After the love has gone all that's left is the poetry.
But what is left after the poetry has gone? Is it just the memories? Or the everyday reminders that have become routine? Driving along a certain piece of road perhaps, or something as simple as looking at the horizon out the kitchen window as I press the coffee pot plunger and wonder do you still think about me too.
At least the dreams have stopped. For ages I had a recurring dream of being in a cinema and you would walk past and just ignore me, the same way as you ignored me on the bridge one January afternoon. Sometimes I dreamt that we actually had a conversation, in a lab usually, solving a problem or in a canteen you'd smile sit down beside me and then......
Now all that is left is the memories. I spent years mourning your loss, I wonder was it the same for you too? Perhaps that's why you never replied to the emails I sent you at christmas or on your birthday. I always felt very down after sending one off to cyberspace. I'd frantically check my inbox 8 or 9 times a day for a few days, naively hoping for a reply. But there never was any replies. You blocked me on all social media, can't say I blame you, but I'm glad to see a photo of you wearing the Claddagh earrings a few years after we stopped talking. It gave me HOPE, perhaps there was still a slim chance that maybe some day you would get back to me.
This year I didn't send you any emails wishing you a happy christmas, or all the best in 2017. I can't do it anymore. Instead when I went to feed the cattle on new year's eve I lit a candle for you in the HOPE that maybe soon you'll get back to me.
So I conclude, after the love has gone, the poetry exhausted and as the memories fade, HOPE is still there.
Little update; still dreaming about you, were you thinking about me?
http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xjdrlo_bob-dylan-johnny-cash-girl-from-the-north-countrywmv_music
I came across this last year and it reminded me of you, hope someone bought you a good coat for the winter.
Tuesday, January 10, 2017
Wednesday, April 22, 2015
Black and White
Yesterday when I got up I had no intention of going to church, it just happened. After I dropped my son to school I had to go to the dentist, I parked in the churchyard because it's free, it's away from the prying eyes of traffic wardens, yes you guessed it the tax disc is still not up to date! I was able to park in shade, as it was a bright sunny morning I wanted to park in shade because my dog was in the jeep.
I walked to the dental practice, I had a 9am appointment, got in fairly quickly as mine was the first job of the day. I had a few fillings to get so decided to do two side beside on the top left, but this isn't about the dentist.
After leaving the dentist I walked back to the church, at the gate I met Bart, a Polish guy who used to work for me, I asked how he was, the family etc. we discussed mortgages still a hot topic in Ireland. Then I asked him was there Mass on or what, he said a member of the Polish community had died, his funeral was on that morning, I'd heard about the crash on the news the previous Friday, the road was closed. It happened on a road I drive on 4 or 5 times a week. It was a motorbike, no one else involved. Bart told me that his friend Lucas hit a badger, came off the bike and broke his neck. His wife of 7 months was about a mile behind him when it happened, it was almost dark and she rode on home, passing him by, never saw him. When she got home there was no sign of him, so she got in the car and drove back to find cop cars, ambulances, fire brigades etc. Lucas was only 33. He had been born behind the iron curtin and died on a road near my local town in a freak accident with a black and white badger. Bart said something like it's destiny, there's nothing you can do, yeah, when your time is up it's up I replied. I said I better go as I wanted to get out of the churchyard before the funeral arrived.
So I went to the jeep and let the dog out for a piss. It was something Bart had said, DESTINY. I decided to go to the funeral. I walked around to the other end of the church and in the main door. I came in at the back of the church and chose an empty pew 4 or 5 rows up, made a half assed attempt at a genuflection, I'm not a catholic, sat down and said a silent prayer.
It was still a few minutes to go, most of the mourners waited outside. The pew I had chosen was opposite a wide side door. Two priests in white stoles went to the door and opened it, letting in a draught and the bright spring sunshine. It was the door that Lucas would enter. When I went into the church there were 2 maybe 3 bikes in the churchyard. As I watched the two priests looking out the door more bikes started to arrive. One of the bikers, wearing a red bandanna asked the priests for permission to park the bikes in two lines either side of the door, the priests nodded. The bikers lined up, I wished I had a camera as the image was beautifully framed in the doorway, I knew I was witnessing something very special, the black leather of the bikers contrasting with the white vestments of the priests, and the black hearse contrasting with the sunshine on a beautiful sunny Spring day. Not a day for a camera I thought, better to cherish the memory instead, and try to describe it in words.
