We've Not Seen Snow Like This in 20 Years

Front lawn Sunday morning

In the previous post you saw pictures of a light dusting of snow which fell on the 8th. In previous years here, we would have had every reason to expect that a dusting was our lot. Winter was now over and we could begin the long climb back up to Spring, Solstice nearly upon us, and all that. One snowy day and that only light was our quota.

The grassy 'boreen' down to Flynn's fields

Everyone will tell you that the West of Ireland has a lovely, moderate "maritime" style climate with the huge Atlantic Ocean keeping us warm in winter and cooling us in Summer. Not for us over this side, the extremes of cold or of heat felt by the "continental" climate areas. 

Front lawn from top window as the sun was going down.

Well, the moderate maritime thing may be true but the "never get decent snow" thing creaked over the weekend and gave us a lovely, picturesque Sunday 10th. I was able to race round as you do first thing, overloading the camera with poorly lit, blue-toned pics (you always think you're going to have to work fast and early, because it won't "stick"), and still able to go round again in the afternoon when my pics might have better light.

Pit props installed to hold up the carport
roof against the possible weight of snow.
A bale of hay for the sheep. 

Of course, these days, we enjoy excellent weather forecasting, at least short-range, from Met Éireann and other websites which use their data, so we had plenty of warning from about the Thursday. I had never seen "Orange Warning for Snow" come up before and this one had the usual very precise county by county risk plus very accurate timings - 23:00 Saturday round to midnight Sun/Mon.

Drifts on the new kitchen roof.

I was able to take 3 sensible precautions. K-Dub long ago advised me that the joists I had put into the carport roof were a bit slender (at 6" deep) to go the 14 foot span and would need to be propped centrally if there was any risk of more than a few inches of snow.

The young Buff Orp' rooster shouts the
dawn.

I bought extra coal in case I couldn't get the car out by Monday and a bale of hay for the sheep for if all their grazing grass was buried. I was quietly confident that we'd be OK even with Liz away the weekend. I went to bed happy well before that 23:00 deadline and slept like a log.

The sheep get extra 'crunch' and some hay.

It was like being a kid again (even better - no chance of Mum saying we had to go to school!) to wake up and see that blue-white light flooding the windows and the gentle movement of big flakes of snow still falling and to know that I didn't have to go anywhere, no struggling to work up the M2, I could just sit back, take my photo's and trudge about in the 'deep and crisp and even'.

Towser at speed. The snow is deeper than his legs are long!

Turned out we were luckier still. We got more than most. Facebook friends were posting pics of dustings , an inch, or none. Liz, down in Silverwood-land got about 2 inches. Here we got 4-6". deeper in the drifts. Unusual snow for Roscommon. When I asked the locals whether this happened often, one old boy said "We've not seen snow like this in 20 years". That was also the view in the Post Office.

Deefer (left) and Poppea play in the snow.

I guess I must guard against boring you guys with too many snow scenes, but I couldn't resist these few. I hope you enjoy them. Of course it is now Tuesday, 2 days later and that maritime climate has come back as days warming to 4ºC and all this picturesque whiteness melting away. This morning saw great gobs of snow dripping from the trees, the paths and roads turning to slush and the exposed soil and grass a sloppy wet mess again. It's always a relief mid winter to get a freeze making the mud stiff or hard, however inconvenient are the frozen drinkers and hose pipe for the livestock.

This is one of the most iconic pics of our recent past - pulling
into the driveway for the first time on Dec 12th 2011 after our
overnight 500 mile convoy in the Fiat and 2CV

My only other 'story' for this post is one 'invented' by Facebook. Both of us had missed this one and there was a risk of the significance of today sailing by unmarked. FB though, have a little algorithm running which digs up pics you posted exactly x number of years ago and asks you if you want to re-post them. This morning they hit me with the picture shown here of the red Fiat and the 2CV and trailer in front of the house from exactly 6 years ago.

