Bert generally does not
tell me things. So I wasn't a bit surprised yesterday when a large
truck containing stones arrived on the yard. As Bert thinks receiving
a load of stones an important task accomplished it would therefore
be deserving of a cup of tea. When he came into the kitchen I
attempted to engage him in conversation.
What are the stones for?
Och!
No. Tell me what they're for.
Tssk!
Just tell me. Other husbands tell their wives things.
The back garden!
And off he stomped
clutching his cup of tea in hand.
Did I ever mention that
he's not really a morning person?
I pondered this
information. The back garden? We have various areas around the house
that could be described as garden but I wasn't sure which he meant.
And why would he be needing stones for it? Gardens are my department
too. I deserve to be consulted.
I broached the subject
again the next time he came in for refreshments (thirty minutes
later).
So, exactly where is this back garden you speak of? Back of where?
I didn't say back garden. I said stack garden.
Stack garden?
Yes. Every farm has a stack garden.
Where's ours?
Round the back. Where the pigs are.
Bert – In nearly thirty years I have never once heard you call any part of this place the stack garden. Have you just made that up?
I have to say here that
the naming of places is something we argue about discuss often.
Bert went on to argue
that this area, which I call the pig paddock, has always been
referred to as the stack garden and that if I had been brought up on
a farm, as I claim, then there would have been a stack garden.
And what would this stack garden be used for?
For stacks.
What kind of stacks?
Hay! Corn! Logs!
No. We had sheds for those and the hay was baled and stored in a hay shed.
He continued to insist
that all farms had stack gardens and I argued that stack gardens were
all in his head or else something only hill-billies know about.
Currently his names for
fields are,
The Field Across The
Road
The Meadow
The Corner Field
The Hall Field
The First Hill
The Second Hill
The Third Hill
The Big Hill
He claims not to
remember the names of the six fields planted in trees apart from The
Whinny Field. These fields are now known as The Trees. I pressed him
on this and he managed to recall that two of them had been referred
to as,
The Wee Field On The
March With Gregg's
The Boag Field
Boag Field. Do you mean bog?
It rhymes with doag*. So what did you ones call a boag then?
We called it The Moss and cut turf in it. We didn't make a field out of it.
Youse were that grand out at Tannaghmore.
We were.
I'm certain sure that
when I met Bert he didn't speak of doags, boags or stack gardens. And
he used to (I think) tell me things so when the man from the quad
bike shop pulled into the yard this morning I thought he wanted to
buy a tree, or perhaps he was looking for directions. But no. Bert
has bought a quad bike. And never said.
*doag - dog
8 comments:
Nelly, that quad bike will come in very handy for whizzing into Cully for a few wee messages! ;)
PS: Blogger has really gone to time this time round with the stupid word verification.
Word verification on here? I will have to check that out.
I don't remember any hills Nelly?
Though it has been a while since I was there I guess (and commenting on here).
Mikeyboy
This whole place is on the side of a gentle hill Mikey. The so called hill fields all have a slope on them. Since writing this post my sister informed me that we had fields called the wee bog, the middle bog and the far bog. I didn't know this.
Always interesting how fields got their names.
Do you think he's putting in an atv course in the wee back of beyond?
I am not polite enough for hubby to order something for somewhere I do not recognize, so we do discuss everything. Makes for a more boring relationship though. I am ready for pictures of the stack garden. Love the terms for all of these fields. Came over to visit form Mage's site.
I might write a post about a field we owned. The only one I knew the name of!
Dont tell Bert but we also had bogs the 3 feilds behind the feild in front of Heffrons. The wee bog was drained and the one furhest from the house had a beautiful weeping willow.
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