The undertaker awkwardly placed his little fold up trolley in the porch, then a few moments later removed it, it would not be needed. These guys were going to do a proper job for Lucas. The bikes shone in the sunshine as they ticked over. As the coffin bearers shouldered Lucas at the back of the hearse the biker with the red bandanna spun his hand quickly. The roar of the bikes as they saluted a fallen comrade could be heard for miles. What I felt was an unbelievable thrill, I hadn't been on a bike since the year that Lucas was born, but I swear my right hand twisted in the motion to open the throttle fully wide, the words of the song 'We're on the highway to Hell' blazed through my brain as Lucas entered the darkness of the church. During the ceremony which was mostly conducted in Polish I learnt that Lucas was a really talented pastry chef who had recently been promoted to manager where he worked. The biker in the red bandanna spoke at length in Polish, I wished I knew what he said. It was a first for me, to see someone in a red bandanna, dressed in black leather speaking from a pulpit.
I don't know why I went to church yesterday, but today I'm glad I did, maybe it's because I have my own issues with badgers and TB, perhaps someone is trying to tell me that my badger problem isn't anywhere near as bad as the young Polish widow who yesterday buried her husband of 7 months,
Rest in Peace Lucas.
I walked to the dental practice, I had a 9am appointment, got in fairly quickly as mine was the first job of the day. I had a few fillings to get so decided to do two side beside on the top left, but this isn't about the dentist.
After leaving the dentist I walked back to the church, at the gate I met Bart, a Polish guy who used to work for me, I asked how he was, the family etc. we discussed mortgages still a hot topic in Ireland. Then I asked him was there Mass on or what, he said a member of the Polish community had died, his funeral was on that morning, I'd heard about the crash on the news the previous Friday, the road was closed. It happened on a road I drive on 4 or 5 times a week. It was a motorbike, no one else involved. Bart told me that his friend Lucas hit a badger, came off the bike and broke his neck. His wife of 7 months was about a mile behind him when it happened, it was almost dark and she rode on home, passing him by, never saw him. When she got home there was no sign of him, so she got in the car and drove back to find cop cars, ambulances, fire brigades etc. Lucas was only 33. He had been born behind the iron curtin and died on a road near my local town in a freak accident with a black and white badger. Bart said something like it's destiny, there's nothing you can do, yeah, when your time is up it's up I replied. I said I better go as I wanted to get out of the churchyard before the funeral arrived.
So I went to the jeep and let the dog out for a piss. It was something Bart had said, DESTINY. I decided to go to the funeral. I walked around to the other end of the church and in the main door. I came in at the back of the church and chose an empty pew 4 or 5 rows up, made a half assed attempt at a genuflection, I'm not a catholic, sat down and said a silent prayer.
It was still a few minutes to go, most of the mourners waited outside. The pew I had chosen was opposite a wide side door. Two priests in white stoles went to the door and opened it, letting in a draught and the bright spring sunshine. It was the door that Lucas would enter. When I went into the church there were 2 maybe 3 bikes in the churchyard. As I watched the two priests looking out the door more bikes started to arrive. One of the bikers, wearing a red bandanna asked the priests for permission to park the bikes in two lines either side of the door, the priests nodded. The bikers lined up, I wished I had a camera as the image was beautifully framed in the doorway, I knew I was witnessing something very special, the black leather of the bikers contrasting with the white vestments of the priests, and the black hearse contrasting with the sunshine on a beautiful sunny Spring day. Not a day for a camera I thought, better to cherish the memory instead, and try to describe it in words.
The undertaker awkwardly placed his little fold up trolley in the porch, then a few moments later removed it, it would not be needed. These guys were going to do a proper job for Lucas. The bikes shone in the sunshine as they ticked over. As the coffin bearers shouldered Lucas at the back of the hearse the biker with the red bandanna spun his hand quickly. The roar of the bikes as they saluted a fallen comrade could be heard for miles. What I felt was an unbelievable thrill, I hadn't been on a bike since the year that Lucas was born, but I swear my right hand twisted in the motion to open the throttle fully wide, the words of the song 'We're on the highway to Hell' blazed through my brain as Lucas entered the darkness of the church. During the ceremony which was mostly conducted in Polish I learnt that Lucas was a really talented pastry chef who had recently been promoted to manager where he worked. The biker in the red bandanna spoke at length in Polish, I wished I knew what he said. It was a first for me, to see someone in a red bandanna, dressed in black leather speaking from a pulpit.
