The Helpers

Since I moved here almost 5 years ago I’ve had ‘helpers’ from both Wwoof and Workaway. Wwoof is an acronym for world wide opportunities on organic farms. Workaway is less specific and is just general help in return for bed and board. With Wwoof you pay to be a member, the applicants don’t. With Workaway it’s the reverse.

I’ve had American, French, German, Austrian, Italian, Spanish and Finnish helpers. By far the best (so far) are the Germans. There are racial stereotypes for a reason. The Germans are superb and I’m not the only host to say this. Another bonus is they all have almost fluent English. The French have the worst English. Both the Spanish and Italians are personable but flaky.

And in case you think I’m being superior here, I know what is said about the Irish and for the most part it’s true. But with every race there are exceptions. However the stereotypes are there for a reason.

But this post is about the funny experiences. For the most part I’ve gained from hosting them and I’d like to think they have as well. As my father in law once said on radio ‘the proof of the pudding is in the looking at it…….’ (not the eating of it). Most of them have kept in touch so they must have enjoyed being here. I will start with the most recent. I regaled my Facebook friends with her escapades. I will only say her. I won’t identify her nationality but suffice to say she was mature and well-educated.

From her initial application I thought to myself this one is going to be trouble. I’m very intuitive but I’ve honed it to a fine art at this stage and am able to deduce what they will be like from their correspondence. But I always am prepared to be wrong!

She wasn’t here long when on a rainy afternoon I heard the vacuum cleaner going like the clappers. When they arrive I show them their ensuite room and tell them they are responsible for keeping their bedroom and bathroom clean and returned to me the way they got it. I wondered had I cleaned it sufficiently. Had I forgotten to dust the skirting board behind the bed….but I was secretly impressed.

I had forgotten about this but a week or so later I was rooting in the freezer one evening for something for dinner. I’d just moved the contents of a huge ‘dead body’ freezer to this smaller one so was pretty familiar with it. I noticed a strange plastic bag. I picked it up and tried to untie the knot. Took me a while but eventually I opened it. Inside there was a wallet in a zip lock bag and a glasses case. I stood there looking at it in shock thinking Jaysus she’s robbed someone and hidden the spoils in my freezer…..

I knocked on her room and asked her were these hers and what were they doing in my freezer. She replied they were, she thought she’d got bed bugs where she’d stayed the previous weekend. Suddenly dawned on me what the obsessive vaccuming was about. I asked where she’d stayed. She replied Travel Lodge. ‘Ah here’ says I, ‘you didn’t get bed bugs there!’

I reversed out of her room thinking to myself this one is barking.

For the two weekends she was here she planned to be away. I love when they go away because let’s face it, we all need our space. The first weekend she headed off but reappeared at the door on Saturday evening on time for dinner. The following weekend she told me she was going away. Then she wasn’t and at the last minute she was. It was a beautiful Friday evening so I opened a bottle of rosé and was stretched out enjoying it, loving having the house to myself. Suddenly got a text. ‘Can you pick me up between 8-9pm, I can’t find anywhere to stay?’

That would be a firm no!

Weekends where she’s from must only be one day long!

But the best of all was she planned on staying another weekend. I said absolutely no way. I offered to drop her up on the Friday to the village for the bus at the crack of dawn. She could have walked but had a huge backpack. I came down the stairs half asleep to run out and feed the pigs and poultry, dogs and cats before we left. She was stood at the bottom holding her pillow. There are 4 on the bed. She was waving it in my face telling me she had found something ‘concerning’ on it.

Needless to say you can imagine my reply…..!!

Then she proceeded to stand watching me run around like a blue arsed fly feeding all before we left. I got back and saw she’d left her coat and scarf on the hall stand. Normally I’d have driven back up with them but this time I thought to myself ‘no way, she had stood looking at me while I ran around before doing her a favour.’

I almost forgot, the day after she arrived I had started dinner. Left it on the hob and went off. Later came back to finish it but it was gone. She was stood at the sink washing up? I said ‘where’s the dinner?’

In the fridge she replied. I opened it (an under counter one so small). Where says I? There says she pointing to a small breakfast bowl. It had been in a large cast iron casserole.

Where’s the rest says I?

I ate it says she.

What.??

It was enough for 4 and the broccoli thrown on top wasn’t cooked. And it’s only 4.30pm.

Is that not dinner time says she.

No, it isn’t says I.

I should’ve given her her P45 there and then.

