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I’m back from the holidays. My wife and kids finally dragged me away for a week. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but to a farmer, farm separation anxiety is a real condition.
It’s learned behaviour I picked up from the auld lad. In the over 70 years my father has been on this planet, he has only ever taken one holiday to Australia, about 25 years ago.
It just doesn’t make any sense to him: why would you ever leave the farm? So many things could go wrong if you’re not there. The fear something will break or an animal will get sick and die makes many of us think we can’t leave.
It’s like what the Eagles sing in that song Hotel California – “You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave.”
When I was young, we never went on holidays with our father. We didn’t go anywhere fancy – maybe down to Kerry or Wexford to be near a beach for a few days.
We never went abroad on foreign trips. That was for the real rich people, or for those who didn’t have a half a dozen siblings. It was far too expensive to drag us all around, and also quite unsafe – have you ever tried to get eight people into a Golf and drive three hours down to Kerry?
My other holidays were when I was sent to stay with an uncle or aunt. It was my mother’s way of clearing us out so she could actually enjoy silence.
I’m trying to cure my own farm separation anxiety. At first, it was baby steps: a night away, then two, then working up to a week. I once made it to eight days – I was rocking back and forth, thinking of all the jobs I had to do by the last day. I was no fun to be around.
I did truly switch off from the farm by the end. It felt strange the first morning – there is this nagging feeling that you should be doing something manual
I know I can get better at it, though. I find the further you’re away from the farm, the better you feel. I think you need to get out of the country completely or have a whole sea between you and the farm.
This year I headed to Spain to a beach resort. The weather was roasting, but you had a pool to jump into to cool down. I wouldn’t consider myself the pool lounging type, but it did help me forget about the farm for a while as there were no reminders of farming anywhere to be seen.
Actually, that’s not true. There were their awful dairy products. How can people put up with white butter and crappy milk? I just don’t get it. Also is it really that hard to get a decent rasher and sausage? And don’t get me started on the tea. Jesus wept, what clown came up with Earl Grey? I’d rather drink ditch water.
Putting all the food aside, I did truly switch off from the farm by the end. It felt strange the first morning – there is this nagging feeling that you should be doing something manual.
At one point I saw a gardener just mowing the grass and I had this urge to go over and lend him a hand. I soon snapped out of it, though, as the kids pulled me down to the pool to show off their diving skills.
It’s a sad thing to say, but there’s more to life than farming. I know spending lots of quality time with my wife and kids makes me happier and they also know their dad is more present when he’s away and not thinking about the next job.
Taking a break may be good for mental health, but it isn’t always good for your physical health. I must have overdone it on the sangrias because I definitely packed on a few pounds.
Luckily for me, the father has a small field ploughed full of stones to pick. The kids just missed out as they’re now back to school, but don’t worry – I will save some for the weekend. They can show off their stone diving moves.
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