I don't know why I went to church yesterday, but today I'm glad I did, maybe it's because I have my own issues with badgers and TB, perhaps someone is trying to tell me that my badger problem isn't anywhere near as bad as the young Polish widow who yesterday buried her husband of 7 months,
Rest in Peace Lucas.
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
tb on the farm
I've been going through a tough few months on the farm lately. It all started last August when a cow sent for slaughter showed up with TB in a post mortem, then another one in September. So out of 6 cows sent for slaughter, 2 showed up with TB.
We needed to do a full herd test, I wanted to do it before the winter feeding started, but Dept of Ag rules wouldn't allow this until 60 days after the last reactor had been removed from the farm. We did a test in November and 18 cattle showed up with TB. I was a bit surprised, I thought maybe we'd have 5 or 6 reactors. I couldn't understand where it was coming from. We all know that TB can spread from wildlife to cattle, but there are no deer in this area, ok there is some badger activity, but none of the setts were active. I have never bought in female cattle, and the only males I bought in since our last TB episode in 2006 was 2 stock bulls, they passed the test in November.
So 18 cattle were valued by an independent valuer who had been given 'valuation guidelines' by the Dept. I agreed to the valuations and 18 cattle, mostly in calf cows, went for slaughter at a local meat plant. I went to see them being killed, but when I tried to ask questions about whether all the cows were in calf, or if any of them had lesions I was told 'Your local DVO will tell you anything you need to know' then I got told where to stand by an over-bearing Russian bitch. I watched as my next crop of calves disappeared down a chute.
I got a cheque for the cattle about 2 days later, it was about 1/3 the value put on them by the 'independent valuation'. The balance came from the Dept about a month later when all the necessary paperwork, including a tax clearance cert had been forwarded on to the local DVO.
So the wife thinks it's fucking brilliant, we'll have money for christmas, be able to pay a few bills, pay bank arrears etc. But what about next fucking christmas, and the one after that? I ask her......
Needless to say many rows ensued. Later we found out 13 out of the 18 cattle showed up with lesions. This was quite high, so the vet from the Dept. suggested that we really should do a blood test for TB at the next herd test. Ok, I said, in my ignorance, I wanted to get to the bottom of this. The vet went on to explain that the blood test is only about 85% perhaps 92% accurate, it does throw up a few false positives. I agreed to go ahead with the blood test on all animals over 12 months old at the next test.
Roll on February, we had to wait 60 days after the last reactor was removed from the herd. By this time a lot of the cows were heavy in calf. Our own vet did the skin test, and the Dept vet took blood samples from all the cows, stock bulls and heifers over 12 months, 79 I think in total for blood test. I remember it was snowing and our own vet got delayed that morning.
So 3 days later we had the results of the blood test, out of the 79 tested 24 had failed, including one of my stock bulls. I was sort of in a semi-automatic daze as we did the skin test. I remember the Dept. vet asking me 'Do you love this cow'? What he meant was she was borderline on the blood test, and her skin test was clear, she was probably a false positive on the blood test. I was going to say something smart like I love all my cows, but I bit my tongue and bravely/stupidly said something like, let her off (for slaughter). Remember I still wanted to eliminate this disease from my farm as quickly as possible. So the final tally that day, 36 more cattle gone. The worrying part was one weanling bull was gone too, this group of cattle were all clear in the previous test. So a week went by, I sorted out all the reactors from the rest of the herd. The 'independent' valuer came again. By this time cattle prices in the mart had risen considerably since the last test, but the valuations didn't reflect this, we eventually thrashed it out, I agreed to the valuations, yes you guessed it, I wanted to get to the end of this as quickly as possible. 3 weeks after the test 35 out of the 36 reactors went off to the same local meat plant. One cow didn't go because she was calving that morning. She went a week later. Needless to say I didn't go to the meat plant that day to see my future sliding down a chute. However I did go to another meat plant later that week with 3 bulls for slaughter. Strangely enough one of these showed up with lesions, which later showed up as being TB positive after being cultured. Now this bull passed a test in November, passed a test in February and yet still had TB bad enough to show up with lesions. I am not really looking forward to my next TB test in early May.
