Januariad

‘You think living alone up there is rough, is it? Try dealing with a tree down over the lane at half-six on a stormy Tuesday morning with forty head of cattle roaring for the parlour.’

‘I was just saying…’

‘Remember those winds we had last week? Took down one of the three ash over the road. The one nearest the house.’

‘God, those are huge.’

‘You’d know they were huge if you were after spending two hours slicing one of them up in a gale.’

‘Why didn’t you wait for the wind to die down?’

‘Hadn’t I to get the milking done? I couldn’t get the cows up the yard with it blocking the avenue. With the branches it was ten foot tall.’

‘Chainsaws are great yokes altogether.’

‘No replacement for sons.’

‘Will you use the wood?’

‘Mick Shanley is coming for the roots, that’ll be hurls. The rest is stacked behind the house and I’ll use it for the fire next winter. I put tarpaulin over it.’

‘I wasn’t looking for pity, Dad. I’m just saying that the city can be lonely too. We work late and everyone’s busy. It’s not like you’ve real neighbours here.’

‘Who said I was lonely? Is a loneliness that has a man offer his only son a home and a career and the promise of land and everything else away from the Celtic Tiger that’s making him miserable? Is it loneliness or is it just application of common sense?’

‘The Celtic Tiger’s dead, Dad.’

‘Mythical, more like.’

‘Look, I’ve a decent job here. Not many do these days. Half my friends are gone. I’ve a life in town I’m not dropping it tomorrow.’

‘There’ll always be work for you here.’

‘Don’t I know it.’

‘We’re an awful cliché altogether, aren’t we?’

‘Don’t I know it.’

‘Come home.’

‘Not yet.’