Slither Again

 This is a summer activity.

Most evenings - especially damp ones with a light mizzle of rain - I step outside to see what the molluscs are up to. I must look like a crazy woman: torch in hand, stepping so carefully, peering into every corner.

It’s strange to realise that I’ve gone from being a person revolted by slugs and snails to someone who’s maybe just a little bit obsessed with them.

The obsession began a few summers ago and has only grown since.

Last year, I started marking some garden snails with dots of correction fluid. Then I felt bad about it - was I interfering, harming them somehow? But this year, I’ve found quite a few of my marked snails still going strong, and still inhabiting the same corners of the garden as before.

This one has decided tansy is not to its taste.

In the dark, I have to be so careful where I tread - there’s nothing more awful than accidentally crushing the shell of a garden snail. If that happens - and it rarely does, because I watch my step -the snail faces a prolonged and painful death. It’s kinder, then, to end things quickly and stamp out its life. Maybe I’m a little bit (a lot?) mad, because doing that to a snail makes me really sad. Even though they devoured all my cosmos seedlings and have done great harm to my Vancouver lupins*.

Young garden snail. At this stage, its shell is very delicate. My 'dangerous' size sixes are only for comparison. 

*I’ve had the Vancouver lupins (Lupinus polyphyllus ) ever since I visited Eamon in his home city in 2013. I collected the original seeds in the grounds of the University of British Columbia.

This is what my Vancouver lupins were like six years ago.

And this is what they are like now.

More Fire

Aftermath of last Sunday's fire

Last Sunday evening, I was getting ready for bed when I heard loud cracking and banging noises. My first thought was:

What on earth is Bert doing in the kitchen? Slamming doors and crashing about again?

But the noise wasn’t coming from inside the house. Could it be fireworks over at Galgorm Manor again? It sounded much closer than that.

When I stepped outside, I realised just how close it really was.

The house next door was ablaze. Flames shot twenty feet into the air, windows cracked, and roof tiles exploded. Thankfully, it was a calm night, so there was little danger of embers drifting over to our place.

I called the fire brigade, and they arrived within twenty minutes. It was close to 2 a.m. before the fire was finally under control.

It’s not the first fire on that site. Nineteen years ago the garage went on fire. I believe that one was accidental – someone careless with something flammable, though I cannot be certain. The garage contained a quantity of paint tins and a gas tank so there was plenty of fuel for that fire. Like last week, the fire brigade got here within twenty minutes and spent two hours dousing the flames.

The aftermath of the 2006 fire

In Bert’s lifetime, there have been three incidents of fire at that site. The first was the most tragic. It would have been sometime in the 1960s. Clint was at primary school, and he remembers it clearly - no surprise, as it was his grandmother who died in that fire.

It was a shocking thing. All that remained of her were her lower legs and feet, still in her carpet slippers. She must have fallen into or near an open fire. There was no damage to the structure of the building, just a greasy, sooty deposit all over the walls and windows.

When I told that story to my friend Vee after this latest fire, she went a bit pale. Said she felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. She’s not usually one for superstition, but that unnerved her. Both Vee and Bert said that the site must be cursed.

According to the Fire Service, last Sunday’s fire was set deliberately. The police are looking for an arsonist but it is highly unlikely they’ll ever find anyone.

Ballymena Riots 2025

So, Ballymena is at it again. And this time, far too close to where my family live.

Once more, we’re in ‘whatever you say, say nothing’ territory. A passing comment to a neighbour about the hate and madness of it all, and you might catch a look that tells you they’re not quite on the same page - some sympathy for the protestors, plenty of hostility toward the ‘foreigners’.

It’s racism, plain and simple. It’s hate and it’s stupidity squared.

I once believed, naively perhaps, that my Irish grandchildren would grow up in a time of peace and civility. Instead, just around the corner from where they live, masked thugs have spent the past two nights rampaging through the streets, attacking police, wrecking property and burning families out of their homes.

They claim it’s a response to a horrific assault on a young woman. But how does terrorising innocent families deliver justice?

My heart goes out to her. She deserves justice, compassion, and the full support of the community - not this chaos done in her name.

They are racists, plain and simple, with their hatred and ignorance on full display.

Twenty Years Later

 Today is the twentieth anniversary our father's death. This photograph, featuring Daddy and his granddaughter Katy is a particular favourite of mine. It was taken by my sister Tricia, one of a series of black and white pictures she took of him as he went about the farm. The pictures are from the mid-eighties. He would have been in his sixties then, probably around the same age that Bert is now. 

I only noticed today that he is wearing a tie so it must have been taken on a  Sunday. His cardigan is half-decent looking too but those are definitely 'working' trousers. He wouldn't have risked his Chapel Sunday trousers out fothering cattle. 

Daddy and Bert at our old place.

Portrait of  Seamus by his granddaughter Naoise. 

Portrait of Seamus by his granddaughter Zoe.