So calving of my remaining 17 cows continues, slowly. I have bought another Aberdeen angus bull, there is still about 30 heifers that will be fit for service this year, all going well next year might be better. The Dept vet wants to do the ELIZA test at the next herd test, I think I have no option but to do it, after all I want to get to the bottom of this........
We needed to do a full herd test, I wanted to do it before the winter feeding started, but Dept of Ag rules wouldn't allow this until 60 days after the last reactor had been removed from the farm. We did a test in November and 18 cattle showed up with TB. I was a bit surprised, I thought maybe we'd have 5 or 6 reactors. I couldn't understand where it was coming from. We all know that TB can spread from wildlife to cattle, but there are no deer in this area, ok there is some badger activity, but none of the setts were active. I have never bought in female cattle, and the only males I bought in since our last TB episode in 2006 was 2 stock bulls, they passed the test in November.
So 18 cattle were valued by an independent valuer who had been given 'valuation guidelines' by the Dept. I agreed to the valuations and 18 cattle, mostly in calf cows, went for slaughter at a local meat plant. I went to see them being killed, but when I tried to ask questions about whether all the cows were in calf, or if any of them had lesions I was told 'Your local DVO will tell you anything you need to know' then I got told where to stand by an over-bearing Russian bitch. I watched as my next crop of calves disappeared down a chute.
I got a cheque for the cattle about 2 days later, it was about 1/3 the value put on them by the 'independent valuation'. The balance came from the Dept about a month later when all the necessary paperwork, including a tax clearance cert had been forwarded on to the local DVO.
So the wife thinks it's fucking brilliant, we'll have money for christmas, be able to pay a few bills, pay bank arrears etc. But what about next fucking christmas, and the one after that? I ask her......
Needless to say many rows ensued. Later we found out 13 out of the 18 cattle showed up with lesions. This was quite high, so the vet from the Dept. suggested that we really should do a blood test for TB at the next herd test. Ok, I said, in my ignorance, I wanted to get to the bottom of this. The vet went on to explain that the blood test is only about 85% perhaps 92% accurate, it does throw up a few false positives. I agreed to go ahead with the blood test on all animals over 12 months old at the next test.
Roll on February, we had to wait 60 days after the last reactor was removed from the herd. By this time a lot of the cows were heavy in calf. Our own vet did the skin test, and the Dept vet took blood samples from all the cows, stock bulls and heifers over 12 months, 79 I think in total for blood test. I remember it was snowing and our own vet got delayed that morning.
So 3 days later we had the results of the blood test, out of the 79 tested 24 had failed, including one of my stock bulls. I was sort of in a semi-automatic daze as we did the skin test. I remember the Dept. vet asking me 'Do you love this cow'? What he meant was she was borderline on the blood test, and her skin test was clear, she was probably a false positive on the blood test. I was going to say something smart like I love all my cows, but I bit my tongue and bravely/stupidly said something like, let her off (for slaughter). Remember I still wanted to eliminate this disease from my farm as quickly as possible. So the final tally that day, 36 more cattle gone. The worrying part was one weanling bull was gone too, this group of cattle were all clear in the previous test. So a week went by, I sorted out all the reactors from the rest of the herd. The 'independent' valuer came again. By this time cattle prices in the mart had risen considerably since the last test, but the valuations didn't reflect this, we eventually thrashed it out, I agreed to the valuations, yes you guessed it, I wanted to get to the end of this as quickly as possible. 3 weeks after the test 35 out of the 36 reactors went off to the same local meat plant. One cow didn't go because she was calving that morning. She went a week later. Needless to say I didn't go to the meat plant that day to see my future sliding down a chute. However I did go to another meat plant later that week with 3 bulls for slaughter. Strangely enough one of these showed up with lesions, which later showed up as being TB positive after being cultured. Now this bull passed a test in November, passed a test in February and yet still had TB bad enough to show up with lesions. I am not really looking forward to my next TB test in early May.
