If any of you remembers the 1960s TV Programme Green Acres well the Eva Gabor character was me down to a tee. I was always a city slicker. As far as I know I was born in the city, though I was never able to prise the location out of my parents, I lived in central Dublin all of my life and thought I’d die there. I loved the bustle, the mochas on tap, the theatre, being able to cycle everywhere, and generally just being in the centre of things.
I didn’t visit the countryside, there were far too many flies and such vast distances between coffee shops, and if I thought about country folk at all, or culchies as we Dubs call them, it was as poor buggers who’d move to Dublin given half the chance.
But then the fickle hand of fate took this smug little townie by the scruff of the neck and gave her a jolly good shaking, when about 9 months before the covid nonsense hit, my brother, who keeps a close eye on the financial markets and capital movement, announced that it was time to get out of dodge. There was talk ‘on the wires’ of some big event, happening soon in a town near you, which would close down our business, we were in the travel trade, and make life in a 2-bedroom apartment in town less than desirable.
So off we trotted to the edge of nowhere and acquired a house with 14-acres of quarry and scrub land, where we settled down to engage in a spot of agriculture.
Now bear in mind I’d never had my hands in soil, watched a gardening programme or even owned a North Face jacket, but by necessity, I’ve always been pretty adaptable, so 200 tonnes of topsoil, a greenhouse, and 16 hens later I realised that I"d found my calling.
What I lacked in expertise I made up for in determination and when I set my mind to something I won’t listen to the word ‘can’t’. I dug and I sieved until my back ached, my fingers bled and I had callouses on my callouses. Each morning I was up at dawn racing down the garden to exclaim over each seedling that had popped its little head through the muck. I was fascinated.
I’ve been juicing daily for over ten years and must have gone through tonnes of vegetables with little idea how they were grown. I couldn’t have told you if cucumbers grew on bushes or peas on trees. When my first radish arrived I called all my friends and by June when I picked the first cucumber they’d all been so inundated with veggie pics that I was warned under pain of immediate and terrible death not to send them any more.
Last year was my second year growing and I produced enough to keep us in food and juice for six months. We don’t eat much!;) I still have garlic, leeks, potatoes, carrots, and spinach left as well as a few month's supply of frozen peas.
Of course, I’ve had some failures and setbacks, but as the saying goes ‘If at first you don't succeed, destroy all evidence that you tried,’ so I just covered my mistakes in compost and started again.
In the last few weeks, I’ve started this year's seedlings and I don’t think I’ll ever lose the amazement at how a few small seeds can produce such bounty.
Ive found nothing more satisfying than picking your dinner from the garden, all grown organically by the sweat of your brow. At least you know it doesn't come with added crickets!
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The photos are my own and taken today, other than the cover image which is also mine but taken from my Dublin flat 4 years ago.