Obviously, I did. This is one of the most iconic pics we have from here - it shows the cars pulled into the driveway for the first time at the end of our overnight, 500 mile, emigration journey (well, emi- for me, re-immigration, I suppose, for Liz!). This pic appeared first on this blog at

http://deefer-dawg.blogspot.ie/2011/12/they-made-it.html

Snowy Sycamore

My diary from that day tells us that we called in briefly to mooch around but then to stash the 2CV in the cattle race (invisible from the road - we were less trusting then) before heading to Castlerea to drop some champagne to the Estate Agent's place (we must have been richer, too) and then head to Silverwood's for our first proper overnight together as Irish residents.

Global warming? 2 big new icebergs 'calve' off the well
known Roscommon Glacier.

The next day we apparently drove all the way back intent on starting work, at least achieving that the chimneys were swept clear of jackdaw nests and fires lit in both ends of the house. We both felt the need to make the house aware of us and to welcome us - we needed to bring warmth. I like to think we've done a lot more of exactly that in the intervening 6 years.

Just because there was no-one here to tell
me I shouldn't be building snowmen at
my age. The dogs liked it.

If you are interested in that rebuild phase, from about Dec 2011 to May 2012, then there are plenty more posts on this blog. Enjoy the read.

Rain Dance

Neither of us ever anticipated in all this 'move-to-the-West-of-Ireland' project that we would ever be standing in County Roscommon disappointed at the lack of rain. We are not the kind of people who moan about the wet weather and then straight way transfer all that grumble to the heat after just a single hot day. We have been enjoying the blue skies and taking the close sweatiness and midges that sometimes come with it, on the chin. Stoic to the end, us. But my diary records that this run of 'scorchio' started on 11th May, all be it with a couple of showery days around the 20th, so have a heart, Met Éireann; we are sated. You even sneaked the perfect Bank Holiday weekend in there.

Some nice artichokes for a tapas style meal

We are happy, content, have had all we could ask and more. When the run of hot days appeared to be breaking with an 'orange' warning for thunderstorms and heavy rain on (Bank Holiday) Monday, we got stuck into some good weeding, mowed all the grass and raced several lines of washing through the laundry system. We watched with happy anticipation as the promised massive black cloud banks rolled in mid-afternoon. Back in Kent Liz would have been telling our lovely neighbour, 'Angel' Betty and myself off suspecting that we were doing rain dances because we were fed up with all the watering. Here we listened out for the distant rumbles of thunder on the N, S, E and W horizons, commenting cheerfully... "Yes! It's a-coming!"

Alliums

No such drama for us here, though. Friends in all directions were reporting rain. Sue and Rob talked of "monsoon" conditions. Carolyn in Sligo reported lashing rain and cousin Keith in Dublin spoke of massive downpours, impressively heavy although short lived. We stayed dry as the 'dusht' and missed it all. Our clouds built impressively and dispersed. We stayed oppressively hot and clammy and felt quite miffed. Cheated, even. It didn't rain all evening, then a tiny front doorstep-dampening drip came later on and the night was dry. We know we should be careful what we wish for and I am glad that I got the mowing done - I would have been cursing if the shaggy grass had got wetted and then taken days to dry out again. It has not rained today either. Ah well.

In the local bogs the turf cutters are taking full advantage
of the drought. This turf is "footed" up to get some air through
it and we have seen some being cleared and carted away to
store. This is Kiltybranks.

Meanwhile in archery I am still having a whale of a time, loving my new hobby. When weather permits we are out of doors and the instructor is doing his best to get us ready for an assault on nearby inter-county "Field Archery" competitions. Field Archery is where you go yomping around through the woods and fields trying to find and then hit model animals made of dense foam rubber. The beasts are a bit larger than life (to give us half a chance - the crows are more like ravens and the partridges are as big as chickens, for example).

We have also been introduced to the black arts of scoring so that we can see whether we are improving week on week. The animal models are marked with an oval roughly corresponding to the chest/lungs position and a smaller oval where the heart would be. The scores vary according to size, range and difficulty of the target/shot but might be, for example, 15 for a kill (dead hit on the heart), 10 for a 'wound' (chest area) and 5 for a 'hit' (anywhere else on the animal). There is much banter around how the animal is not officially dead even though you have just banged an arrow through his head, in one eye and out the other. There are also silly scores for some of the more ridiculously tricky shots - a rat on a log THIRTY metres away (!). Hit that one, you get 40, knock him off his log with your arrow stuck in him and you score 60. I have not got within a foot of the blighter.