So calving of my remaining 17 cows continues, slowly. I have bought another Aberdeen angus bull, there is still about 30 heifers that will be fit for service this year, all going well next year might be better. The Dept vet wants to do the ELIZA test at the next herd test, I think I have no option but to do it, after all I want to get to the bottom of this........
Friday, March 21, 2014
thoughts on a trip to the meat factory
Yesterday was thursday, I used to look forward to lunch on thursday. I got up earlier than usual to load 2 bulls in a trailer and take them to the slaughter house. I had no problem sorting them out from their comrades, one of them used to love having the back of his head scratched. I call it the 'toledo' spot. It's where those spannish bull fighting bastards stick in the sword after they've finished torturing the bull to end his life by severing the spinal chord. Toledo is a spannish city and I think they still make swords there for tourists, it's also afaik the spannish word for sword. Any way back to my bulls, got them out of the pen and into the crush. One of them needed an eartag. First blood of the day I thought as the spike on the tag pierced a vein in his ear.
It's about a 45 minute drive to the slaughter house from my yard. I drive at about 45 mph. If I can, I pull into the edge of the road to let cars pass. If the road is too narrow, tough shit. Most of the way I drive in 4th sometimes 5th. I think about ringing the miller where I buy bull ration to ask can I weigh in so I can find out what the kill out % is, but I don't bother, there is no tax on the land cruiser, one of the tyres on the trailer is bald, I don't want to meet any cops so I stick to the ring road avoiding towns. I pull in at a wide part of the road to let a bread van pass, but the prick pulls in behind me and never passes. Fuck him, by the time I get to the slaughter house there is a string of cars behind me.
At the slaughter house there is a que of trailers in front of me, the security man asks me to wait at the barrier until there is room ahead. It's half eight and raining. I sort of listen to the radio and dry my hat with the dashboard heater. Soon the barrier is lifted and I join the que. When I get halfway up I take the bull's passports up to the office and do the paperwork. He asks how heavy they are, 350 maybe 360 kg, I tell the guy there see you in 10 minutes. I help the guy in front of me back in his trailer, he says he's a bad driver. Easily half the farmers there have a land cruiser and ifor williams trailer and have of those have a dog in the passenger seat. He tells me how he backed in the wrong jeep and trailer and loaded it with cattle he'd just bought at a mart one day, I asked was it dark and he said 'No'.
I back up my trailer at the lairage, the guy behind me backs up beside me and is able to get his cattle off first, but I don't care, nobody panics at a slaughter house, just the cattle. My bulls walk off to their deaths easily enough. I go wash out my trailer, the guy who skipped ahead of me has an attractive red headed daughter in the front passenger seat instead of a dog. She is in her early 20's hair tied back in a ponytail. She doesn't talk much, me and her old man talk farming for a few minutes, they have suckler cows same as me, pissed off with the price of cattle, got 4.60 a kg last year, 3.60 a kg this year, that's roughly €400 euro less a head.
It's my turn with the power hose. I put on my raybans to keep the bullshit out of my eyes as I powerhose it out the back of the trailer. My foot gets wet because there is a hole in my welly, fuck that's nice, but they'll have to wait, my son needs a new pair of shoes.
I park the land cruiser and trailer beside a 40 foot fridge trailer, lock it and head back to the lairage, the manager says my bulls are gone up the line. I feel a bit sad, time was I used to give the lairage guys a hand to run my cattle up the chute. Back then perhaps 20 years ago I'd say a prayer, something like thank you, hope these provide a decent dinner for lots of people. Or tell Queen maeve I was asking for her, with a tear in my eye. But not anymore, not when I'm feeling screwed by all the meat factories.
I wash my wellys and head round to the payment office 'joke' and get a banin coat and a head protector. Head up the steps to the slaughter hall. I wash and dry my hands, there's an automatic scrubbing machine with two rotating brushes for my wellys, I think as they come out as new (except for the leak) that's one of the best things about seeing your cattle being killed. I push through the stainless steel doors, what you see first is sides of beef moving slowly to the left to the cold room, there is a wall to the right and straight ahead is maybe 30 cattle hanging from the ceiling in various stages of processing. There is a smell of hot guts but I don't notice it anymore. My cousin who is also a farmer says he hates that smell. But to me it's one of my favourite smells, it's the smell of money, the smell of a clear overdraft, the smell that pays the bills, puts food on the table, new shoes on my son's feet. I love that smell, when the weather is hot the smell is stronger, maybe because it's cold I don't notice the smell or more likely it's because the price of beef is so bad I don't notice it.
