Dabinette cider apples. Liz
made this apple, lemon and star-anise jelly. 

In an amusingly related story, I was over in Sligo yesterday morning helping K-Dub build another stone wall when an old boy pulled up outside in a lovely vintage red MF tractor which was, in turn, pulling an equally vintage stock trailer. We didn't know the fella - he was just "generic weather-beaten, leathery Sligo farmer bloke". He strolled over and asked did 'we' have a Billy Goat (presumably knowing full well that 'we' (actually Charlotte) did - you can see the goats from the road. He had his Nanny goat in the trailer, he said, and she was on heat, so might he put her to the Billy.

The new calendars start to leave the country

We called C out from the house and she, obviously amused, took man and goat out to meet the boy. Billy was well up for any action and came racing down the field but our (human) ladies could immediately tell that the goat was nothing like on heat (no swollen vulva, no tail wagging) so there was to be no mounting and Sligo-farmer had to lead his charge off un-impregnated. C found out that he wants the goat 'in-kid' so that she comes into milk and he can put orphan lambs to her. The Billy he normally uses is locked in a "cage" he said on a farm where you can never get hold of the farmer. It is in a cage because it is "so fierce!", he said. C has invited him to try again next week and has also put in a bid for the goat-kid(s) which he presumably disposes of if he's feeding the nanny-milk to his lambs. The tractor, he protested, is not some lovingly restored 'vintage' machine - just his own, long-loved work-a-day farm machine.

Then there was Hallowe'en. We are not sure very much Hallowe'en happened down this lane before we arrived, there not being many kiddies down here of the right age. We arrived fresh from the UK and also filled with enthusiasm gained by association with the Silverwoods crowd and the mad party of armies of Estate children, squillions of Euro spent on sweeties and more still on dry ice, special effects, electronic ghosties and ghoulies and sound effects. In our first year we decided to put a rather tentative pumpkin lantern on the gate pier down in the lane and a few more small lights up the drive, bought ourselves a modest stash of chocs and wondered whether our 'advert' (open for business, up for some Trick-or-Treat kids?) would attract anyone.

We got one family, as I recall - near neighbours. Mum in Hi-viz and driving people carrier. Kids all costumed up. We've done it ever since. In the 2nd year it was lashing rain and I think we got no-one, but since then the word seems to have been spreading that you can go to 'that place down the lane'. This year we had a visit from K-Dub and co (OK, I admit I had invited them) but then in quick succession 4 very nice families finishing up with a crowd of 8 or so which included the little ones from 4 years ago. They descended upon our sweeties like a plague of locusts, 16 little hands scrabbling for the chocs and lollipops. They cleaned us out. They had lovely costumes - there was even a Donald Trump!

It was late enough by then, though, that we decided we could safely shut up shop to save having to disappoint any other families, so I whizzed round retrieving the pumpkins and blowing out lanterns. I'm not sure what the going rate is for the 'Trick' part of Trick or Treat - what happens to you if you cannot give the kids any sweets (or you just don't). I hear some houses get 'egged' (fresh raw eggs thrown at the front door). Our local kids do not seem to be that cynical and are, anyway, being driven round by parents, so I'd hope do not run to those Hallowe'en horrors. We got away with it anyway. One of the Dads told me today that he had hidden himself in a field while the children came up to our door and then sneaked along the lane behind them in the field before jumping out of the hedge at them in the dark, scaring them half to death before giving them a bucket of sweets.  Good Night Kiddies. Don't have nightmares now! See you next year. I will have to buy more sweeties.

