John O’Shea’s Farm

This is John O’Shea.
Notice that very nice tractor behind him. He is quite proud of it, as he should be.

This is John’s farm. It is a beautiful, large spread at the base of Healy Pass in the Beara.

I drove up his road because I’d read that there was an Ogham Stone up there. There well may have been, but John didn’t want me trekking about on his property looking for it so he acted as if he didn’t understand what I was talking about.

What he did instead was flirt with me. Gently and in a non-threatening manner, but definitely a flirtation. He kissed my hand three times while speaking with me, once when I told him I was married, once when I told him the names of my children, and the final time when I said goodbye.

But before we got to that goodbye, John told me that he has never been married, will be 62 years old on October 22nd, and that both his mother and grandmother died in childbirth.

“Y’know, dey did it so differnt den. Women’s had 8, 9, even 10 bebbies. And dey were all borned at home. And dat’s God’s truff.”

I told him that both of my children had been born at home in America. He looked surprised for a moment but recovered quickly. I expected him to kiss my hand but instead, he took out a handkerchief and blew his nose.

“Well, dat’s fine, dat is. Doe, you were close enough to go to hospital if ya needed, weren’t you? Deese ladies in de oulder days, dey din’t have no hospital. Dey eever did it and lived or dey din’t. And dat’s da God’s truff, too.”

I agreed that we modern women have it a lot better when it comes to birthing babies. I stressed how grateful I was for that.

“And do you have enny grandchildren?” he asked. He smiled coyly, showing one full tooth and the stump of another in his mouth. I noticed that his hands were very calloused from hard work. He didn’t look 62, he looked like he might be 80.

I answered, “No. Not yet. My daughter just got married and maybe she will or maybe she won’t decide to have children. Either way is fine with me”. I didn’t mention my two grandchildren by marriage because the question was about my birth children, but I love both Josie and Maia. They are a delight.

“Dat’s good, dat’s good,” he was emphatic. “And yer son, whut about him?”

“No children there, either.” I replied. “He’s still living alone and waiting for a meaningful relationship.”

He shook his head knowingly. “I never found da likes of dat. No wife fer me. No. No wife for me. I live here and do alright, doe.” He gestured around his magnificent property.

He smiled again, slyly.”Ennyways, yer too young and too bee-yootiful to be a grandmuvver.”

“Thank you, John O’Shea.” I said. “And if I wasn’t a married woman I might share a cup of tea with you, but as it is, I will be on my way.” I couldn’t believe I’d used that line but there you have it.

And he reached for my hand and gave it one last kiss.
“Bye, so. Ye’ve a strong heart and independent spirit. I kin tell dat about ya. So you take care now, y’hear?”

“I will. And the same to you, John O’Shea.” I said. I then backed my car around and drove down his mountain

past the lovely waterfall on his property.

At the turning, I noticed again the neighbor (or perhaps, his partner?) who was cutting turf on John’s property.

This time he waved to me. Then went back to work.