The only scary incident I’ve had and it wasn’t really scary, more weird. I left this particular chap one evening to go out to a beach party with a neighbour. Before I left I asked him to leave an outside light on so I’d be able to get in.

I arrived back at 2am in the pitch dark to darkness. No light. Plus the door was locked and I had no key. He had locked me out. I walked around the house having hammered on the patio door. Looked in the sitting room window to see him slumped over his phone. The phone light was the only one in the room. I banged on the window for several minutes before he responded.

When he eventually let me in I was less than pleased and a few choice words were exchanged. Next morning he left. I came down to see him all packed up and ready to go. I offered to drive him but he declined. Good riddance I thought.

And then there was this one. My bad goat is named after her. She was barely 18 but liked to go to the pub. The local (which I’ve never even been in) is rough. But that didn’t deter her. One evening there was no sign of her and it was getting dark and starting to lash rain. She’d gone off on my bike. Understandably I was worried so was just getting into the car to go look for her when she appeared. She was very much the worse for wear. She had no light on the bike or reflector and had come down a dark country road.

I left it until morning to talk to her but also decided to contact her previous hosts to ask had she done this with them. They had Wwoofers staying in separate accommodation so didn’t really know what they did in their spare time but the owner of the business had been told ‘she was fond of the men’…..

I decided I better contact her parents just to inform them and cover my arse if anything happened her. I told them no 18 year old daughter of mine would be let drink in this particular pub etc etc. They didn’t seem too worried but I thought it best if she left. She absolutely begged me not to force her to leave so I relented. She then really pulled her finger out and was a great help.

I remember I went off for the afternoon somewhere with a friend after she had faithfully promised me she would never darken the door of that pub again. I came into the village on the main road just on time to see her skulking in the side door of it. At that stage I just laughed and she arrived home intact. She was wetting her dead grandmother’s head apparently. I’ve had a few dead grandmothers. Mostly given as excuses to leave early but they were the few who were useless but unremarkable.

She left but wanted to come back the following year and sent me a Christmas card but the pandemic blew that notion up. She was going on to study to be a nurse. I have to say I was very fond of her in the end but she put the heart crossways in me with her carry on.

For the most part they come here with varying levels of English but communication is almost always possible. I’m impressed at their standard of English and their willingness to learn. But the most recent arrival has almost no understanding. The most frustrating part was her written communication in advance was top notch but it transpired it was her teacher I was corresponding with.

I have to admit at being ever so slightly pissed off. The thing that annoyed me most was the dishonesty. If she had said ‘listen I’ve no English but I want to learn’ it would be one thing. But to pretend she had fluent English and just wanted to improve.

So it’s been very frustrating because I have some French (and lots forgotten) and now I’m surprising myself with what I’ve come out with. But I don’t want to improve my French……

The outcome is a friend said to me why don’t I investigate taking foreign language students and getting paid to have them. It would make more sense because I’m effectively teaching this one English and animal care and cooking for not much more than some odd jobs in return.

Overall it’s been a positive experience and the good have more than outweighed the bad. I’ve also got a huge amount of work done here that would have been virtually impossible to have done in the same time scale waiting for the professionals.

The New Name

Today we renamed the third paddock (which up to this had been referred to as the hayfield). We planted seven oaks and two beech in it. As we were trundling up with the empty wheel barrow trying to work out how many of each tree we’d planted, I said “we planted seven oaks, we’ve got to call this field Sevenoaks now. “

Cue confused stare from Gaëlle, the Workaway student. I then had to explain how and why fields are named here.

I’ve already planted willow, alder, birch, crap apple and hornbeam as well as a hawthorn hedge. I had to make sure that the big tractors and balers could still get in to cut and bale so they’re all planted at the end of the paddock bordering the massive intensive field where all the hedges and trees have been ripped out. This means the south west wind comes barreling down until it meets my small hawthorn barrier between Sevenoaks and the Pig Field wherupon it laughs and high tails it through and barges into my hay shed.

The polytunnel is finally up but the ground within is so wet and sticky, it’s virtually a no go area. The rain the night before they came to put it up didn’t help and the tractor putting in the posts a few days before made massive ruts now filled with water.

Today the fencing was finished beside it, just on time before Storm Jorge arrived.

I planted the peach tree, the vine and the salad seedlings just inside the door because for now it gets the most sun until the sun gets a bit higher and reaches over the hay shed roof, and yesterday I noticed the buds beginning to unfurl on the peach so happy days.