I walk past the scales and at the automatic grader I have to stop because it takes a photo of every second side and I don't want to walk past, the lights go off for a second before the photo is taken. There is a low wall running down the middle of the slaughter house. The line is 'U' shaped. The cattle come in at the top of one side of the U just after slaughter, and at the top of the other side of the U is where the door is and where they turn left to the cold room. The low wall where I lean on and watch the whole process runs up the middle of the U. My bulls are hanging up, bleeding, I can't really see them. At 10 am everything stops for breakfast, they've been working since 7am. I go with them to the canteen, tea and coffee is free but food has to be paid for. I remember the irony of having a free roast beef dinner in a slaughter house canteen the very first time I went to see a bullock being killed.
There about 4 long white tables in the canteen with room for perhaps 20 at each table, I just get a mug of tea, fishing out the teabag with my fingers. I sit at the first table beside a man with a tattoo sleeve, I say hello but he doesn't talk much, I suspect he doesn't speak english. A big brazilian guy and a paki sit down and we chat a bit, where are you from, Sao Paulo. He offers me a date from the paki's lunch box, and I take it. After about 15 minutes everybody heads back to the slaughter hall. Slowly one of my bulls moves along the line, the brazilian who I had breakfast with 5 minutes before chops the front legs and makes a few cuts at the throat of my bull. I wonder does he enjoy his job, he is standing in 2 inches of blood with a blank expression on his face, I don't think so. He has been here 11 years, he probably has most of the price of a farm or a decent house in brazil saved by now. My second bull appears, there are 8 other cattle on the line between them. It is hard to keep track of them, when the hide comes off the first one there is a small red patch where the fat has been pulled off, it helps me identify him. I chat to a vet, who says he is the hardest working man on the floor, yeah says I and the best paid. I feel I am the worst paid in there. My bull's guts empty out on to a low sized stainless steel table with a conveyor belt top. I ask if there is any fluke in the liver, the vet makes a few quick cuts and pronounces it 'perfect'. My second bull is being skint and I ask him to look at that one as well. My first bull gets a label with a carcase number, 7770 and his ear tag number on it too, it's easier now for me to keep track of him. He moves around the bottom corner of the U and is sawn in half down through the spine, next an eastern european woman removes bits of nerve. It must be a tough place for a woman to work, especially when she's on the rag looking at blood all day. The second bull has his liver out on the table, 'Fit for the pan' says the vet. I walk up to the grader and watch how cattle are grading and weighing as I wait for my 2 bulls. U and R mostly 2 and 3 for fat cover. My first bull is a U-2+ and weighs 360 kg, I'm happy at that, no deductions for being overweight or short of fat, the next bull moves slowly on, R+2+ and 380kg, I'm pleasantly surprised at the weights, I'm doing mental maths multiplying 38 by 3 and a half. 2.6 or 2.7k it's ok, will keep the wolf from the door for a month.
Yesterday was thursday, I used to look forward to lunch on thursday. I got up earlier than usual to load 2 bulls in a trailer and take them to the slaughter house. I had no problem sorting them out from their comrades, one of them used to love having the back of his head scratched. I call it the 'toledo' spot. It's where those spannish bull fighting bastards stick in the sword after they've finished torturing the bull to end his life by severing the spinal chord. Toledo is a spannish city and I think they still make swords there for tourists, it's also afaik the spannish word for sword. Any way back to my bulls, got them out of the pen and into the crush. One of them needed an eartag. First blood of the day I thought as the spike on the tag pierced a vein in his ear.
It's about a 45 minute drive to the slaughter house from my yard. I drive at about 45 mph. If I can, I pull into the edge of the road to let cars pass. If the road is too narrow, tough shit. Most of the way I drive in 4th sometimes 5th. I think about ringing the miller where I buy bull ration to ask can I weigh in so I can find out what the kill out % is, but I don't bother, there is no tax on the land cruiser, one of the tyres on the trailer is bald, I don't want to meet any cops so I stick to the ring road avoiding towns. I pull in at a wide part of the road to let a bread van pass, but the prick pulls in behind me and never passes. Fuck him, by the time I get to the slaughter house there is a string of cars behind me.
