On the sea-side of the home yard, there is a pair of wooden doors, painted green, keeping watch on the nearby Atlantic.

Despite the fact they face the ocean, they’re on the sheltered side of the yard except in cases of strong southeasterly winds. They haven’t succumbed to the punishment that the gales, mist and rain can inflict.

Similar to my choice of cows, they’re basic, robust and functional, but they’ve been with me almost since I started farming. Their construction was rudimentary. Sawn lengths of 9”X2” timber and a bag of galvanised 3” oval head nails were the main ingredients. A few galvanised cup-head bolts used to keep the runners in place.

The openings they occupy have been in existence since 1965; I know that as the date is painted on the wall near one. They led to the then-newly constructed milking stall which replaced the old stone-walled byre. These particular doors are operating 25 years this week. ‘The 9/11 doors.’

My parents had inherited that yard less than two years previously, and there was a bit of work to do in getting the place set up

A friend of mine, Pa O’Flynn, was helping out in the summer of 2001 as we were trying to get a handle on how to get the place up and running. My parents had inherited that yard less than two years previously, and there was a bit of work to do in getting the place set up.

When the news first broke

We were working out how best to adapt the door to the existing runners when Gareth O’Callaghan announced on his show on 2fm that a plane hit the World Trade Center in New York. Our first thoughts presumed this must have been a four- or six-seater plane that had an accident. Continuing the work, our chat speculated on what might have happened.

Between the talk and the noise of the drill, we missed much of the extra details, so when we heard of a second one hitting the other tower, we were still oblivious for another few minutes as to what was actually happening. A coincidence, we assumed, as phones hadn’t taken over our lives at that point.

The clear, minute details

With no social media, we listened as events unfolded over the airwaves. The volume was turned up so we could keep working as we needed to be back in Ballinascarthy to repair a feed bin before it was refilled.

It’s mad how the events of that afternoon are still clear in my mind still. There was a clear blue sky and a sharp September breeze blew in, cooling the grey powerwashed concrete floor, and the smells of freshly drilled timber and wood preserver filled the air.

Hearing the surreal events being described over the car radio on the journey back home before finally seeing the footage as we stopped for a cuppa before moving to the next job.

Even the conversations that were had about what we’d seen – while we patched up the feed bin and later on at hurling training that evening – are etched in my mind.

The days crawl but the years flies

Sometimes there are days when life can move more slowly and then, all of a sudden, a quarter of a century can seem like yesterday. That’s something I’ve come to appreciate as I’ve got older and, in a farming context at least, I’m less inclined to put jobs on the long finger now.

Only the odd cow or calf walks through those doors now, well back on its peak as a dairy farm in the 1970s.

The tracking and runners are still the originals, a testament to the materials of the time.

Judging by how they have got on in their first 25 years, there’s every chance those doors will see me through my farming career.