Bog Myrtle & Peat

Just as there’s a time for every purpose under heaven, there’s certainly a moment to pull ragwort. Thick mattresses of the stuff have emerged on the fields below the house, and the summer’s been kind to grass and weeds alike. I understand that “weed” is a subjective term, and I have a high opinion of ragwort as… Continue reading

When I asked if he would mind if I recorded him singing, he looked me in the eye and said “yes, I do mind”. It was an abrupt refusal and I was embarrassed by it. So I put my telephone away, feeling silly for having made the suggestion as Tero began to sing a verse… Continue reading

Beyond the bridge, there isn’t much at Annagassen. You’d never know that Vikings had been here, and it’s hard to imagine that the place rivalled Dublin’s significance more than a thousand years ago. But a sign explains that Áth na gCasán was once a significant place on the coast of County Louth; it was used as a… Continue reading

There were curlews at Geltsdale on Good Friday. They stood in confiding pairs at the roadside, and hardly five minutes passed in the course of an hour without birds calling overhead. As the sun set, two birds were mating in the rushy stubble of a field which has been cut to enhance their habitats. The… Continue reading

It was a nasty morning on the hill. The cows bore a blue blear in their pens, and their backs were humped against the wind. When it was light enough to work, I found them standing in a group at the gateback. I threw them some hay, but there was little enthusiasm for it. Then… Continue reading

You should see the carved oak panelling in the pub at Winkleigh. Connoisseurs would call it crude or rustic in execution, but only because it’s vaguely asymmetrical. Besides, there’s pleasure to be found in the visible handiwork; the scrape of each irregular chisel. You can see what the carver was trying to do, and you… Continue reading

The calf was blind in one eye, and there was something wrong with its neck. It didn’t stand well, and it would often fall when I pressed it to walk. I’m certain now that it was damaged by listeriosis in the mother, but I didn’t know that when I began to work upon it. I’ve… Continue reading

I took photographs of curlew chicks through the mesh of a pen wall. They were curious and loud in the sunshine, but they preferred to stay back from us and maintained a wary distance. Sometimes one would dash forward to grab an insect which had risen from the grass, and there would be an audible… Continue reading

“You survived”, he said. And for the first time in three and a half hundred days, we touched at the hands. The floods which had fallen upon us were going, and we compared his half-mile of flattened fence against a length of my lane which simply washed away. In order to be the first foot… Continue reading

Autumn is a fruit machine, and mostly when you pull the arm it comes up “pinkfoot geese”. They’re everywhere above the brightened trees, and they sound like winter. Beneath them, wigeon squeal like babies on the foreshore, and the hedge is dense with redwings. Every one’s a winner, but pull the arm often enough and… Continue reading