Features
Generations of Farming
Seaweed from the North Mayo coastline is the secret of having good grass, according to Neil Doran. His lands run down to the sea just outside the small isolated village of Ballycroy and he considers himself fortunate to have a plentiful supply of this valuable resource on his doorstep.
By farming organically, Neil is carrying on a family tradition that stretches way back to the time of the famine. His father raised a family of thirteen on his sixteen acres of lowland plus a share of 186 acres of mountain commonage. Back in the fifties the land sustained three milking cows, a flock of mountain ewes, hens, geese, ducks and a substantial vegetable garden.
'We lived off the land' says Neil. 'And we picked shellfish and carrageen moss from the shore. There were buyers going round in those days so the beach was a handy source of cash.'
Neil is one of three surviving members of that large family. His father was often away working in England so the work of the farm was frequently the responsibility of the children. It was in those harsh but simpler times that Neil developed a love of the land.
Neil left the land as a young man and worked in Dublin and England before going to settle in Australia for eighteen years. Not that his time in Australia could be described as settled. He moved around the country following the work and sleeping in various digs, farmhouses, campsites and sometimes under the stars out in the bush. 'I loved it', he says. 'It was a beautiful country.'
Neil found farming in Australia very different from what he had experienced at home. 'Lack of water was the big problem out there', he says. 'In some places it might only rain once a year. The farmers had to sink deep boreholes to bring up water for the stock and there was always the fear of drought. For themselves the farmers had to have large tanks to store the water. Some of the tanks would hold up to five thousands gallons. A lot of the land was really just a desert'.
In Australia the farms were much bigger. Neil worked for several farmers who managed as much as five thousand acres. Counting your sheep by the thousand was normal over there.
Despite enjoying the sunshine, the lure of the home place brought Neil back to Mayo in 1979. The farm had been let out for the years previously and the small thatched cottage that had been his home was in ruins. With a good turn of phrase, Neil says, 'I fixed the house and got the smoke coming out of the chimney again.'
Years of being let out had the holding in poor condition so Neil had a lot to do to get in back in order. He drained and fenced the land, planted trees and hedges and bought himself a flock of black-faced mountain ewes.
'I find organic farming very comfortable', says Neil. 'I save a lot of money by not using any bag stuff.'
Neil draws raw seaweed from the beach to fertilise his pastures. He draws it on his tractor and trailer from the nearby shore. 'Usually I put in on in October' he says. 'That way it has melted into the ground by the following spring.
With such a plentiful supply of free fertiliser one might be tempted to blacken the ground with it. But for Neil the correct amount is two tons or two trailer loads to the acre. Any more than that could damage the grassland. According to Neil one advantage of seaweed is that its effect on the land is much longer than artificial fertiliser. He reckons you can see the effects for up to four or five years.
As well as that, seaweed contains many valuable minerals and trace elements, which produce a more balanced diet for livestock.
Blackfaced horny ewes are a particularly hardy breed of sheep. They'd need to be, with the biting winds and winter storms that blow in from the Atlantic at Ballycroy. For most of the year the ewes are out in the elements. But Neil brings them in for a day or two as they lamb, as foxes are plentiful in the area. He has converted what once was his great-grandfather's house into a lambing shed, with an open yard outside. Looking at the small shed it's hard to image how the large family of those times could manage in such a small space.
Apart from dipping the flock once a year, Neil doesn't have to do much to his sheep. Keeping them moving onto to fresh grazing keeps them content and healthy. Any that aren't thriving are cured by being given a few weeks on his mountain commonage. 'If they start to scour I put them out on the mountain', says Neil. 'The grass on the mountain is called sedge. When I put the sheep out there it dries them up. '
When he's not seeing to his sheep in the summer, Neil is busy gathering turf for the winter. The long neat pile outside his door seems enough for several winters. But according to Neil it won't be enough. 'I'll need a good bit more to keep the open fire going through the winter', he says. 'And there are a lot of summer days when you need the fire as well.'
As well as keeping sheep, Neil has a small vegetable garden for himself. His two main crops are potatoes and cabbage - exactly the crops that were grown there over a hundred and fifty years ago. He did try some garlic this year as he likes it in soup. He planted it last September but it never came to anything.
Neil is happy to be back farming in the way that his father and grandfather did before him. Standing beside the stone scratching post that his grandfather stuck in the ground for the livestock he is a picture of contentment. He doesn't mind the constant wind and rain of the west. Nevertheless at the moment he is hoping for a fine day so that he can take out his boat and check on his lobster pots.
Neil never married. But he is not a bit lonely living on his own. As he says, 'If I lived here with a woman we would be arguing all the time - and the sons would be fighting over the farm and wanting to sell it.'
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