Namaste, Goat Meat and 'Mush'

We love this conjunction of an orange
"red hot poker" and the autumn leaves
at the 'top' of Ballaghaderreen. It needs
slanting morning sunshine to set it on
fire but this pic gives you some idea

"Namaste" (nama-stay). Roughly translated from the Hindu, it says "I bow to the Divine within you" and is said with that well known palms-together, fingers pointing upwards, greeting gesture you see on so many statues and pictures. It is how Yoga students traditionally greet each other and thank each other at the end of a session. So at the end of 8 weeks I come to the end of my Yoga instruction 'term', 6 weeks of 'men's beginner' classes and then 2 more sessions we "might as well do to bring us up to 'half term' "

Liz found this lovely bowl at the Dublin "Knit and Stitch" Show

We started out with half a dozen blokes but that suddenly crashed in week 4 to just 2 of us, myself and a lad called Jim. He then dropped out and was replaced by a guy named Padraig so I was the only person to do all 8. Unfortunately this attrition has made the instructor decide not to run the 'men' sessions on after Hallowe'en, so if we want to continue we'd have to brave the ladies' "mixed ability" sessions or seek out a men's session somewhere else. We'll see.

The remaining orchard pears were used in this gorgeous
pear and chocolate gooey dessert with almonds, best eaten
warm with ice cream, advised Liz. I'm not arguing!

I feel that the sessions have done me a world of good in terms of increasing my flexibility, suppleness and, yes, my strength and balance. For those who have not met the 'discipline' those pictures you see of people in odd poses are not the whole story. The exercise and the good it does come from getting into those positions. They work by forcing the student to bend or balance or lean like that and then, when the hamstrings or joints are twanging and screaming for relief, encouraging him/her to stay in that pain, relax and breathe, allowing each exhale to 'sag' the body into even more stretch. In theory the instructor is saying "Don't over-do it. Only go as far as is comfortable, If it hurts too much come back into the 'child pose' or something easier on the joints or muscles"  In practise you are warmed up, into it, focused and you push yourself. All the major muscle blocks warm up beautifully and the sweat starts to drip down your face and your back and there is no way you are going to 'wuss' and sit that one out. Namaste.

Note the bare brown mud inside this run and the green grass
outside.

On a completely different subject, one of my private bug-bears is small holders who over-stock their ground so intensely that the vegetation is annihilated and the animals or birds are walking around in a brown desert of bare mush or wood chippings. The animals get bedraggled and sorry looking. Chickens in particular hate to be wet and to have to stand somewhere wet. They like to be able to get dry and (preferably) to be able to dust-bathe. They like to preen and I love to see them on dry, green, sunlit grass, bright of eye, clean of leg and immaculate of feather. 'Mush' is bad.

A rather grubby collection of "white" Hubbards at 80 days.

Most 'petting zoos' fall into this trap, cramming so many birds and animals into the space either side of the visitors' path so that the kiddies can be near them, that the visitors only see muddy, sad birds wading through the dead mush where no worms or grubs have lived for ages. We try to keep all our birds fully free range but you will recall that we made an exception of the Hubbards this year, looking to keep them (and their voluminous poo!) out of the yard and the barns. Well, we had such a wet summer and autumn that the big pen I built for them was rapidly destroyed by the growing poults and I found myself doing exactly the 'mud farming' here which I have just said that I abhor. As a result, the Hubbards at 80 days, have been allowed out. I was sure they would not invade the yard nor stray too far from 'home' and this proved to be the case. They wander out of the run and enjoy the green grass and the willow 'fedge' and the margins of the pond. They can scratch for grubs here successfully and dust bathe in the dry bits. They are immediately cleaner and happier looking. Every time I feed them they follow me and my food-tub back home and they still gravitate to their house at night. Everyone's a winner.

Goat chops

Meanwhile, we got to try some goat meat from that kid in the previous post, Henry Óg (Henno). Owner Carolyn very generously passed us a dozen chops in gratitude for our haulage, grazing, help, midwifery and other goat-based services. The verdict? Chops are slightly smaller than a lamb chop would be and have way less fat on the rib part. Taste was like a slightly stronger lamb flavour (maybe mutton, but I've never tried that) and there was absolutely none of the 'goaty' smell or taste that we were slightly worried about (this was a 7 month old billy and was starting to honk in life). The 'eye' muscle (round lean bit) was possibly a bit tougher and chewy-er than our equivalent lamb would be but I just fast-fried it 3 minutes each side. It was pink in the middle (how we like lamb) . I have been told since that it really needs a bit of slow cooking - fry it by all means but then simmer very gently in something like onion gravy or a sauce for an hour - it then melts like butter!

