"A Tint of Whiskey"

Happy Easter. What a clever widdle
bunny wabbit is .Nugget'!

I come reeling home from the dog walk this afternoon. I have been shanghai'd by JD Bob who spotted me going past his house with the three dogs and called out to me to come in for a "cup of tay", dogs and all. This is a frequent occurrence and I love it; the dogs feel the same way because he usually plies them with fruit scone or fig roll despite my (admittedly rather light hearted) objections that he'll spoil them. We get the impression that Bob has not had a lot to do with dogs in his life but he is learning to love and trust our three and now likes to treat them and then to try a very quick and nervous pat on the head for each one.

The flowering cherry just starting.

Today, though, being Easter Sunday is one of those days days which Bob sees as a 'High day and Holiday', so he also reaches for the whiskey bottle hidden in the 'press' and announces, "I'm going to give you a tint of whiskey". He doesn't drink at all himself so this really is a special event and he promptly pours a socking great measure - a good inch deep. I know this will happen so I only ever accept when I have no more driving to do that day, as today. So, we sit and chat while I sip my whiskey and my tea and nibble on a couple of fig rolls. All very pleasant. Bob's actually just cooking his lunch, so I make sure I am good to go when that comes ready and we wish each other "Happy Easter and Good Luck now!" as is the local habit.

The main job today, though, is white washing the outbuildings as postponed from Good Friday. The weather has been as good as promised in the local 'Riabhach Days' lore (see earlier post). Once the 3rd of April was gone by, the nasty wind died away, the sun came out, the temperature shot up into the 14s and 15s and the bees have been out and flying all day and late into the evenings - well into my orchard dog-run sessions which are around 6 to 6:30 pm these days. The improvement happened at roughly dinner time yesterday, so we sat on it for the day knowing that if we waited till today everything would get a good chance to dry out. This morning we were all geared up.

Last time we white-washed these buildings (2013 see post at http://deefer-dawg.blogspot.ie/2013/04/white-rhino.html ) we were complete beginners and we were advised by our man at the local builders' providers, to use a mix of White Rhino hydrated lime and white cement. We have since been told we do not need the cement, so today we are trying out a new formula (again off the internet) which advises 9 parts water, 3 parts lime and 1 part salt. The lime is fairly noxious stuff and you need to take care not to breathe in any dust when mixing, and use eye protection all the time in case of splashes. There are plenty of those because this is very definitely a 'wash' not a paint. It is also very different from paint in that it goes on a translucent grey which just makes the wall look wet, and only changes to that bright, dusty, glaring white as it dries in the sun.

Starting to dry out here - you can still see the grey 'wet'
areas low down though.

It is all very traditional and we love doing it but we can see why most people now point up these stone walls and even render them with a smooth concrete finish, and then invest in Dulux's white 'Weathershield' masonry paint. Some of our walls are rendered and take a good coat, but others are very badly pointed and the bare stone sheds the wash badly. I am thinking that I may need to look into proper old-style lime-mortar and have a go at re-pointing these but I'd need a lot of it. The gaps between these rocks are not the neat little half inch slots of modern brickwork; some are more like 3 inches wide and deeper than 3 inches - some are actually holes right through the walls! The old lime mortar is supposed to be superior to modern cement in these situations as it lets the stonework 'breathe' and to move slightly with the frost, so that it is less likely to crack. I am sure friend Simon has had a go at this - I will have to go on a fact finding mission.

We chugged away for a long morning and got round all four walls of both buildings including me up the ladder doing the sloping "barge end gables"* and the vertical gable ends. The whitewash needs a half hour or so of 'setting' after you have mixed it, before you can paint it on (some say leave it overnight but then contradict themselves by saying that they have tried it without and it doesn't seem to make any difference). We work a system of using 5 buckets. When you run out, you mix a fresh bucket but put it at the back of the queue, and take the oldest mix from the front to use. That way all the mixes get a good half hour sitting.

Lazy Sunday Afternoon for some.