The wind here is a bastard. It is relentless and damaging. Every gate has been reefed off its hinges. The front gates which are massive heavy yokes have been wrenched out of the wall twice. The most recent time during Storm Dennis. Today I discovered the little green door into the hen shed has been pulled off its bottom hinge. And this was despite being wedged with heavy stones and lumps of wood which every door in the place has to be.

Now hopefully the last of the winter storms is causing havoc outside. The poor newly planted trees have been getting a right battering. But there was evidence of spring this morning in the woods at Tintern and some lesser celandine peeping through the newly emerging wild garlic and bluebells.

Last week I collected the lamb from the butcher and tasted it and have to say it was delicious but surprisingly lean. I still miss the sheep and am already looking forward to getting more, this time at least one female to keep.

The goats have been curiously subdued since they left and have been hanging around their shed most of the day only venturing out into the pig field when the pigs do. Have to say I’ve been surprised by this as they seemed to just “argue” all the time with the sheep.

My new Workaway helper is great. I decided to switch from Wwoof as was advised the people coming through Workaway are generally older and more useful. It’s just a shame the weather has been so abominable since she arrived, it’s made working outside virtually impossible. But we’ve had a few good days and last Sunday actually lay in the sun up on Baginbun and inhaled the glorious salty air.

It’s right about this time every year when the days begin to lengthen that you long for spring and warm summer days. They can’t come quick enough this year.

The Wwoofers

I decided to get Wwoofers (officially stands for World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms). I had heard of the organisation before I moved here but assumed I wasn’t “farm” or “organic” enough. However, turns out as long as you practice a mostly organic ethos you qualify and it doesn’t matter how tiny you are. So one night in the depths of winter I took out membership to be a host.

I had loads of queries. But one thing I learned very quickly is; you tell them – yes, they can come and then you never hear from them again. I accepted three Israeli girls who sent me a long apologetic message that they appreciated most places wouldn’t take the three of them but they really, really wanted to stay together. Close to the time I emailed them did they want directions. They replied “oh sorry, we’re not coming, we thought we had told you…..”.

So then I told them all they could come. Most I never heard from again but I ended up with a crossover of two serious ones. More of that anon but the funniest had to be the message from two German guys driving around Ireland. Hi, we are two German guys who love the look of your farm. We would love to come stay with you for a week but don’t worry you don’t need to pick us up…..!” Read that as we’d like free accommodation at your place because it’s close to the sea….!!

My first Woofer didn’t come through WWOOF. I had worked in the US as a student on my year out. Somehow being deeply persuasive I had convinced the dean of my faculty that a year out in California would really be good for experience in temperate climate plants…….! I told you I was persuasive. He okay’d it despite his better judgement. Anyway to cut a long story short, as my dad used say; I ended up in California in the Los Angeles Arboretum, San Diego Zoo and a National Trust equivalent – Filoli (famed as the location for Dynasty, The Fall Guy and Fantasy Island where I met and had a photo taken with Pierce Brosnan long before he became famous, amongst others.) I met the first woofer’s mother at work there and subsequently his father when they were just boyfriend and girlfriend. I later attended their wedding and then we kept in touch for years only to lose contact but get reacquainted by Facebook – as you do!

She messaged me one night that he wanted to come to Ireland Woofing. I said he could come here and that was it. He began the lengthy process of painting all my outbuildings to match the startling white of my house.

Conor from Seattle turned out to be ace at painting having the patience to dabble pebbledash to within an inch of it’s life. Here he is in blistering heat painting the pebbledash gable end of the shed. I was at the field side scraping off the loose grey paint from years ago. I almost got sunstroke because I never thought to put a hat on. My neck got fried.

He painted most of my outbuildings while he was here. I had been persuaded to leave the goddamn yellow front door so I wanted to paint the shed doors with something that would match. I settled on this lime green that I think has done the job.

These little sheds on a hot evening reminded me of a Greek taverna

Conor left to go on a jolly around Ireland and I had Elio the French student next. Somehow I’d got it into my head he was 19 (He was 25). I had to pick him up at the bus outside SuperValu, New Ross. I arrived and parked in the car park along the quays opposite and sat waiting. I had decided I’d wait and see what he looked like before making myself known. If he looked scary I’d just drive off. Thankfully he looked like someone I’d be happy to have. I did tell him all this later and we had a laugh. I’m so glad I didn’t drive off because he was a pleasure to have. He was a superb worker as well as mannerly and all the animals loved him.