We progress by stages on the kitchen extension. K-Dub arrived on Friday with the window and door panels. That was fun and more physical than I'd imagined. A double glazed door and frame make a lumpy piece of kit (2-man lift) and it took some steadying while K-Dub secured it with the requisite number of screws, fixings and 'anchor's. It all looks very well, all be it still covered in its white tape to protect the (wood grain) finish. It also gives us a nice idea of how big the new space will be. It has yet to receive its trims and facings, plus the fascia and rain-guttering. We also have to do the lead 'flashing' which binds the roof to the walls and stops rain water sneaking down the walls past the roof.

On time and on budget and in spec! Liz lands her main
autumn project, the village calendar. 

I have also alluded to a village project being landed by Liz about which I was sworn to secrecy. This has now hit the ground and all can be revealed. We have a village calendar. It is a thing of beauty and will make superb Christmas presents or something to have on the kitchen wall. It is based around the pictures taken by the 20  contributors to the Lisacul 365 (Year in the life) photographic project and is receiving wide acclaim and praise.

Village Tea Party

The first batch came from the printers in Balla-D on Thursday, so was ready to "launch" at the village Tea Party last night - our annual gathering of anyone who fancies cooking food to share, a bit of a fund-raiser for the village. Liz gets heavily involved in that, too, both organising it, publicizing it and then, on the day, preparing the hall which spends most of its life as the pre-school room, full of children's toys and furniture and beautifully decorated with all the children's hand- and foot-painting (this week it is all scary spiders and Frankensteins for Hallowe'en)

Another Lizzie project landed - my
lovely new jumper!

Finally, then, for this one, one more project landed. A lovely new country-knit jumper for my good self with a beautiful cable panel up the front. It fits perfectly and is going to be a firm favourite through the winter months.

Two Vets

Poppea - Westie cross fruit bat at 3 months

A day for two vet visits, both successful but with very different outcomes. First up, Poppea's visit to the town vet to get her stitches out. Being a bit of a drama queen as dogs go, I was expecting her to squeal and scream at every stitch, and was joking that we might have to warn up anyone sitting in the waiting room to make sure they didn't de-camp, thinking that the vet was torturing the animals that morning. In the event, no such worries. The vet had me lift Pops up onto the table and then stand her up holding her front legs and head/chest off the ground, so that her belly was stretched out in his full view. He tinkered around out of sight with Poppea barely twitching but looking at me a bit anxiously. "OK, all done" he said. He'd nipped out all of her stitches in a few minutes and brave soldier Pops had not whimpered, squeaked or squealed at all. Proud of her.

Pirate enjoys a good brush out.

Then this afternoon, not so much fun. RIP then, poor aul' Pirate, former diseased, emaciated stray cat with lots of bits missing. We had him put down today. Never the most handsome cat, we called him 'Road-crash chic'. He never did get over the missing eye, open to infections thing and recently picked up a bad infection of the chest, face, possible whole head, Poor aul' sod. Didn't really get any good numbers in life's lottery, but at least we gave him 18 months of being warm, dry, safe and fed. Now he's in a bit of garden where the golden autumn beech leaves shade him and the slanting evening sun lights up the grass and his memorial 'rock'. We'll miss you, Pi.

As for you fellow chicken keepers, when you are carving out your Hallowe'en pimpkins, remember the chickens. We all knew that pumpkin seeds and innards were a natural womer, didn't we (?). I had certainly heard it from 'people' but I did wonder whether it was one of those old wives' tales, with no grounding in real science. Up stepped biochemist/chicken nuts 'Martin Woods Farm' with the following.

"If you're planning on carving a pumpkin this Hallowe'en, don't forget your hens! They will adore all the insides of the pumpkin and, as an extra bonus, the seeds act as a natural wormer for chickens.

