There are certain phrases every farmer in Ireland has said at one time or another.
“I’ll only be a minute.”
A minute to move a few cattle. A minute to clear a blockage. A minute to bring in one last load before the rain. A minute to fix the machine that’s been giving trouble all week.
They’re ordinary words, spoken on ordinary days, on ordinary farms.
Sometimes, they are followed by a lifetime of consequences.
As we mark Farm Safety Week, I don’t believe farmers need to be reminded that farming is dangerous. Nobody understands the risks better than those who work the land every day. We live with powerful machinery, unpredictable livestock, slurry, electricity, heights and weather that rarely works to our plans. Risk has always been part of farming.
Accepting tragedy should never be.
One of the greatest privileges of representing Carlow and Kilkenny is the opportunity to spend time with farming families in every corner of the constituency. Whether it’s at an IFA meeting, a local show or standing in a farmyard after a day’s work, I’m constantly reminded of the resilience and generosity that define rural Ireland.
Farmers don’t shy away from hard work. They never have. If rain is forecast, they’ll work later. If a neighbour needs a hand, they’ll hitch up the trailer without being asked. If machinery breaks down, they’ll find a way to finish the job. That determination is one of the finest qualities in Irish farming. Sometimes, though, it can also be our greatest weakness.
We convince ourselves we’ll only take a small chance
We convince ourselves we’ll only take a small chance. We’ll climb onto the roof because it’s only a quick repair. We’ll leave replacing the PTO guard until next week because the machine is needed today. We’ll keep going even though we’re exhausted because there’s still another field to finish.
Most of the time, nothing happens. Until the day something does.
I often think back to my own childhood. Like many of my generation, I can remember sitting on top of bales as they were drawn home behind the tractor. At the time, it felt like the greatest adventure in the world. We thought nothing of it because that was simply how life in rural Ireland was. Looking back now, I realise how much we relied on luck as much as judgement.
That isn’t a criticism of those days or of the people who came before us. It’s simply a reminder that farming has changed, and thankfully our understanding of safety has changed with it. Every hard lesson learned has given us the chance to protect the next generation better than the last.
Because that is what progress really means. It isn’t about making farming easier. It’s about making sure more farmers get to grow old on the land they love.
The pressures facing farmers today are immense. Rising costs, labour shortages, paperwork, uncertain markets and increasingly unpredictable weather mean there’s a constant sense that time is slipping away.
Farming has changed, and thankfully our understanding of safety has changed with it
When you’re under pressure, it’s easy to rush. It’s easy to tell yourself that one more job won’t matter. But fatigue affects judgement. Stress affects judgement. Rushing affects judgement.
Sometimes the strongest decision a farmer can make is to stop. To leave the job until tomorrow. To ask for help. To accept that no deadline is worth gambling with your life.
Our farms are more than businesses.
They’re where children grow up, where values are passed from one generation to the next and where families build their lives together. There are few better places to raise a child than on a farm or in rural Ireland. It teaches responsibility, resilience, respect and community in a way few other places can. But that privilege brings responsibility. Every child should be free to enjoy farm life without being exposed to unnecessary danger.
But for every family who has lost someone on a farm, tomorrow is the day they never got
One of the things I admire most about rural Ireland is how instinctively communities look after one another. When illness strikes, neighbours arrive. When bad weather threatens, trailers appear. When a family needs support, nobody waits to be asked.
Imagine the difference if we brought that same instinct to preventing accidents before they happen.
A quiet word. An extra pair of hands. A reminder to slow down. Encouraging someone who’s tired to leave the job for another day. Those gestures may seem small. But they have the power to save a life.The field will still be there tomorrow. The rain will come again. Another harvest will arrive. Another crop will grow.
But for every family who has lost someone on a farm, tomorrow is the day they never got. When I think back to sitting on top of those bales as a young lad, I realise now that I was relying on luck far more than I ever understood. Our children and grandchildren deserve better than luck.
They deserve the benefit of everything we’ve learned, every lesson paid for by those who came before us, and every decision we make to put safety first.
The farm will always ask for one more hour. One more field. One more load. Our families ask for just one thing.
That we come home.
That’s a promise worth keeping.
SHARING OPTIONS