Photos Promised from Gubbeen

I told several weeks ago about turning cheeses for an entire morning, and one reader wanted to know just how much cheese was I talking about? I did get some photos and have included a few above. Just to give you some perspective, in these curing rooms and in the smoker, a ton of Gubbeen cheese is produced each week, all of it handled by hand. The washed rind cheeses as opposed to the smoked cheeses are handled individually every day.

This Little Piggy Went to Market

I spent half of Saturday with Fingal and Tom at the Skibbereen market, offering bits of cheese to entice the easily persuaded customers to buy. It wasn't even my own stuff and I still can feel how rewarding it is to sell your farm products directly to people and talk to them about it face to face. The star of the stand this day, however, was a French import, a huge wheel of Morbier cheese, with its layer of ash in the middle. But Fingal sold loads of sausages and bacon and chops and salami and pate, along with a healthy amount of Gubbeen cheese and eggs. My old customer service skills were put to good use and my brain had to start working in Euros. Hopefully I didn't count too much change incorrectly.

The Country Life for Me

Some of the very contented cows at Gubbeen.

Friday, April 4, 2008
Gubbeen

Walt has been given some handyman and gardening projects (he’s refinishing a lovely wrought iron gate and also is in charge of watering the greenhouses while Clovisse is in London over the weekend) and I’m working in the dairy from breakfast until lunchtime. In a place that makes 67 tonnes of cheese in a year, the work isn’t for the fainthearted. Lots of lifting and bending, scooping and reaching, to get the curds or turn the cheese or lift full racks of curing cheeses. I love the smell of it, which is different in different rooms depending on what’s happening. Smoky, or winey, or mushroomy. Yesterday was a full morning of taking care of all the new cheeses, smearing the curing ones with whatever bath they needed (brine and culture, brine, or wine), turning every single cheese, and then, packing the new curds into the molds for the next batch. Eileen, Diane, Joanna, Monica, Rose, Sean, and Darius are all so nice, nobody even complains when I’m getting in the way more than I’m helping.

Reed’s job is to not chase or frighten any of the chickens, and to do his math, writing, and violin practice when we tell him.

We’ve been lucky with the weather this week, dry and warm during the day. We’ve been able to go for walks down the road in the late afternoons and early evenings before bed. Bedtime comes fairly early since we don’t want to sit inside the caravan with the lights on attracting midges, and also we’re tired from working; we’re still in our lazy winter condition and are slowly getting adjusted to farm life again. Being in the country again is so wonderful; now there is no doubt in my mind whether I want to live the rural or urban/suburban life and no doubt either what is best for Reed. He’s happy as a pig in sh*t, as some folks say. Here you can say happy as a pig in Gubbeen.

From the caravan window I can see the herd of Friesian cows grazing on the hillside just above us; the farm has 120 milkers at any given time.