COMMENT: 'It's a juggling act where cows are at one end and children at the other'
Katie Gleeson is a farmer, mother and social media influencer from north Tipperary
Easter holidays always sound lovely in theory.
The children off school, the stretch in the evenings, frilly daffodils bouncing cheerfully in the breeze.
But out here on the farm, Easter comes as another turning point in the year.
We’re slap bang in that mad overlap between the tail end of calving and the start of breeding season, and so ensues a juggling act where the cows are at one end, the children at the other, and we somewhere in the middle, trying to keep everything (and everyone) fed, watered, and vaguely clean.
The AI catalogue is dog-eared already, its pages curling from overuse and evening tea stains. Bull teams have been debated, scribbled on the back of envelopes, finalised, changed, and re-finalised in the parlour, in the jeep, and in the queue at the co-op.
It’s like fantasy football for dairy farmers except our picks will decide what lands in the calving pens next spring. No pressure. The tail paint is on standby. Next year’s calving season start now.
Meanwhile, in a slightly less professional agricultural pursuits, my vegetable patch is being resurrected.
My gardening efforts started out, as always, with great intentions: neat rows of green shoots, visions of bountiful baskets on the kitchen table, and dreams of smug self-sufficiency.
I have roped in the kids, gave them each a section or container, and sent them off with trowels, hoses and enormous enthusiasm.
Little hands are surprisingly adept for weeding, though they do have a knack for mistaking carrot tops for dandelions and pulling them out with the same delighted energy.
We’ve wisely avoided brassicas this time around.
Cabbage, cauliflower and broccoli were a disaster last year, overrun by a small army of slugs and a relentless wave of cabbage white caterpillars.
I’d barely turned my back before they’d laced the lot like an embroidery project gone wrong. Lessons learned, we’re sticking to safe bets: spuds, carrots, onions, and a few hardy herbs.
The mint is taking liberties already, attempting to colonise every available inch of the pot its contained in.
Thrown in a few birthday parties, blitzs the mucky boots, the slug traps, the tail paint and snack dealing, the sign break this Easter is the notion it was ever going to be a break.
But it's a reminder that even when life is loud, messy, and muddy, it’s also full of growth.
Calves become heifers, seeds become suppers, and somehow, between school holidays and stock bulls, the children grow too.
One day, I’ll miss this chaos. Probably.
But definitely not the slugs.