The pigs this evening.

I should quickly add, just to quiet the fears of people who think I have got a bit blood-thirsty, that it is ILLEGAL everywhere in the British Isles to hunt anything with a bow and arrow, even a cross-bow. If you want to go a-hunting you need a licence , a pretty fierce draw-strength bow and you need to be on mainland Europe - Germany, Italy and some of France, I think. We are definitely just playing at it. It is just more entertaining to go 'hunting' between the trees, than to spend 2 hours lobbing arrows down a Badminton hall.

Pastures new. The sheep are back in the orchard. 

What ever way about it, I was 'on fire' on Sunday and it seemed I could not miss those targets. After my first try out 3 weeks back when I scored just 65 as a combination of 13 'hits', no wounds and no kills, I was suitably humble and knew my place - the beginner/new boy/trainee. On Sunday, for some reason, I found myself transformed into Dead-eye Dick. I got 2 kills in the first group and hit several other 'animals' more than once (you get 3 arrows per target). I had surpassed my 65 one third of the way in! I must admit it did not go as 'deadly' as that all through and I still missed my due portion of targets with all three arrows (of course, I have still not bagged 'log rat') but I ended with a score of 145, over twice my first one. No pressure for next week!

Liz (in orange) gives the sheep strict instructions not to eat
or break off the trees. 

The sheep, meanwhile, Have razed the front lawn to the ground and left only a few grass-flower stalks and some now obvious nettles and thistles. The lack of rain has no doubt contributed and the grass has stopped growing. We do not want to let them back into the East Field yet as that is resting, so we have rather bravely moved the gang into the orchard tonight. This is with some trepidation as we know what damage sheep can do to young trees by browsing and by scratching their itches by rubbing at them. We are hoping our trees are that bit bigger and taller so that they can afford to lose a few lower leaf-clusters (raising their 'skirts' or 'Savannah-ing' we call it here). They are also in some cases still guarded by the tree guards we originally fitted when we used this field before, several years ago. We are hoping that the sheep will focus on the lush grass and buttercups and leave the trees alone. Liz has read them The Riot Act.

Ah Sure, He had the Breathing...

Liz gets a good Radio 4 programme running and
loses herself in a bit of rooster plucking

With the Christmas and New Year shenanigans all over, we are back into the old groove. Liz has gone back to the 'proper work' and I have been back at the buildering, livestock management and homestead stuff. This meant that the stay of execution enjoyed by the June born lamb (Dylan) and the 'two-chick' roosters was all up and they variously went on their final journeys. This post may be a bit full of killing for some tastes. Dylan was man-handled into the trailer on Monday 11th Jan and off to our excellent local small-business slaughterman/butcher, Ignatius G Victualler.

There are 2 roosters to process today, so I get to pluck
one of them

We never enjoy that job and we don't know anyone who does, but in our opinion you should never keep these meat animals unless you are happy with the exit strategy and are comfortable with the end game; otherwise you'd end up knee deep in geriatric livestock. Heartbreaking though this time - it is no problem dropping off your beloved 'child' in the slaughterman's lairage if there are a few animals already in there from some other customer. The lamb struggles to avoid being penned but then suddenly looks up as if to say "Ooh - new friends! Must go meet them!". This time, no such luck. The pens were empty, so we had to drive away turning a blind eye (and ear) to Dylan's little face looking at us through the gate and calling for his Mum, alone for the first time in his little life. It is a wrench.

