‘Cuir san earrach agus bainfir sa bhfómhar’. Spreagadh atá tseanfhocal san do dhuine a bheith eagraithe. An obair a chur isteach luath go mbainfí amach tairbhe (a mhalairt de cholúnaí ag scríobh ailt an oíche roimh an spriocdháta). Comhairle le dealraimh gan dabht, gur fuirist ciall a bhaint as, ach an bhfuil brí an fhocail sin ‘fómhar’ ligthe i ndearúd againn?

Tagann ‘autumn’ an Bhéarla ón Laidin, autumnus. Ceaptar go bhfuil ‘fuarú’ na haimsire i gceist leis an bhfocal áirithe sin. Ach mar aon le mórán focal Gaelainne, tá ‘fómhar’ fréamaithe sa talamh.

Baint agus sábháil an fhéir nó barr d’aon tsaghas atá i gceist le ‘fómhar’. Gníomh a bhí lárnach sa tsaol in Éirinn ní rófhada ó shin. D’eachtraigh fear ó Chathair Saidhbhín dom, Pádraig Ó Sé, mar a bhí agus eisean ina gharsún.

Ar shleas cnoic a bhíomar ag féachaint anuas ar dhá ghort mhóra, ní foláir ach go raibh dosaen acra sna haon cheann acu. Phéinteáil sé lena chuid focal pictiúr chomh soiléir dom go bhféadfainn a fheiscint i m’aigne. Is cuimhin leis beirt fhear a bheith ag baint an fhómhair sna goirt sin agus daoine bailithe á bhfaire, ag beannú na hoibre. Dhein sé cur síos ar fhuaim agus rithim na speile, an samhradh mar a bhí, gan aon bhagairt báistí ann. Do thóg sé os cionn seachtaine orthu. Bheadh sé déanta le bainteoirí an lae inniubh laistigh de thrí uair a chloig gan aon dua.

Is mó lá ó bhí spealadóireacht ann sa dúthaigh seo ach nuair a thagann sé chuig tábhacht an fhómhair i meanma na nGael, tá nod don eolach le fáilt inár bhféilirí:

August - Ainmnithe i ndiaidh Impire na Róimhe, Augustus.

Lúnasa - Sean-fhéile cheilteach a dhein ceiliúradh ar thosach an fhómhair.

September - Ón Laidin septem - seachtú mí (cé gurb é an naoú mí sa lá atá inniu ann)

Meán Fómhair - Lár an tséasúir bhainte.

October - Octo (an t-ochtú mí, cé gurb amhlaidh an scéal arís).

Deireadh Fómhair - Deireadh leis an mbaint, leis an bhfómhar.

Mar a deirim, is fada an lá ó bhí barr á bhaint inár ndúthaigh féin. Is féar d’ainmhithe don bhformhór a fhásann inár dtaobhsa tíre. Ach mar sin féin, tá macalla na ré sin le clos fós inár logainmneacha. ‘Com na hEorna’, ‘Cnoc an Fhómhair’ agus ‘Gort an Fhéir’, táid seo go léir i gCiarraí. Tá scéal gach áite le haimsiú ina hainm Ghaelainne. Fiú i gceantair nár fhás coirce ná arbhar le glúinte, maireann a gcuimhne inár dteanga féin.

Táid ann nach maith leo an fómhar. An samhradh ag teacht chun deiridh, an aimsir ag imeacht in olcas. Ba dhóigh leat go dtéimid caol díreach ón samhradh dtí lár an gheimhridh. Meabhraíonn ár dteanga féin dúinn nach bhfuíl ann ach ‘Meán an Fhómhair’ fós. Ceacht ‘aireachais’ ann féin!

Mar a dúirt an file, Seán Ó Ríordáin, ‘fill arís’ ar theanga do dhúchais ón gceann atá ‘bunoscionn le d’éirim’. Speánann an fómhar go soiléir gur teanga ana-oiriúnach í an Ghaelainn d’fheirmeoirí, agus an talamh ina croí istigh.

‘Cuir san earrach agus bainfir sa bhfómhar’. (Sow in spring and you’ll reap in autumn).

That seanfhocal (old proverb) is a call to be organised. To put in the work early in order to reap the reward (the opposite of a columnist writing their article the night before deadline). It’s great advice, of course, and is very straightforward, but have we lost the deeper meaning of the Irish word for this time of year, ‘fómhar’?

The English ‘autumn’ comes from the Latin autumnus, a word thought to refer to the ‘cooling’ of the weather. But like so many words in Irish, ‘fómhar’ is rooted in the land itself.

‘Fómhar’ refers to the reaping and saving of grass or any kind of crop – a task that, not so long ago, was central to life in Ireland. Pádraig Ó Sé from Cathair Saidhbhín in Co Kerry recently told me about how it was when he was a young lad.

We were on a hillside, looking down over two large fields, there must have been 12ac in each. He painted such a vivid picture with his words that I could see it clearly in my mind. He remembers two men harvesting in those very fields. People gathered, watching and blessing the work. He described the sound and rhythm of the scythes, how that summer was, without any threat of rain. It took them over a week. These days, with modern mowers, the grass would be knocked in under three hours, handy enough.

Many the day has passed since a scythe was swung around here, but when it comes to the importance of ‘fómhar’ in the mindset of the Gael, there’s a nod to the wise in our calendars:

August – named after the Roman Emperor, Augustus.

Lúnasa – an ancient Celtic festival marking the beginning of the harvest.

September – from the Latin word septem, meaning seventh month (though it’s now the ninth).

Meán Fómhair – the middle of the harvest.

October – from octo, meaning eighth (again, not quite lining up anymore).

Deireadh Fómhair – the end of the harvest.

As I said, it’s been a long time since fields of crops were reaped in our side of the country. The majority of what’s grown here is grazing for animals. But nevertheless, the echo of that era can still be heard in our place names. ‘Com na hEorna’ (the hollow of the barley), ‘Cnoc an Fhómhair’ (the hill of the harvest) and ‘Gort an Fhéir’ (the field of the grass) are all places in Kerry. The Irish of every name holds the place’s story. Even in areas where oats or wheat haven’t grown in generations, their memory lives on in our language.

There are those who don’t like autumn – the summer coming to an end, the weather turning. You’d think that we go straight from summer into the depths of winter. But our own language reminds us that it’s still only ‘Meán Fómhair’ the middle of the harvest. That’s a lesson in mindfulness in itself.

As the poet Seán Ó Ríordáin put it: ‘Fill arís’ (Return again) to your native language, from the one ‘disconnected from your natural understanding’.

The autumn time, an fómhar, clearly shows An Ghaeilge to be a language well suited to farmers, with the land at its very heart.