Lá sa Phortach: A Day in the Bog

Cutting, footing and drawing home the turf, and the tea that goes with it.

Chuamar amach chuig an bportach go luath ar maidin.
We went out to the bog early in the morning.

Bhí an sleán ag m'athair sa charr cheana féin.
My father already had the slean in the car.

Thosaigh sé ag baint agus chaith mé féin na fóid aníos.
He started cutting and I threw the sods up.

Bhí an talamh bog faoinár gcosa.
The ground was soft under our feet.

Ní raibh gaoth ar bith ann, rud nach raibh maith.
There was no wind at all, which was not good.

Gan ghaoth, ní thriomóidh an mhóin go deo.
Without wind, the turf will never dry.

Ag meán lae, shuíomar ar an mbruach.
At midday, we sat on the bank.

Bhí tae i mbuidéal againn agus arán ime.
We had tea in a bottle and bread and butter.

Dúirt m'athair go mbíodh an mheitheal ar fad anseo fadó.
My father said the whole work party used to be here long ago.

Anois níl ach an bheirt againn ann.
Now there are only the two of us.

Chuamar abhaile agus boladh na móna orainn.
We went home with the smell of turf on us.

Agus codladh maith romhainn.
And a good sleep ahead of us.

A note on this one

Turf was cut with a sleán, a narrow winged spade, then footed into small stacks to dry in the wind. A family's bank of bog was often held by turbary right rather than ownership, and the smell of it burning is the thing emigrants name first.