The dodgy looking 'witches' cauldron' of a haggis boil-up

We collect the offal (heart, kidneys, liver and 'lights' (lungs)) on the following day. The carcass hangs for a week in the cold store and we go down to collect it on the following Monday morning (18th). The liver and kidneys get used fresh for supper that day (and very nice they are too). The hearts and lights go into a rather dodgy looking 'witches' cauldron' boil up prior to being 'whizzed' and added to the oatmeal, 'lean' trimmings (of neck in this case, from an earlier lamb), mace, nutmeg and cumin; our home made haggis, of course. We don't actually pack this into a sheep's "paunch" as per the official recipes - Liz does a 'tray bake' version in a greased (lamb fat) Pyrex oven dish with foil and the lid pressed down to exclude air. It works very well. Roll on Burns' Night.

Two identically fed roosters, one white, one 'red' in feather
turn out to have very different skin colour in carcass form.

Regular readers may recall the 'two chick' roosters hatched under an elderberry bush in our woods last summer. These lads were becoming a nuisance and, hunting as a pair, they were 'nailing' rather too many of our hens and we already had the two official roo's here, both Buff Orpington pure-breds. Once New Year was gone I needed to cull them out but I wanted to do this in our usual minimum stress, quick style. If you set out to catch a bird on a given day and fail, you just end up winding the poor things up by chasing them till the carcass would be so full of adrenalin it would be like jelly.

Haggis under construction

I wander about going to my normal business and wait till one makes the mistake of getting himself cornered where I can grab him quickly and then 'cuddle' him under my arm to calm him down while I walk to where my bill hook is and then to the quiet, secret place out of sight of all the other birds. Both these guys obliged me on Weds 13th when they took shelter from a rain shower in the turkey-house, formerly a milking shed, a place full of corners and bays. Easy pickings. One of these lads will end up as a standard roast chicken but with the other Liz fancies having a go at the 'sous-vide' cookery we have seen talked about and for which you need the carcass to be vac-packed.

The south gable stonework finished

With the coming of January, Winter turned up with a yellow warning for Co Roscommon for snow (orange for Co. Sligo). As I said, I was back at the buildering and was helping finish the stone-mason-ing up to the top of the south gable end (the boss was laying the stones - I was keeping him supplied up on his scaffold with buckets of mortar and plenty of stones). We'd just finished at about midday when I noticed that the sunshine on the gable and the ominous black cloud behind would make a good picture, so I'd called out the Lady of the House and her camera to come take a few pics (one is shown here). Half an hour later we were in drinking coffee when the cloud decided to deliver the 'orange warning' snow; an impressive heavy blizzard which immediately called a stop to our outdoor efforts and had the gritter lorries and snowploughs out to keep the road drive-able.

Only a dusting of snow for us in Roscommon but a rather
pretty thaw.

Meanwhile, Sparks will be sad to note the passing of a real character from our own house build, 'Suicide Dog'. This collie cross from down the lane plagued us every time we drove off site, down to Castlerea. He would sit in wait for cars and then charge out as if to bite the tyres and chase you along the lane. Real name 'Junior', we never knew whether to carry on maintaining speed and direction so that he could predict us and miss us, or to slam on the brakes and swerve to avoid him. We named him 'Suicide Dog', he seemed Hell-bent on self destruction under one of our cars. Well, he was fairly long in the tooth then and in the four years since we have noticed a slowing down in him and a reluctance to chase us. Only when we had a sheep trailer on would he jump up and run after us. More recently I had not seen him at all so I asked after him when I met the owner in the Post Office. Sadly they had had to have the lad put down. The owner was typically quiet on the subject and only volunteered "Ah sure, he had the breathing". We assume some kind of respiratory complaint. RIP Junior (Suicide Dog). We will miss you.

Guinness trying out some of the old fashioned flavours. 

Just one more thing. The goats are now well settled into their routines here and feel quite at home. I was joking with their real owner, Carolyn (of the mini horses) that now that I have a goat herd number, she ought to transfer them to my smallholding to make it legal. She was (tongue in cheek) worried that I might be trying to claim them as my own goats and she wants to hang onto them. I was joking that if the (possible) kids are born here then I would have to ear tag them with MY numbers. Well, she won that game of chess when she read in her own book of regs that she can move them 'to temporary grazing' without involving me or my paperwork. Sneaky.