During my study abroad at Burren College of Art, I met Michael Monk. He has lived in Ballyvaughan, Ireland for 45 years. He previously owned Monks Restaurant and Bar, a popular spot in the small town. Now, he is retired and farms just as a hobby. For 15 years, every Saturday, he is here at the local farmer’s market to sell his vegetables and chicken eggs to both returning customers and tourists stopping in. Everything on this green gingham table he has grown himself, free of fertilizers and pesticides. But Ballyvaughan has been changing. The younger generations are moving to urban areas like Dublin or Cork. Michael’s son used to live here and help out on the farm but moved away for a job opportunity. Soon there will be no one to take over these multi-generational local farms like Michael’s. The global agricultural market is pushing out countless family farms with their low prices that couldn’t even possibly pay for the seed, Michael explained to me. Soon enough the elderly farmers won’t be here and the younger generation won’t be here to grow. Yet, Michael keeps growing, all for the joy of it. Below are skippets of my many conversations with him over the four weeks I was there.
I will do this until my days are done. People will say to me, ‘what are you doing this for?’ I say just leave me alone, it’s not interfering with anyone. I’ll do this as long as I’m able. This is my retirement. You can stop anytime you feel like. This keeps me going. It keeps me right in the head.
I was down here this morning at 7 o’clock. I’ve been coming to this market for 15 or 16 years. When I started out I could have that whole table full of bags of spuds and it all sold by 12 o’clock. Now, other markets sell them so cheap, 49 cents. But, you don’t know what they’re spraying on them to keep them fresh. And I’m charging two euro. You can’t compete.
The same customers every Saturday. You see, it’s all up to yourself. If you were behind the counter and not talking, they won’t come back. But if you pass a little bit about the weather or this or that, they will always come back. It’s the gift of the gab. That’s what I call it. It’s so easy to pass and say it’s a nice day or how are you. Simple is right. Presentation is it all, and the gift of the gab helps.
The tourists stop here. They come in and have a look, but no sale. They maybe buy little cakes or something, but nothing else. They will come over to be and say I’d love to be buying these but I’m going here. It is a tourist stop here. The flights from America aren’t coming into the Shannon Airport anymore. At that time they would come into Shannon and they would bring us coach loads. But the coaches aren’t stopping here now. They’re all going to Cliffs of Moher and Lahinch.
It’s not easy. No one wants it. There’s nothing much around Ballyvaughan. If you want to go to a disco you need to go to Dublin. I wouldn’t blame the young fellas for moving off. Mine all moved off. But when you’re my age, you’re quite content around here.
My favorite vegetable is cabbage. Fine cabbage potatoes and a nice bit of bacon. I’ll tell you what, it's delicious. It’s my favorite meal because when we were in Dublin my father used to be a farmer and cabbage was our favorite. I’d have cabbage every day of the week, that’s a fact. This cabbage isn’t that bad. It’s not the right color. If there was more rain, it’d be a dark, dark green. The weather didn’t suit it. There’s just too much sunshine. You need rain sometimes.
There’s only a few elderly people here that grow vegetables, soon that’ll be finished. There are not too many people growing out here, very few. It’s sad to see it dwindling away. It’ll be spun out. I see it ending soon enough. Once the elderly people are gone, the young lads won’t be here to grow.