Inside An Irish Farm

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While in Ireland, my tour group got the chance to go through an authentic Irish dairy farm, complete with cows, a dog, and a feisty old man.

Any drive through Ireland is a drive through the country! Rolling green hills with sheep or cow seem to fill every view for miles and miles. The dirt road leading to the Molanna Dairy Farm is no different.

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Photo by: c.b.w. 2009

The main house is a rather new addition to the farm. Colorful flowers and the family dog greet us warmly as we walk up the drive. Like most Irish homes, the façade is covered in stucco and thick-paned windows.

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Photo by: c.b.w. 2009

Inside the main house is like traveling back in time. The place is filled with antique furniture, richly decorated carpet, and a couch that has seen its fair share of sitting. Irish lace doilies can be seen on just about every stick of furniture. A traditional handicraft for which the Irish are known, I could not imagine any home in Ireland without it!

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Photo by: c.b.w. 2009

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Photo by: c.b.w. 2009

The owner took us outside for a tour of his working farm. Taking care of cows, means taking care of the land. Storage sheds and a rusted out tractor connect to a barn full of cows.

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Photo by: c.b.w. 2009

True to rural roots, a clothesline is preferred over a dryer.

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Photo by: c.b.w. 2009

While touring the grounds, it’s easy to hear the pride in our guide’s voice. The farm has a multi-generational history.  Through one of the gates, the original farmhouse still stands. Both the farmer and his father before him were born in this house.

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Photo by: c.b.w. 2009

The old house was built before the luxury of electricity, which was haphazardly added on when it became available (and affordable). I find it rather charming. Old buildings aren’t just torn down in Europe. They are treasured and kept in place for as long as possible.

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Photo by: c.b.w. 2009

He took us inside and regaled us with stories of his childhood and even dropped a few lines of poetry. Every word was laced with trademark Irish humor.  Even though we all sat as strangers in his childhood home, he treated us as if we had gathered for a family reunion. That kind of warmth and welcoming sits at the heart of Irish culture.

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Photo by: c.b.w. 2009

Where the green of the hills meets the blue sky, a friend waits to give the next warm welcome.

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Photo by: c.b.w. 2009

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Previous New Familiars posts:

Grocery Shopping in London

Lunch In A Chinese Home

The Language of Signs: London

The Language of Signs: Prague

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c.b.w. 2013

An Adventure in Rural China

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There’s nothing quite like getting stuck in the mud . . . in rural China.  Just outside Changchun in northern China there are large stretches of cornfields and grazing livestock.  In some respects, it looks a lot like the Midwest in the United States, but there are definite reminders that this isn’t Kansas.

After spending a lot of time in large, crowded cities, I was delighted to head out to the countryside and explore a small village in the middle of nowhere.  The plan was to have a dinner with a local farming family and attend a traditional bonfire show put on by the locals.

The drive was long, but relatively easy until paved roads started to give way to dirt. The first challenge was a small herd of cows intent on taking over all lanes of traffic.  We had to stop and wait for the very slow moving cattle to clear the road.  While waiting for the cows to move, I took in my surroundings and was very surprised to see so much corn growing in vast fields.  And the further we went, the more cornfields I saw.  I never thought of China as a huge corn-growing mecca, but I was wrong!

As we traveled down the rutted road, simple homes made of mud brick and woven plant fibers dot the landscape.  Some served as a family home, while others were in disrepair.  It’s a hard life and not everyone can make ends meet.  The same is true most everywhere.

Cow blockage turned out to be far less of a worry when the dirt roads went from sand to mud. As we moved deeper into the heart of the rural community, the mud got increasingly deep and thick thanks to a recent rainstorm. The road got really bumpy and it felt more like an off-road adventure than leisurely drive in the country.  After one big bump, we came to a screeching halt.  The bus was stuck in a huge rut and we couldn’t go any further.  Everyone was told to get off and to start walking.  What a perfect day to wear sandals! Luckily, we aren’t too far off from our destination.  By some miracle, my practically bare foot did not land in mud pile.

Along the way, I got to meet some locals, who were incredibly nice and very curious about us.  One woman in particular was very excited to show us how she calls her chickens when its time to feed them.  When she grabbed a wooden spoon and beat a metal bowl the chickens came flying towards her from all directions.

The woman’s husband was a proud man who was intent on showing us his home and bragging about the success of his son who lived right next door.  It’s a big deal for a son to move away and establish his own homestead in this region.  Farming doesn’t exactly bring in the big money, so multi-generational homes are the norm, (three generations of one family often live under the same roof).  For his son to be successful enough to strike out on his own, is a huge source of pride for his parents.

While poverty is apparent throughout the village, there were indicators of progress peeking out from unexpected corners.  Technology is relatively low in this region as rural communities are not usually able afford modern conveniences, but there are always exceptions to the rule.  At one point, I spotted a brand new Volkswagen parked next to a well-built brick house.  The disparity of wealth and poverty is quite extreme everywhere in China, even in the boondocks.

I spent the evening enjoying a large dinner prepared by a local family.  All the food was grown in the fields of the surrounding farms and it was absolutely delicious.  It was here where I indulged in the delicacy of the “thousand year old” egg.  Essentially, an egg is buried in a mixture of clay, ash, salt, lime, and rice hulls for several weeks to several months.  It looked disgusting on the plate as it had the unappetizing color of greenish gray, but the taste more than made up for the icky appearance.  I was the only one brave enough to try it and I ate the whole thing.  No one believed me when I said it tastes like a hard-boiled Easter egg with a lot of salt and a few extra spices.

After dinner we went outside and enjoyed a lesson in traditional folk dancing.  Once again, I confirmed I have no rhythm, but I enjoyed the experience of bonding with people despite a language barrier.  Music and dance really do bring people together in ways that can’t be explained.

It was dark by the time we started heading back to the bus.  Street lights are non-existent, so it was pitch black once we left the home of our host.  I had a small flashlight, but it barely cut through the darkness.  Mud was still everywhere and it threatened to swallow any misplaced foot.  My sandles eventually became caked in mud chunks, but thankfully my foot never sunk below ground level, (which is more than I can say for a few friends of mine).  Before boarding the bus, I remembered to look to up at the sky.  With no city lights, the Chinese sky lit up with millions of stars. I smiled at such a  fitting end to an adventure I’ll never forget.

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c.b. 2012