Pumpkins are part of the Curcurbita family and the seeds contain a naturally occurring chemical called Curcurbitacin which can paralyse worms in the digestive tract (I love it when my 2 passions, chickens and science, come together!). As well as this, pumpkins are also a great source of Vitamin A, Vitamin E and Vitamin C! What a winner! Make sure your birds have grit available to them to help digest the seeds and, as with all treats, feed them in moderation and as late in the afternoon as possible."

So now you know.

Spent Mushroom Compost

Feed the soil and it will feed you. The substrate in our poly tunnel managed its first season producing shallots, strawberries, some tomatoes and pumpkins but is not really in good heart. The ground there was the floor of an old hay barn, so well compacted by farm machinery, strewn with bits of old peat-turf, riddled with stinging nettle roots, tussock grasses and, it turned out, many an annual weed seed, especially chickweed. The soil, where it existed, seemed to be mainly the clay subsoil, the topsoil having been scraped away and into 'the bank' (of which more in other posts). The clay had been badly poached and puddled up making the ground into a quagmire that we hoped would dry out a bit once the tunnel cover was on.

Mushroom farm tunnel.

We decided to dig the whole floor over, recovering as many bigger bits of peat turf as we could, pulling out the weeds and stones, but then to leave it to sit, chopped over while it might drain a bit. We would not, for the moment, add any fertilizer or soil improver. We thought it would go one season like this while the soil structure recovered, helped by worms and crop plant roots. This is what happened. I cleared the area at the end of the tomato season and then let the chickens in to scrape and peck through the aftermath creating a nice seedless and critter-less crumb, which they are happy to do. They especially love the chance to dust-bathe in there on rainy days.

But now we need to get the soil ready for the next season so we will add some of our well rotted calf manure, but also some spent mushroom compost. Anne has tipped us off about a mushroom farm within half an hour's drive, up beyond the town of Boyle, which runs 8 dark poly-tunnels full of mushroom beds and which clears (they use the expression "bounces") the compost from one tunnel each Monday. The inoculated compost  (in this case 'chestnut mushrooms') goes into the shelving and onto the beds in these tunnels packed into bales looking like thick grow-bags with the tops cut away.

When the crop is grown, cut over several weeks and 'spent' (cropped out) the beds can be cleared by lifting these saggy damp bales out for commercial disposal but the farm encourages gardeners and other interested parties to come and collect as much as they like. Anne and Simon bring their van (and, in fact offered us the use of same) and can fit 30 such bales into the back. We took the Fiat and managed to squeeze 8 bales into that with the seats down. We wished we still had the 2CV and its trailer. We may well get a tow bar fitted to the Fiat. The spent compost is a lovely 'clean' product which, said Liz, smells beautifully of the woods in autumn. It is also covered in tiny button mushrooms-to-be which will apparently give us a crop for a while in our own poly-tunnel. Well it's home now and spread around the tunnel here. I could probably use a couple more bales, realistically, to give good cover.

The rest of that outing was also a very successful shopping expedition. I needed a new chain saw chain and a file to sharpen the existing one(s) so East Brothers near Boyle did the honours. We needed socks, jocks, Marmite and some jeans for Liz from Tesco in Carrick. We also needed paint for Anne's glass-painting hobby from Carrick. Scenic, too, with all the lovely sunshine and autumn colours around Lough Kee. Very pleasant.

Spreading the compost around in our own tunnel.

We were amused to learn some more story on our 'failed' Hallowe'en where, you will recall, no children turned up and we are left with a bowl of un-used sweeties. The main 'Mum', Mrs McG was laughing about the adventures with me, It seems that the McG tribe set out with good intention that night but poorly off for torches, one Mum with a small torch but the other just using the light on her mobile phone. They started off going west down the lane away from us meaning to call at some of the houses down there. They actually pre-agree these with some of the old boys who live alone in these old houses and in some cases actually give the sweeties to give back to the children!