He had asked to stay for a month but I really didn’t want to commit to that length of time in case we didn’t get on or he was useless. I like my own company and independence and the thoughts of having anyone in my space for that length of time horrified me. However, he did stay a month and it flew and I was sad to see him go. He went off at weekends which gave me breathing space which helped too.

The first day he was here I asked him to stack the rest of the wood that had been split and was thrown all over the hayshed floor. I thought it would take him the morning. He had it done in an hour and I had a panic attack that I would never have enough work for him. But needless to say in an old place like this, there is always something to do. He finished off the painting so that everything is now a gleaming white and can probably be seen from space.

I had been making mutterings about the old stone shed and had begun to chip off the grey paint that was flaking off. It had been painted over lime wash years ago and in winter I noticed that when I leaned against the inside wall to pull on or off my wellies, the wall was wet. This was because the paint was preventing the old building from breathing as lime mortar and wash traditionally did. I spoke to several people who all sucked in between their teeth and looked at me like I was somewhat touched. Then they all muttered about “big money”. Read that as they didn’t want to be bothered to do it but if I insisted they would charge me handsomely. How hard can it be to do it myself I wondered. And as always, thought if people with little or no equipment, access to the internet etc could do it years ago, why couldn’t I? I began trawling through Google and just got completely confused by all the technical terms for lime – hydrated lime, slaked lime, lime putty etc.

I went down to the big Homevalue place in Wellingtonbridge to ask. They were totally honest and said they hadn’t a clue but called a man over. He turned out to be the owner. He asked for my phone number, there was someone he knew who had done a job for the OPW and by coincidence he had been in earlier. He would give him a call and then let me know what he said. He also told me ring Byrne’s in Carlow. They turned out to be The Traditional Lime Company. I rang and the man I spoke to told me he’d ring me back, I had disturbed his morning cup of tea………

The long and short of it was I convinced Elio to have a go. He didn’t do that Gallic shrug thing the French are wont to do, so that was encouraging. He didn’t look thrilled though. What had been his downfall was showing me photos of the stone wall he had built in the last place he had been on the Cork/Waterford border. He understood stone and that was nine tenths of the battle as far as I was concerned. I was sitting at the table outside on the patio with him and Michelle, the German Woofer (the crossover) having lunch when I suddenly decided; as I do a lot, to jump in the car and drive to Tullow in Carlow to buy the NHL 3.5 lime, the 0.5ml sand and the lime putty. Michelle on hearing it would probably take me most of the afternoon to drive there and back asked how far it was. She burst out laughing when I told her 60km odd. Twisty turny roads and up over Mount Leinster doesn’t make for much speed. I got it and the next day we set about mixing the mortar. Once more Larry the neighbour came to the rescue. I reckon I’m providing endless entertainment here because a neighbour can rarely pass the gate without having to stop to see what’s going on. He offered his drill and a mixer attachment to mix the mortar.

Elio and myself set to it but it became apparent that he was a natural and I was just annoying him. He told me to go away. He got half the front done in no time and then was itching to lime wash it. We probably should have waited another day or two but I was dying to see what it would look like as well. He put on the first coat and stood scratching his head. Is it supposed to be so watery and all running down the wall? We thickened up the mix and applied a second coat. Then stood back to admire the gleaming white. He headed off to Dublin to run the Half Marathon for the weekend and myself and Michelle stood looking at it in horror the next morning. Drizzley rain overnight had washed most of it off.

However, when he came back on Monday he applied several more coats and this time they stuck. He finished the back and then showed Michelle how to do it. She’s out there now slowly and forensically finishing it off. She does everything slowly and forensically including surgically removing weeds which is a skill that should be on her cv! She was one of the others I said yes to when she requested to come and then promptly forgot all about her. That was why I had a crossover for a couple of weeks.

I said yes to a big hairy Spanish chap who says he’s an electrician and carpenter but although he initially replied, I’ve had no definite confirmation from him. So when Michelle leaves next month I may not get anyone else.

The little shed is looking mighty fine now like the grand old dame she is. A neighbour thinks it may have been the original farmhouse on the property as it’s got a mezzanine. There is also has the remnants of the old milking machine and pressure guage inside plus the little annexe they put the calves into when they were milking the cows. I keep my feed in here and for now my new hens are in it until they get accepted by the existing bullies.

Having Woofers turned out to be a very positive experience and one that I will definitely do again. I think we all gained from it. And once you get over the horror of someone in your house long term, it’s absolutely fine.