Tuirseach?... You’re supposed to be!

Tráthnóna fómhairiúil, an talamh ruadhaite le duilleoga, leoithne bog ag séideadh agus é tirim (an rud is annamh…), do thána abhaile thart ar a sé a chlog, an oíche ag titim cheana féin agus cén radharc a bhí romham? Ach mo shearrach, Somhairle, sona sásta cois a mháthar. “Nach breá bog agat é?” a dúrt leis. Ag rith timpeall, ag codladh agus ag ithe gan aon deireadh. Gan chuimhne dá laghad aige ar chruinnithe, spriocanna, táirigiúlacht! Is dóigh liom go bhfuil na haon duine againn i ndiaidh faire ar ár gcuid ainmhithe agus an cuimhneamh céanna ag rith tríd ár gceann uair éigin.

An rud a sheas amach dom ná chomh tapaidh, chomh réchúiseach ‘s atá sé ag fás ‘s ag forbairt gan aon strus ná iarracht fiú. Ag sú an deiridh as an mbliain sara dtugann sé aghaidh ar stábla don ngeimhreadh. Tuigeann na hainmhithe agus an dúluachair chugainn conas moilliú, tagann an geimhriú go nádúrtha chucu. Siúlaíonn siad níos lú, itheann siad níos mó, fásann clúmh tiubh orthu agus codlaíonn siad a thuilleadh. Táid go hiomlán i dtiúin le rithim nádúrtha an tsaoil. An t-aon amadán go bhfuil an córas ligthe i ndearúd aige, ná an t-ainmhí ‘is cliste’ acu ar fad, mar dhea!

Tóg go bog é'

Sa tsamhradh, d’fhéadfainn oibriú dtí’n a deich istoíche gan aon dua ná tuirse ar m’aigne ach braithim um an dtaca so bliana nach fiú labhairt in aon chor liom i ndiaidh a seacht. Cé go dtriallaim gach aon rud fén spéir a bhaint amach, is ag snámh in aghaidh easa a bhím. An spreagadh agus an fuinneamh imithe le sruth. Cé a thuigeann é sin níos fearr ná feirmeoirí? Ag tabhairt aghaidh ar laethanta fada, ainnise na haimsire ina gcoinnibh agus cé go bhfuil meaisíní des na haon saghas againn sa lá atá inniubh ann, an ndéanann siad an saol níos fusa i ndáiríribh orainn?

Tráth den tsaol do thuig feirmeoirí an rud a thuigeann an giorria, an ghráinneog agus mo shearraichín rua. Le titim na gréine, titeann na huirlisí. Bhíodh scéalta, seanchas ‘s scíth acu, cois na tine istigh ón ndoineann. Ach anois, agus sinn níos ‘forbartha’ ná riamh, cad a bhíonn againn? Soilse saorga, a chiallaíonn nach gá riamh go dtiocfadh deireadh leis an lá oibre.

Cé go dtriallaim gach aon rud fén spéir a bhaint amach, is ag snámh in aghaidh easa a bhím. An spreagadh agus an fuinneamh imithe le sruth

Níor mhaith liom a bheith a seanmóireacht, tuigim nach bhfuil de rogha ag an bhformhór againn ach treabhadh ar aghaidh, beag beann ar rithim an dúlra. Ach is féidir linn a bheith beagáinín níos deise linn féin, aithint go bhfuil an tuirse agus easpa spreagaidh nádúrtha. Sin é a bhraitheann gach aon neach beo agus na tráthnónta dorcha seo ár n-alpadh.

Ag faire amach ar mo bhromach, tuigim gur minic go dtarlaíonn fás i ngan fhios dúinn féin. Ní chomh tapaidh ‘s gur mhaith linn seans ach ar nós an tsíl fé thalamh a ghobfaidh a cheann amach san earrach, agus a fhásfaidh gan staonadh as san. Táimid ag déanamh ár ndíchill anois sa doircheacht agus tá a fhios ag an saol ach gur leor san.

On a rare dry autumn evening of late, the ground reddened with leaves, a gentle breeze blowing. I came home around six o’clock, the night already falling, and what did I see? Only my foal, Somhairle, happy out at his mother’s foot. “You have it good,” I said to him. Running around, sleeping, eating without end. Not the faintest notion of meetings, goals, productivity. I suppose anyone who has ever watched their animals has had the same thought cross their mind at some stage.

What struck me most was how quickly, how nonchalantly he’s growing and developing, without the slightest bit of stress or effort. Soaking in the end of the year before heading into the stable for winter. The animals understand as the dúluachair approaches, how to slow down, how to hibernate. They walk less, eat more, grow thick coats and sleep longer. They are completely in tune with the natural rhythm of life. The only fool who has forgotten that rhythm is the so-called ‘smartest’ animal of all.

In summer, I could work until 10pm at night without any bother or mental fatigue, but at this time of year, I find there’s no point talking to me after 7pm. No matter how much I try to get everything under the sun done, I feel I’m swimming against the current, my drive and energy swept with it. And who understands that better than farmers? Facing long days, horrible weather, and though we’ve machines of every kind nowadays, do they really make life any easier for us?

Slow down

Once upon a time, farmers understood what the hare, the hedgehog and my little red foal understand. With the setting sun, the tools would be set down. There would be stories, songs and a rest by the fire, cosy from the bleakness outside. But nowadays, though we are more ‘advanced’ than ever, what do we have? Artificial lights, meaning the working day need never end.

No matter how much I try to get everything under the sun done, I feel I’m swimming against the current, my drive and energy swept with it

I’m not looking to preach here, I know most of us have no choice but to keep going despite nature’s rhythm. But we can be kinder, recognising that tiredness and lack of motivation are natural.

This is how every living creature feels as these dark evenings close in.

Watching my foal, I realise that growth often happens unbeknownst to us. Not as quickly as we’d like perhaps, but like the seed under the soil that will push its head up in spring and keep growing from there. We’re doing our best right now in the dark and, nature knows, that’s enough.

*dúluachair - harsh winter months, literally relating to dark colour that forms at the base of rushes.