Roast pork belly with apple, chestnut, sage and onion stuffing

Returning from this western leg of their mission one of the smaller boys had tripped over and fallen on his hand, grazing the 'heel' of his hand and getting gravel in it, and worse, his older brother had then stumbled over his prone form in the dark and fallen too. The Mums had picked up the kids and wiped away tears and cleaned grazes as best they could. They were then just about to set out our way when a big loose dog bounced up the land behind them. Apparently it did not attack or harry them, it just bounced enthusiastically, but the little ones aren't very good with dogs, so there were more tears, crying of "Mummy!" and also, by then, it had started to rain, so they aborted the trip and all went home to get clean, dry and safe. Mrs McG was 'horrified' to learn that we'd been there, all waiting in vain and even writing poems to cover our absence and she joked that they'd make sure to do us first next year.

Our First Livestock Sale

We needn't have bothered with Hallowe'en, the pumpkin carving and the bowl of sweeties in the end. Not a single child came and tried to 'Trick or Treat' us. The small group from 2 families down the lane, the McG children who made it last year, although I'd seen them gathering in the afternoon, obviously went elsewhere come evening. You will recall that Liz was out at the Dublin Knitting and Stitching Show, getting back to Balla-D by just gone 8 pm, so I was all set with the 5 pumpkins burning up the driveway from half five, but to no avail. Come 8 and I was expecting Liz's call, knowing I had to nip to Balla and I might miss the children, I put the bowl of sweets out front and decided to leave them a note. Feeling still a bit enthusiastic at that stage, I composed this silly ode.

Come ghosts, come ghouls, come witches all
You're welcome to our house and hall
I kid you not - don't hear me say
I got too scared and ran away
I had to nip to Balla-D
To c'llect my wife from Dublin, see?
But don't you worry, hungry friends
We have a way to make amends
There's sweets and smarties on that table (arrowed)
Grab big handfuls while you're able
We'll be back soon, before you know
But we'll be driving safe and slow
More scary kids I've never seen
Good Luck and Happy Hallowe'en!

It made me smile, anyway, so I thought I'd post it here. There! Art! Culture! Poetry, even! Are you impressed? No, OK. Nor were the local children who still stayed away in droves. The only youthful activity I saw was some herberts letting off fireworks from the lane down towards the nearby village of Lisacul but I guess that is the way of the world. I came back with Liz by which time it was raining, rescued the sweets and the poster from the wet and we retreated inside and finally had supper. I was amazed that the little pumpkins, which had been so hard to get alight with their little tea-light candles in the wind and drizzle, were still going strong at 10 pm when we went to 'lock up'. 

The next morning, the 1st November, is the regular and traditional date for a bit of a livestock fair in local town Balla-D. We are told that ten years ago this was a huge event, the streets crammed with folk, dozens of stalls selling stuff, huge rows of people with poultry in crates, geese sitting on the pavement restrained by being pushed into onion sacks with a hole cut in the bottom for the neck, trailers full of piglets and every kind of horse and donkey tethered to every handy bit of fence, lamp-posts and bollards, 4-wheel-drives and scruffy vans everywhere parked as only the locals seem to know how, double parked, abandoned at jaunty angles to the kerb, all across zebra crossings and double yellow lines. 

'Dublin Girl', one ear up, one ear down.

Now it is a much smaller event confined to a couple of streets and 'the corner' near the SuperValu supermarket, with maybe a dozen stacks of poultry crates, 15 horses and half a dozen donkeys. We have seen it before and pretty much avoided it, pigeon-holing it as a 'Travelling Community' thing, convinced that any stock you bought there would be in poor condition, dirty or diseased and over-priced. 

Our friend Charlotte from down the road, however, is made of tougher stuff than we are and uses it as a way of clearing some excess stock, in this case rabbits and ducks. She pitches up, snatches herself a chunk of pavement, sets up shop between the horses and stock trailers and is quickly surrounded by a hoard of children all trying to brow-beat Daddy into letting them have a bunny rabbit. On this occasion, having no female bunnies to sell, she said that if I'd drive her down and collect her again at 3 pm, she'd be happy to include some of my remaining females in the 'shop'. So there I was at 10 am, the little Fiat loaded to the gunwales with cat baskets of rabbits, cage crates 'flat-packed', drinkers, hay and feed sacks tied at the top with baler twine, quacking and writhing with their living ducky contents. 

