Ag baint an fhéir
Pól Ó Muirí
I love this time of year out in the country – the silage men are at work, taking advantage of the good weather (just gone!) to cut grass until the cows come home. The size of the machinery never ceases to amaze me. Sometimes there will be convoy of tractors, trailers and combines all rumbling down the road making the sort of noise that would not be out of place in an AC/DC concert. (It’s a far cry from the Pigs and Sixers of my youth!) Yet, for all the noise, there is finesse in their work; those long looping lines of freshly-mown dark green grass that appear behind tractors. They often remind me of the trail sand worms leave in the beach during the summer. And that wonderful smell. I love the smell of mown grass in my own little garden and you cannot miss the smell of scalded sap rising from acres and acres of newly-cut fields. And it’s not just for the fun. It may be summer but the farmers are already looking forward to winter feed, saving themselves a few bob and hoping to get another cut, perhaps two!, between now and the end of summer. All hail the silage men! All hail!