We've not done a bad job but we now wait rather anxiously while it dries and we can see any thin patches that might do with a second coat. It is, as I said, splashy stuff, but at least being completely without oil is washes easily out of your overalls and clothing. You apply it with a very 'flappy' ended Y-shaped brush and on the roughest bits of wall you are almost throwing or splatting the wash into the crevices by slapping your laden brush-end against the stone work. Very messy. Don't even think about putting down "dust sheets" to stop the splashes on the paths, they'd be soaked with whitewash in no time.

Having a rest.

Anyway, we were busy and the bees were at it hammer and tongs in the warm sunshine but everyone else seems to have gone for a lie down. I can see all 5 geese plonked down on the front lawn - not even the usual one head up, alert, keeping a look out. The sheep are all stretched out on the grass, the chickens all sleeping or dust bathing on a sunny bank. The rabbits are stretched out with their back legs behind them, presumably feeling the warm grass on their tums. I think I might just join them in their siestas. It is that kind of a day.

* I think that is the proper name - our outbuildings are in the old Irish style where the stonework goes up a bit above the corrugated roof sheeting and the tops of the walls are poured concrete into shuttering covering the thickness of the wall and the start of the sheeting.

IS(S) That Really Santa?

No rest for the girls on the 25th.

The boys at the International Space Station must have thought that all their birthdays had come at once in (British Isles) PR terms. They managed to get the beast to fly over Ireland and the UK not once but twice in full view of the excited Christmas Eve, Santa-obsessed children at a perfect time in the evening. For those who have not kept up to date on this project, the ISS is still 'up there' 16 years after the first bits were 'launched' (via a shuttle), all estimated $100 bn of it and is now 98% complete with just a couple more bits of laboratory to be banged up (this time in a Russian rocket). It 'flies' round in the lowest possible orbit, 242 miles above the earth (modern commercial long-haul jets fly at about 40,000 feet, or 7 and a half miles but in a series of loops like the wires on a balloon whisk, tracking a bit further north over 'you' at each pass. It takes about 92 minutes to orbit.

The geese survive to see their own Christmas Dinner of
spent sprout plants. 

It is so big (356 feet 'wide' and (soon) 240 feet long, roughly football pitch size) and it is made of shiny metal so it reflects so much sunlight back at the earth that, when it is there, it is the brightest "star" in the sky and it moves across the whole sky in 4 minutes or so, so it is moving as visibly 'fast' as a commercial jet, dead easy to spot even by the smallest 'Santa spotter'. With superb timing and by complete coincidence, it would be visible high in the sky at 5:20 pm on a clear, cloudless Christmas Eve night (!), going from SW, pretty much straight over, and then pass over again at 2 minutes to 7, lower in the sky. Parents everywhere were taking their kids out to show them 'Santa' flying past once to check up on them and warning them that he'd be back in 92 minutes to check they were all in bed. He's making a list, he's checking it TWICE. Excellent. We 'grown ups' were out there too, with a glass of wine watching both passes and raising our glasses - we two are in awe of this technology and knowing that it "is us up there". Fair play to them.

Comfy PJs for the 'duvet' days. 

Well, no obsessions and over-excited kiddies for us; we had a nice quiet relaxing Christmas planned and that is what we achieved, but I'm not about to bore you with all the details; you will probably have done your own thing and once was enough. We were sensibly restrained, though, in the event, with no obligation to eat more or drink more than we wanted to (nothing to prove, nobody urging us to take seconds or manage just one more drink, No forced jollity and certainly no games). I did get Shanghai'd by Bob, mind, who pounced on me when I was out with the dogs and forced me to drink a glass of Whiskey. Rough job this 'being neighbourly' but someone has to do it!

Tígín and the house from the back I nice inviting plume of
 smoke promises a toasty warm Living Room. 