We pulled up like regulars at a likely vacant chunk of kerb, unloaded, I helped Charlotte set up, wished her luck and left her to it. We dropped by during the day as we shopped in Balla, and she seemed to be busy with prospective customers. She had a good day, selling 6 of her 10 ducks and a good few rabbits including we were delighted to find, two of our females including our prettiest one, 'Dublin Girl', she of the multi coloured coat and one ear up, one ear down. This, we realised, is our first ever sale of livestock. Charlotte has also advised us that there may be more sales between now and Christmas at which she would be happy to work the same arrangement plus she may get customers she would pass my way (who wanted female rabbits) going into Christmas. The 'stock' will not be 'offed' for casserole  for at least the next couple of months. 

Hallowe'en in a Small Way, Knitting in a Big Way!

I've never been that bothered with Hallowe'en. Growing up in England through the 60's and 70's we didn't really do it. There was nothing in the shops like there is now. You all did Guy Fawkes Night and then had the gap till Christmas and we were all amazed when the film ET came out and we saw all those American children out 'en masse' Trick-or-Treating. It started to creep in to Kent while we lived there (mainly the 90's and the 'Naughties') so we bought the obligatory tin of Roses chocs and carved a pumpkin for the front window to give notice that we were up for it, but we only ever got a couple of groups of very well behaved and shy, restrained kids on our street. You had to brow beat them into taking 'a decent handful' of the chocs, or you'd be left eating them for weeks. I remember one year where Liz and Mrs S (possibly before she was Mrs S?) tipping our tin out onto a coffee table so they could sort out sweets between ones we liked and ones we didn't. The good ones were then buried at the bottom of the tin so that the kids would mainly take the yucky strawberry creme centres.

The Silverwoods, on their 'young' estate with its million children go the maddest for Hallowe'en. The streets pretty much become no-go areas with great troops of little witches and ghouls in elabourate costumes being shepherded from house to house. Everyone gets involved, so the whole street(s) have all bought a truck load of sweets  and gazillions of Euro worth of decorations - big black billowing Death-mask figures which rise up on strings attached to the door when you open it, sound effects, lit up grave stones for the front lawn, dry ice smoke and so on. Real artistry is applied to the pumpkin carving (unlike mine, pictured, which took 5 minutes!) using stencils from the internet to do cats, witches, mummies and the like. Mr S's ones are brilliant. He must take hours over them. Special ghostly food is cooked and spooky parties are held for all the kids, who by now have returned to their own house several times with full carrier bags of sweets, their arms too tired to carry all the booty. Liz and I were there for one year and it was all brilliant fun.

Back here though, we live in a lane where there are only 2 families (2 brothers) with any children. so we don't go too mad. I grew a few pumpkins this year which we will put along the drive and on the gate piers when it gets dark. If last year is anything to go by we will get one visit (both the families, and one of another brother from outside the village) but they do a good job of dressing up and they get shepherded around by the Mums in hi-viz jackets. We are happy to join in as part of our getting known and accepted in the village. I'll let you know how we got on. When I say 'we', unless the kids are very late it is more likely to be me and the dogs because Liz is away.

She has gone to Dublin with her 'Knit and Natter' group in a 29 seater coach, to the annual "Knit and Stitch" Show which is held at the RDS, Ireland's big national exhibition space, equivalent to the NEC or Earl's Court in the UK. Knitting, cross-stitch and the likes are MASSIVE in Ireland and this show is a huge Trades Exhibition for the wool producers, knitting needle makers and anyone with new ideas or techniques or equipment to show off. We were up early (05:45) to get Liz and Carolyn to the coach pick-up point in Balla-D by 07:00. They have been at the Show all day and are just now on the way home, shopped out and loaded down with wool and goodies, returning via a stop for a burger in Enfield Services. Liz will text me when they get to French Park, so I should be able to  get to Balla just as they are disembarking the coach. That's the plan anyway but, you know, Witches are ABROAD!

