Cutting the bawn
Sleán. Irish. Thick one-sided spade for cutting turf.
A few days before Easter,
Eamon dropped by with a bag of roosters.
It's early for the tillage, he said,
but maybe the weather will hold
and, if we plant now,
they'll be ready for eating by June.
We'll need to raise ridges
against the rain. Did you ever see
a man work with a sleán?
His huge boot slammed down
on the spade's single shoulder,
the land gaped, a tussock flipped
black-belly up like a landed fish.
It's for opening new ground -
we call it cutting the bawn, he said.
In a cloud of midges, I watched him
pace out fourteen and a half feet.
A watery ditch opened to the sleán
while a dark ridge grew alongside.
Then another ditch, and more ridges
made of up-rooted sods,
the green hair of the couch grass
tucked away beneath the black earth.
It was all wonderful to me -
the raised beds, the sleán,
the March sky streaked and swollen.
And hadn't Eamon said all
being well, there'd be spuds
for eating by June?
God willing. All being well.
A few days before Easter,
Eamon dropped by with a bag of roosters.
It's early for the tillage, he said,
but maybe the weather will hold
and, if we plant now,
they'll be ready for eating by June.
We'll need to raise ridges
against the rain. Did you ever see
a man work with a sleán?
His huge boot slammed down
on the spade's single shoulder,
the land gaped, a tussock flipped
black-belly up like a landed fish.
It's for opening new ground -
we call it cutting the bawn, he said.
In a cloud of midges, I watched him
pace out fourteen and a half feet.
A watery ditch opened to the sleán
while a dark ridge grew alongside.
Then another ditch, and more ridges
made of up-rooted sods,
the green hair of the couch grass
tucked away beneath the black earth.
It was all wonderful to me -
the raised beds, the sleán,
the March sky streaked and swollen.
And hadn't Eamon said all
being well, there'd be spuds
for eating by June?
God willing. All being well.
Page(s) 24
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