Welcome
Ramblings from a Wild Irish Farmstead is about connecting to the land, to the source of our sustenance, the roots and bones of what it is to be human in coherence with the land and nature. It is life on the land, raising animals for food and fibre, growing food and medicine, living in accordance with the seasons and cycles of the land, told in stories of life and death and everything in between. It is not a glossed curation of a manicured homestead—if you’re looking for kitchen inspiration, tidy rows of raised beds, or all the cute fluff with none of the hard stuff, this is not the blog for you—I live in a power-less, plumbing-less hut on a wild, wet, rugged hill with my husband, a flock of sheep and a herd of goats, I tan animal skins, born of this land with the bark of the willows that grow here like weeds and it is messy, muddy, bloody, raw and real.
The land I live on is a wild little patch of hill in southwest Ireland, a ridge of shale, peat and clay on the edge of the Cork and Kerry Mountains, where hares race and ravens scout and the hen harrier hunts, where the only things that grow are willows, rocks, and ruminants. My work is to restore our little patch of marginal land into vibrant heath, semi-natural pastures, and pockets of native wood. My animals are the soul and sustenance of my farm. I raise sheep and goats for food and fibre and I write on all of it—please know that I do not tiptoe around the harder aspects of farming, raising animals for food, or the inescapable necessity of death in the order of life.
Subscribe for essays on land and life; living on and restoring our wild land; on localisation and the deep alignment of eating and living seasonally and from place; on raising sheep and goats from birth to butchering; on the food and fibre that are ultimately why we farm and what connect us all back to the land. Essays that challenge the narrative, perhaps challenge your comfort, and bring you closer to the land, life and death, full circle, soil to soil.
For the longer version of what these ramblings are about and what you’ll get from subscribing, please see this Welcome post.
About me.
I am just a humble herder, in service to my caprine queens and benevolent sheep, and the land that holds me. I once trained to be a herbalist, and then a women’s health coach, but the hustle of the wellness sphere wasn’t the life for me. My place is in the fields and fens, the woods, wide open hills and wild places, barefoot and breathing hircine sweat and honeysuckle and bathing in the rain.
I am a third-generation smallholder. My husband, Simon, and I have been small-scale, self-sufficiency farming together now for nearly fifteen years, raising sheep, goats, all manner of poultry, and growing medicinal herbs and food gardens.
My husband, Simon, and I have been small-scale, self-sufficiency farming together now for nearly fifteen years, raising sheep, goats, all manner of poultry, and growing medicinal herbs and food gardens. I am a third-generation smallholder. And I’ve been writing stories since about as early as I could read. I first started blogging on food and health in 2012 when, after a decade and a half chasing an equestrian dream, and with a child half-raised and a couple of years of homesteading, raising chickens and goats, growing veg and making sauerkraut under my belt, I studied holistic nutrition before going on to a two year herbal apprenticeship and then finally certifying as a women’s health coach—which taught me that it’s okay to let go of expectations and the need to prove my worth, and just live a life on the land. I’ve been writing free blogs under various titles on topics around women’s health, nutrition, homesteading and the intersections between food, farming and health since then, until settling on Substack as Wild Irish Shepherdess (now Ramblings from a Wild Irish Farmstead) in the winter of 2022-23; our first winter living wild on this wild land.
My words are my art. Sometimes I might rant political, and sometimes I may wax poetic on the meaning of it all. Always from my heart, imperfect, whole and human.
I hope you’ll join me,
Carly
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