Turf Season Arrives

two yahoos standing at a reek of turf

We made this

Oh joy of joys. The black gold has been dug, squashed,and squeezed out of the hopper, like a large sausage maker across fields and bogs in the midlands. It quite simply doesn’t get any better than walking out to the bog to feel turf that has been cut 3 days.

The anticipation of that first gentle squeeze of a sod, or that light pat of the hand on top of a sod with a ‘dacent shkin‘ on it. And you know that you’ll do extensive injury to your back, probably get third degree burns from staying out there too long…but nothing rivals footing turf.

Its almost a necessary thing to do in summer, a manly, life affirming, testosterone filled journey into a big flat bog, with midges, nettles, whin bushes, and a mile walk in off the road.

This year at some stage there will be a turf making competition in the region. It will involve posture, hand and eye coordination, speed, agility, a flair for 70s disco and footings to be no more than 4 ft tall.

The couple above made that reek themselves, they didn’t get dirty,not a hair out of place…but then again the bog is a very magical place this time of year