A calf called 'Dave'

Dave

We are obviously only amateurs at this 'farming' lark, with our rabbits grazing the front lawn. A lady just down the lane has a calf grazing hers. Well, grazing a bit, maybe - this one is so young he is still on the hand-feeding bottled milk. He is a Limousin born last week but one of twins, rejected by the Mum who seems to have decided that one is enough. He seems to be doing OK but must be a bit lonely judging by the way he bounces up to the fence even when I have three dogs on leads. I had a good idea that this lady might be as 'silly' as us with giving the little mite a name. Well, she told me rather apologetically, the grand children have called him 'Dave'!

Rain, wind and a blizzard of autumn leaves coming down. Round here that is mainly the ash and the sycamore now. The hawthorn is already bare to the heavy crop of haws. We are a bit short on pretty colours this year, no flaming reds or oranges. The sycamore gets that tar-spotting fungus before the leaves turn a muddy brown. The ash just goes pale yellow and pathetic looking before it falls, the leaflets coming away from the central leaf-stalk leaving you with a twiggy mess. The beech and horse chestnut have tried a bit of orange but really, the only colour is coming from the more exotic garden trees - Acers and so on - up and down the lane. Not a vintage year for indulging in that bizarrely named American activity, "Leaf Peeping".

We love the Met Éireann weather maps on line, showing us the predicted rainfall (of which there seems to be plenty over this Irish Bank Holiday weekend (Hallowe'en). Rainfall is quoted in mm per hour, so 'heavy' would be any green areas, more than 1 mm per hour, 25 mm or an inch per day. The massive storms (yellow, orange and red) seem to be saving themselves for the south and east coast this time. You click on, and slide the time slider at the bottom of the map in 6-hour chunks and you can see it all passing through like a slow-motion movie.

Big thanks for this gift of wine from a generous benefactor. No names no pack drill - we are not at all sure the friend would want to be 'named and shamed' but you know who you are and we have, of course, made contact to pass on our thanks separately. Thank you very much. We love the name of this firm, "Wine on Line" based near Dublin and using one of the many excellent courier firms which seem to exist in these rural areas. These guys always seem to phone first before they arrive to check you are in and to confirm directions, which gives me a chance to get down to the gate to meet them. We had no idea this was coming so our first reaction was "What parcel? What have we ordered?"

John Deere Bob's new cattle on some silage aftermath.

The 2CV saga rumbles on and I probably know more about 2CV carburettors and the emissions tests now than it is healthy for one person to know. Ignore this paragraph if you have not interest in this! I will not bore you with a wealth of detail but the car is now back in the garage and being attended to by the senior guy (owner?) Keiran who is a whizz on these detailed tweaks and the gas analyzer. It seems that both my existing carb AND the spare I got from 2CV Llew have worn 'holes' where the hard metal of the butterfly spindles slot in. They do a smoke test apparently and can watch the smoke leaking out of what should be an airtight bearing. This means that they can set the mixture up but as soon as you tread the accelerator the butterfly opens but then can fall back into a different closed position. The air leaks around it and the jet has to be set rich to compensate for the air leaks, which can push your HC (hydrocarbons) out of kilter. Keiran thinks he can fix it but I am not confident.

Gladioli enjoying the mild autumn in the yard

In 2CV-Land there is an expert 'go-to' man we all talk to on line, named Ken Hanna. Ken thinks that the limits I am being asked to stay inside are set up for modern cars and engines with catalytic converters and clean exhausts. In the UK, he tells me, old cars are given exemptions and concessions. Even the new spec for a 2CV ex factory, he says would over-top the limits here (and fail) so I may be on a hiding to nothing. If this is the case then it is definitely not worth investing the (gasp) €240+ in a reconditioned carb. Ah well, we will find out on Thursday 14th Nov which is last chance saloon for this car.