At the slaughter house there is a que of trailers in front of me, the security man asks me to wait at the barrier until there is room ahead. It's half eight and raining. I sort of listen to the radio and dry my hat with the dashboard heater. Soon the barrier is lifted and I join the que. When I get halfway up I take the bull's passports up to the office and do the paperwork. He asks how heavy they are, 350 maybe 360 kg, I tell the guy there see you in 10 minutes. I help the guy in front of me back in his trailer, he says he's a bad driver. Easily half the farmers there have a land cruiser and ifor williams trailer and have of those have a dog in the passenger seat. He tells me how he backed in the wrong jeep and trailer and loaded it with cattle he'd just bought at a mart one day, I asked was it dark and he said 'No'.
I back up my trailer at the lairage, the guy behind me backs up beside me and is able to get his cattle off first, but I don't care, nobody panics at a slaughter house, just the cattle. My bulls walk off to their deaths easily enough. I go wash out my trailer, the guy who skipped ahead of me has an attractive red headed daughter in the front passenger seat instead of a dog. She is in her early 20's hair tied back in a ponytail. She doesn't talk much, me and her old man talk farming for a few minutes, they have suckler cows same as me, pissed off with the price of cattle, got 4.60 a kg last year, 3.60 a kg this year, that's roughly €400 euro less a head.
It's my turn with the power hose. I put on my raybans to keep the bullshit out of my eyes as I powerhose it out the back of the trailer. My foot gets wet because there is a hole in my welly, fuck that's nice, but they'll have to wait, my son needs a new pair of shoes.
I park the land cruiser and trailer beside a 40 foot fridge trailer, lock it and head back to the lairage, the manager says my bulls are gone up the line. I feel a bit sad, time was I used to give the lairage guys a hand to run my cattle up the chute. Back then perhaps 20 years ago I'd say a prayer, something like thank you, hope these provide a decent dinner for lots of people. Or tell Queen maeve I was asking for her, with a tear in my eye. But not anymore, not when I'm feeling screwed by all the meat factories.
I wash my wellys and head round to the payment office 'joke' and get a banin coat and a head protector. Head up the steps to the slaughter hall. I wash and dry my hands, there's an automatic scrubbing machine with two rotating brushes for my wellys, I think as they come out as new (except for the leak) that's one of the best things about seeing your cattle being killed. I push through the stainless steel doors, what you see first is sides of beef moving slowly to the left to the cold room, there is a wall to the right and straight ahead is maybe 30 cattle hanging from the ceiling in various stages of processing. There is a smell of hot guts but I don't notice it anymore. My cousin who is also a farmer says he hates that smell. But to me it's one of my favourite smells, it's the smell of money, the smell of a clear overdraft, the smell that pays the bills, puts food on the table, new shoes on my son's feet. I love that smell, when the weather is hot the smell is stronger, maybe because it's cold I don't notice the smell or more likely it's because the price of beef is so bad I don't notice it.
I walk past the scales and at the automatic grader I have to stop because it takes a photo of every second side and I don't want to walk past, the lights go off for a second before the photo is taken. There is a low wall running down the middle of the slaughter house. The line is 'U' shaped. The cattle come in at the top of one side of the U just after slaughter, and at the top of the other side of the U is where the door is and where they turn left to the cold room. The low wall where I lean on and watch the whole process runs up the middle of the U. My bulls are hanging up, bleeding, I can't really see them. At 10 am everything stops for breakfast, they've been working since 7am. I go with them to the canteen, tea and coffee is free but food has to be paid for. I remember the irony of having a free roast beef dinner in a slaughter house canteen the very first time I went to see a bullock being killed.
