The Smell of Fresh Cut Grass by Gaye Gannon

The Smell of Fresh Cut Grass

By

Gaye Gannon

Wherever I am, whatever I do,

There’s one sharp smell that will always break through.

Fresh cut grass

As a child it could mean something lovely or tough.

From a meadow picnic with dolls or the feel of the rough

Meadow just mown which meant only one thing,

Which was days of a ‘meitheal’, a struggle to bring

Home………. Fresh cut grass.

There were endless supplies of fresh beer and cooked fries,

To keep the men happy while fresh cut grass dries,

To be moved into piles and then made into hay cocks,

That were pitched by strong men with muscles like rocks.

That were stored in a shed with precision and skill,

To keep cattle fed and well nourished until,

The following year when the forecast was right,

And the message went out on that very same night,

That a ‘meitheal’ was needed and men came in their droves,

Having me again knee deep in rashers and loaves.

They were times of hard work and good honest toil,

Being rewarded with food and with beer on the boil.

But whatever the year there was one common mark.

The small of fresh cut grass and a fridge full of pork.