It
takes a steady and adequate supply of rain to keep Ireland as green as the
pictures depict it, and a steady supply of rain is what they receive. Ireland soaks
up 30–50 inches of rain per year, on average, and a “long drought” in Ireland
is the record 37 days without rain in 1938—a laughable length of time for those
who can recollect entire summers with hardly a drop. We encountered at least
one rain shower every day but one, when it decided to downpour shortly after
sundown instead. The rain showers were mostly brief and intermittent, and when
they did appear, were rarely heavy downpours and better described as a healthy
Irish mist. Our first day, however, gave us a good welcome-to-Ireland-soaking
as we puddle-jumped our way through Dublin from attraction to attraction.
Temperatures
in Ireland are mild compared to those we experience in Minnesota, but that
alone doesn’t say much. Ireland benefits from the North Atlantic current that
sweeps warm water from the Gulf of Mexico region to the higher latitudes. The highest
and lowest temperatures recorded anywhere in Ireland are 91.9 and -2.4 degrees
Fahrenheit respectively. The typical range is between 30 and 80 degrees. During
our visit, daily highs were generally in the 60s.
Most
locals, accustomed to the sporadic weather, are wisely equipped with umbrellas.
Thinking ahead we made certain to pack rain jackets and an umbrella, too—one of
those collapsible, light-weight umbrellas that are easy to travel with and
completely worthless if the wind happens to be blowing more than 3.5 miles per
hour. It should have come as no surprise that within minutes of opening it up one
of the spindly arms caved from the force of the moderate breeze and bent out of
shape, significantly limiting its effectiveness at shedding water. Travel Tip:
leave your wimpy umbrellas at home and buy a good one when you arrive. They are
sold everywhere. We weren’t the only ones with this problem, however, as I saw
3–4 abandoned, half-broken, collapsible umbrellas throughout the day—all generously
left for someone damp and desperate enough to make use of their remaining shell.
With
the steady rains come productive pastures on which to graze cattle and sheep. Not
a single patch of grass is wasted, it seemed, as the livestock, and especially
the sheep, could be found everywhere, even abutting popular scenic attractions.
The views from the hills and mountains showed valleys that were divided up into
a patchwork of grazing pastures, separated by stone fences. Pastures ranged in
size from 5 to 25 acres, depending upon the lay of the land. Noticeably absent
was anything that we would classify a feedlot. The animals are rotated between
pastures regularly enough to prevent the grass from being trampled to mud.
The Irish have a grass-based dairy industry where average herd size is 50 cows,
most typically of a Holstein-Friesian mix. Average milk yields are lower than
found locally, and farmers attempt to maintain a 12-month birthing cycle so
calves are born in the spring months when the grass is becoming most productive.
The Irish also raise beef cattle and nearly every restaurant we visited boasted
“100% Irish beef” somewhere on their menu, evidencing their strong desire to
support their local farms.
Not
once did we see a stalk of corn, probably due to the cooler temperatures
typical of an Irish summer and fewer tillable acres. Instead, wheat, barley,
oats, potatoes, beets, and forages are most abundant.
We
seized an opportunity to visit a sheep farm in the mountains near Kilarney
National Park. This particular sheep farm has been in their family for 150
years and is so rural it did not receive electricity service until 1980. For a
small fee we were able to watch a sheep shearing demonstration and witness
their five border collies rounding up a herd of sheep in the pasture. The wool
from a sheep is sheared off once a year but is only worth about $1.33, about
the same amount it costs to pay a person to shear the sheep, due to oversaturation
in the wool market. Nevertheless, it must be sheared once a year for the
average sheep’s 13-year life span or the coat will get too heavy, and after a
good soaking topple the sheep on their side leaving them helpless to get up
again under the weight.
Though
Ireland is full of sheep, we rarely saw evidence of local consumption of the
meat. We were told many Irish don’t care to buy the meat, which is still pricier
than beef, pork, or chicken. Therefore, most of it is exported, with France
being the top destination.
The
sheep herding demonstration was downright impressive. The farmer stood atop the
hill as one-by-one he released the eager and patiently waiting dogs with a
vocal cue. He gave each of his five collies the command to veer either left or
right around the pasture edges in search for stray animals. He would yell the
dog’s name and then follow that with a command, as they crouched around boulders
and stalked their “prey,” ready to pounce should any individual find the
courage to attempt to cut from the herd. Within five minutes the small herd of
30 animals was gathered and pushed into the holding pen by the circling team of
dogs.
This
family benefitted by their location and ability to attract tourist dollars to
help offset the challenges associated with the depressed farm economy, but most
farmers in Ireland aren’t that lucky. Whether the farm would remain economically
productive enough for the next generation to carry on the tradition remains an
open question in their mind. The tale sounded all too familiar to those of us who
grew up in the Midwest. From the rocky landscape to the potato famines to
today’s market challenges, farming in Ireland has never been an easy task.
Neither has it always been in the Upper Midwest. It seems no coincidence,
therefore, that many of those who persist in U.S. agriculture today can trace
their roots to hardy individuals (whether Irish or otherwise) that long ago
learned how to survive through frugality, creativity, perseverance, and true
grit.
