“All young animals are appealing but the lamb has been given an unfair share of charm.”
There is a part of me that feels like I belong in the English and Irish countryside. I dream of old stone walls covered in moss, rolling emerald fields under a layer of fog, horses peacefully grazing in the pasture. In this dream, I live in a cozy cottage with a thatched roof and flowers outside my window. Shepherd's pie in the oven and a kettle for tea on the stove. Yep, this is the life I want to lead.
Most of my dream stems from years of reading James Heriot, Jane Austen, Beatrix Potter, and other classic English authors. Clearly, they made a big impression on me growing up. To say I was a romantic is an understatement.
When Steve and I went on our honeymoon in July, we had three days in Ireland, five in Germany, and nine in Italy. Our first two days in Ireland were dedicated to seeing the southwest coast with our photographer but on our last day, we had to make our way to Dublin.
"Where should we stop on our way to Dublin?" Steve asked me as we packed our suitcases in Limerick.
"Well, I really want to hang out on a farm and cuddle baby sheep," I responded, almost whispering to myself so Steve wouldn't hear my first choice. I was convinced he'd tell me we could visit farms back in the US and that he'd rather drink Guinness at an Irish pub.
"Find a farm and we'll go," he said.
RATHBAUN FARM
When we arrived, there was only one other car in the parking lot. The only sound we heard was the sound of birds chirping in the trees above.
"Crap," I said to Steve, "what if the Farm is closed today?"
We followed the road to the farmhouse, let ourselves in through the red gate, and found a woman standing outside the farmhouse kitchen.
"Are we too late for the tour?" I asked her, worriedly.
"You're not part of the group that just arrived?" she asked. "Then you are just in time! There's a women's group from America waiting in the barn for the tour to start. It's the last tour of the day." I wanted to hug her.
Steve and I breathed a sigh of relief and ran to the barn. A gaggle of middle-aged American women stood in the aisle, looking at the different breeds of sheep in each pen. In the very last pen on the right were two lambs. My heart melted.
"I can never eat lamb again," I thought to myself.
Behind the main barn stood the one other man on the farm, Fintan Connolly. His dog, Ted, never left his side. Fintan waited for us to gather around him and then began his short lecture.
He gave us a history of the farm and told us a bit about the wool industry. "The price of wool has gone down 40% due to the demand in China. Most of the wool the western world uses for clothing is merino wool, which comes from Australia and New Zealand. The sheep on the farm are primarily used for meat, either lamb or mutton."
I thought back to the lambs in the pen behind him. I can't look at lamb on a menu the same way anymore.
"Only border collies are used as herd dogs in Ireland. Farms usually have one dog at a time, unless they're on a mountain top with lots of land to cover. Then the farm might have two dogs."
Seeing Ted made me miss my own dog at home. "Ted here sleeps in a pen near the sheep. He'll live to be about nineteen years old."
We all gasped. Nineteen years! That's a really long time for a dog Ted's size.
When Fintan heard us, he said "if you don't coddle the dog and let him sleep in the house, he'll grow to live that long."
I looked over at Steve, "Maybe we have Buddha sleep outside from now on." He laughed at me. "I'd like to see you try. You baby the crap out of her." He's right. I do.
After his lecture, Fintan let us bottle-feed the lambs, much to the delight of all the visitors. All but Steve perhaps. Amidst the oohs and aahs, Steve stepped back and watched the women circle the lambs, snapping photos with their phones and iPads.
Pretty sure Fintan had to pry the lambs out of our arms.
The last thing Fintan showed us was Ted at work. Fintan let three sheep out into the field and demonstrated the commands he gives Ted to herd the sheep back into the barn. "I'm literally in the movie Babe right now," I thought to myself.
Hot tea and scones are part of the tour, and Steve and I were definitely looking forward to this part. We entered the dining room and saw a table set for two. A sight for sore, starving eyes.
A woman came out of the kitchen with hot tea and coffee. Another woman followed behind her with a large plate of scones. I was in heaven.
As we stuffed our faces with warm scones and butter, word had quickly spread throughout the kitchen that we were on our honeymoon. Frances Quinn, the first woman we saw on the farm, sat and chatted with us, imparting her sage advice.
"I've been married 37 years," Frances said. "Marriage is hard work, but there's no trip like your honeymoon. She was so right.