Even our main meal was not the 'obligatory' turkey or goose (the geese were delighted!) - we did a baked gammon/ham with new potatoes and a mix of greens (yes, sprouts did feature); there was no starter and pud was our homemade Christmas Pud with just double cream ( I can't abide brandy-butter). Even our "Christmas Movie" was the not-very-seasonal 'Casablanca' with Bogart, Bergman and Paul Henreid. We turn the internet off for the whole day, adopting the Silverwood's policy of actually talking to each other! I know. We lit fires at both ends of the house, so the place was toasty warm. Very relaxing. Just what was needed.

Geriatric bunnies Ginny and Padfoot get whole carrots with
the leaves still on for Christmas. A firm favourite - they eat the
leaves first. 

Boxing Day (they call it 'St Stephen's Day' here, or more unusually "Stephens's Day" as if the guy was Mr Stephens already with an 's' on the end) was equally relaxing and unplanned, no visitors and no visits out. We'd done the 'in' visit earlier week with The Airy Fox and we are not due down to Silverwoods for a day or so. We woke up to a heavy fall of big wet snow flakes, but no laid snow. We wandered along to our friend and little aul' lady, Una and were plied with excellent home made mince pies and porter-cake (porter as in Guinness), 'tay' and brandy. We nipped out for milk and bread; Una did not need any shopping. I then walked the dogs along in the other direction and got Shanghai'd by Bob again (only tea this time).

A goodly selection of excellent books.

This time he asked me had we "seen any Wren-boys?" (he says 'Wran'); at that stage we hadn't but this reminded me of the Wren Boy tradition locally which I have, I am sure, described before. The local children would dress up as Mummers in straw costumes and parade round with a wren in a cage, demanding money and treats with menaces lest they kill the bird. I think, though the rhyme that Bob told me sounds like the intent was quite opposite

"Up with the kettle and down with the pan / now give us a penny to bury the 'Wran'! "

Mid-bake, the gammon joint gets its skin sliced off, the fat
cut into diamonds and dredged in brown sugar. A clove is
pressed into each 'diamond' and then it is back into the oven
for another 25 minutes.

These days of course, the wren is a protected species and anyway, the children are a lot less murderous (we hope!) so the kids come round ready to sing or play music for their donations. They don't seem to do the dressing up, either. Bob had had two lads who "played the mouth organ" to him. As I type this we have just been visited by a young lass being driven round in a car. She had on a Santa hat and played us a tune on a penny whistle. It was not that sure-footed a rendition and we think we heard strains of 'She is handsome, she is pretty' in it, but we clapped her vigorously and dropped a stack of Euro coins into her fist. She declined the Clementines. So, we have now officially been "Wran-boy'd" all be it by the female of the species

The newly planted daffs by the drive are starting to emerge. 

The incoming gifts this year included a nice healthy stack of excellent books (Thank you all concerned - we will be thanking you properly, of course!) with a good leaning towards food growing and cooking as well as a toehold into my 'new interest' of exploring history. It is only Boxing Day, so I've not done much more than open and flick through most of them, but I have delved into 'Gubbeen' and am very impressed. The 'Gubbeen' here is the famous artisan cheese which comes from the farm and dairy in Co. Cork, way down almost on Mizzen Head by the Fastnet Lighthouse. The 'team/family' there farm dairy cows and outdoor pigs as well as running a kitchen garden and all four main characters have contributed to the book. Hence there are sections by the main farmer and cattle-man, the pig products and smoke-house charcutier (who also makes kitchen and butcher knives), the wife who is also the main cheese-maker and the kitchen gardener and herb grower. As well as covering all these subjects (which fascinate me anyway), the farming and production is done in as sustainable and chemical-free way as practicable/possible - soil fertility has always been mainly by collecting sea-weed from the rocky shores; the kitchen garden is run on 'bio-dynamic' lines. I thoroughly recommend it if that's the kind of thing that floats your boat.

Muddy parsnips, dug for the 'day that's in it'.

Meanwhile, I hope you all continue to enjoy your Christmas and the run in to the New Year. Ahh, the Haggis.

