State d’Affaires

Ireland

State d’Affaires

These are the Irish mornings you wake up to in wonder. The sun begins eating away at the sky earlier and earlier, the clouds shattering as the rays of light reach them. The ground, chilled from an overnight dive in temperature, warms up enough that the mists begin to form, wreathing the saturated ground in this mystical glory you’ve seen in pictures of Shenandoah and other beautiful valleys. But this is our valley and vale, our home, and our particular neck of the woods.

Stick season is rather abbreviated here in Ireland, and the changing climate doesn’t help the process much. We’re already heading into daffodil season, their green stems and leaves working their way through the clumped grass and layers of fallen leaves. In a few weeks, they’ll be in full colour, the yellow and white blossoms tracing the sun’s arc through the sky, if only for the briefest period of time. Buds are forming on the trees with our copper ashes the last to heel-to. Spring is, for all intents, here.

The horses are in full winter regalia, having been outdoors consistently since their arrival here. Their shaggy coats have done wonders to repel the weather, and even Cleo, racehorse she is, has grown a bit fluffy. She’s been refusing her coat, so we assume she can stay dry and warm enough that she’s still safe even in the diving temperatures overnight. Little Mara has fluffed out in her Connemara coat and now seems double the size she was when we got her last summer. Womble and Maggie are, as always, the quiet stalwarts of the group, their Cob heritage providing the density and oiliness needed to shed water like a duck. Womble’s mustache has grown in a bit, too, so, in contrast to the black patches of her body, her off-white ‘stache sets quite a fashionable impression against the mud and muck caked elsewhere.

The donkeys are in good stead as well, a bit miffed at the moment that they’re constrained to a small run from the shed to our front holding paddock, but, all things being equal, they’re blessed for the access they have. I spent yesterday afternoon building in reinforcement to a couple of pallets rigged into place to prevent their untimely egress from the shed into the barnyard because donkeys are, in a word, suspiciously good at escaping. Sansa and Elenia are as shaggy as possible, given the weather, which is probably for the best. They lack the oils that the horses do, so water affects them differently and can undoubtedly lead to chills and affliction so even if it means we have to be creative with pallets and packaging, we’re going to give them as much access to shelter as possible.

These are the idylls of our farm at the moment. In between the rain, the tree felling, and the urgency to ensure fencing and field are cared for, we’re entering the year’s next phase. Spring comes without remorse, driving the necessary wild growth while requiring a concerted effort to contain her sprawl. We’re planning in the subsequent field rotations, closing off paddocks to rest and recuperate, ensuring our chain harrow is in good working order, and that we’ll be able to safely spray for the toxic weeds that push their way through the grass when the time comes. It’s all about mapping the seasons and waking hours to our custodial abilities.

These are the things I miss the most when I’m ensconced in Boston. Even though some of this is grunt work, it’s still an honest application of energy to solve problems. It certainly beats the “sameness” of a four-walled existence every day and at least allows for some external input on thoughts and processes.

I’m grateful for these weeks that I get at home, away from the ordinary. Splitting my life between two wildly divergent places gives cast and colour to my existence, to be fair, but it also makes the heart grow fonder for what it misses. I don’t know that I’d ever wish this type of long-distance relationship on anyone else. Still, since Emma and I went into this eyes wide open, we’re committed to “us,” regardless of time zones, distance, and occupations. Indeed, it is a partnership, first and foremost.

As you wind through your week and we stare across our valleys to the weekend, I suppose there are only a few words to be spoken. Love like nothing else, dear souls, and surround yourself with what you find meaningful. Find joy in the small or large things, but don’t let them define your happiness.

May it ever be so.