There about 4 long white tables in the canteen with room for perhaps 20 at each table, I just get a mug of tea, fishing out the teabag with my fingers. I sit at the first table beside a man with a tattoo sleeve, I say hello but he doesn't talk much, I suspect he doesn't speak english. A big brazilian guy and a paki sit down and we chat a bit, where are you from, Sao Paulo. He offers me a date from the paki's lunch box, and I take it. After about 15 minutes everybody heads back to the slaughter hall. Slowly one of my bulls moves along the line, the brazilian who I had breakfast with 5 minutes before chops the front legs and makes a few cuts at the throat of my bull. I wonder does he enjoy his job, he is standing in 2 inches of blood with a blank expression on his face, I don't think so. He has been here 11 years, he probably has most of the price of a farm or a decent house in brazil saved by now. My second bull appears, there are 8 other cattle on the line between them. It is hard to keep track of them, when the hide comes off the first one there is a small red patch where the fat has been pulled off, it helps me identify him. I chat to a vet, who says he is the hardest working man on the floor, yeah says I and the best paid. I feel I am the worst paid in there. My bull's guts empty out on to a low sized stainless steel table with a conveyor belt top. I ask if there is any fluke in the liver, the vet makes a few quick cuts and pronounces it 'perfect'. My second bull is being skint and I ask him to look at that one as well. My first bull gets a label with a carcase number, 7770 and his ear tag number on it too, it's easier now for me to keep track of him. He moves around the bottom corner of the U and is sawn in half down through the spine, next an eastern european woman removes bits of nerve. It must be a tough place for a woman to work, especially when she's on the rag looking at blood all day. The second bull has his liver out on the table, 'Fit for the pan' says the vet. I walk up to the grader and watch how cattle are grading and weighing as I wait for my 2 bulls. U and R mostly 2 and 3 for fat cover. My first bull is a U-2+ and weighs 360 kg, I'm happy at that, no deductions for being overweight or short of fat, the next bull moves slowly on, R+2+ and 380kg, I'm pleasantly surprised at the weights, I'm doing mental maths multiplying 38 by 3 and a half. 2.6 or 2.7k it's ok, will keep the wolf from the door for a month.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
things I've learnt
I've learnt a couple of things recently. First thing I've learnt is that sometimes it is better to walk away.
By this I mean that if there is something we really want, but if the timing is wrong or if we are at a particular stage in our lives where other things must take precedence over that which we really want, then it can be better to walk away, and maybe come back to it a later stage.
Second thing I've learnt is that a silent protest is a very powerful form of protest. It is powerful because it gives an advantage to those making the protest, the advantage is that it upsets those whom the protest is made against. Because there is no dialogue, those whom the protest is made against can't do anything to solve the problem. But because there is no dialogue the problem never gets resolved, the only outcome is a stalemate, nobody really wins, no problems get resolved. So even though a silent protest is a very powerful form of protest it doesn't achieve anything. A silent protest is pretty dumb, really.
By this I mean that if there is something we really want, but if the timing is wrong or if we are at a particular stage in our lives where other things must take precedence over that which we really want, then it can be better to walk away, and maybe come back to it a later stage.
Second thing I've learnt is that a silent protest is a very powerful form of protest. It is powerful because it gives an advantage to those making the protest, the advantage is that it upsets those whom the protest is made against. Because there is no dialogue, those whom the protest is made against can't do anything to solve the problem. But because there is no dialogue the problem never gets resolved, the only outcome is a stalemate, nobody really wins, no problems get resolved. So even though a silent protest is a very powerful form of protest it doesn't achieve anything. A silent protest is pretty dumb, really.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
It's a beautiful Spring day, so far all I've done is spend 300e on boluses to give the cows, eaten my lunch and dropped my son to school. My wife and I are going to mgc every week for the past month. It's hard on both of us, we are trying to be really honest with each other and truth hurts you know.
I think our big problem is lack of communication, but now I feel she doesn't want me anymore, she is angry, why do women bring up something that happened 15 years earlier in an argument? Yesterday I got her a big bunch of daffodils and she gave me a big hug. Other times she is really distant, I have very low energy levels, for me March is the worst month of the year;
Beware the ides of March
I think our big problem is lack of communication, but now I feel she doesn't want me anymore, she is angry, why do women bring up something that happened 15 years earlier in an argument? Yesterday I got her a big bunch of daffodils and she gave me a big hug. Other times she is really distant, I have very low energy levels, for me March is the worst month of the year;
Beware the ides of March
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