First Footing, on the Third

Mum and Dad are firm believers in the tradition of First Footing a house, letting the old year out the back door and the new year in the front. They thought it might be even more appropriate where there are 15 or so old years queueing up at the back door to be let out, years of neglect, cold, damp and some tragic and difficult times. So even though it would be the 3rd January when we got there, we were determined to do a good job as the first people who would cross the threshold in 2012. In our version at least, your first footer should be a tall, dark and handsome man. Dad says "Two out of three ain't bad!" We also believe that you should arrive with whiskey (representing good cheer). coin (financial prosperity), bread (food), salt(flavour) and a lump of coal (warmth). Dad had the coin and the salt was already in the car. We shopped in Castlerea for the drink and bread. We added champagne so that our good cheer would be bubbly!

You are meant to let the old year out first, so on arrival, Mum nipped round the back to open the back door, then came back round the front via grabbing a coal lump from the coal pile to unlock and let Dad in. It was a breezy day - we had to smile when a draught blew through the house slamming the back door as we came in the front! 15 years well and truly gone! Happy New Year, new house!

This week's major job was to rip up the floor of the downstairs living room. This floor has suffered most from the neglect mainly because the air bricks front and back were badly positioned and blocked anyway. It has holes where Mum and Dad have crunched through with their rigger-boot heels and feels, anyway, very springy and weak. We are told that most people simply rip them out and lay, instead, a modern insulated concrete floor covered with the covering of your choice (tiles. laminate, boards, parquet etc). Dad had thought there might be a chance that some of it was recoverable. We thought this might be a full day job, not only crow-barring up the floor boards, but then potentially having to saw through joists to get them out of the slots either end in two halves.

No such problems in fact. The boards proved to be riddled with woodworm so that most came up in short lengths, breaking at every joist, and the joists themselves were in poor condition. Sometimes, as Dad went to prise the boards up off the joist the joist would instead crunch downwards like a weetabix, almost hollow inside where the woodworm have eaten the structure away. No wonder the floor was springy!. The floor took much less time than expected as a result of this. It generated nothing for the salvage or firewood piles, but a good old stack for the bonfire heap, which is where 99% of it ended up.

With the job done much quicker than expected, we are left inside the house while Mum and Dad head for Castlerea where they need to set up an account in Euros from which to pay builders and contractors and to do a bit of shopping. There is also time to fit in a bit of gardening just for relaxation purposes. It's fairly wild gardening at this stage, clearing brambles, sawing down some elder and ash saplings growing where they are not wanted (in the cattle-yard for one). We are also on the phone to the water board people of County Roscommon, trying to get ourselves reconnected. In the excitement driving up the drive we did not even notice that the pile of scrap had vanished. Aerial Keith had come to claim it as promised. We'd been thanking Mike the Cows for pulling the old VW out of the brambles and keeping it, and the scrap. for him as first refusal, but he was happy, in fact, for us to give it to Aerial Keith.

AK is another character in our "play" having dropped by, interested in the car as a project restoration, in a big blue van with big ladders on the roof. Dad spotted these and, finding that AK was in the aerials business, asked him to take down the floppy TV aerial loosely lashed to our western chimney and looking like it would finally blow down and impale the roof any minute. Keith came back with van, took down the aerial in minutes, accepted coffee, offered to (and did) clear all the gutters, and then charged us nothing "if I can have the car". Everyone's a winner. His sons play GAA (Gaelic Football) for a local team, which raises funds by collecting and selling scrap metal, so we were happy to oblige - they took cookers, fridge, the olde washing machine, copper tank and pipes, angle iron, old oil drums, assorted farm implement bits etc; a fine olde load. As I say, we failed to notice all this vanish till AK returned with a big 4 by 4 hoping to tow away the Volkswagen. The VW, though, has all 4 wheels seized and would not budge to the tarmac-tyre shod "Chelsea Tractor" poseur 4x4. They will come back with a tractor and lift the car onto a trailer.

Surely enough for this one
Deefs