Mommy, Where Does Steak Come From?

     "Don't wave anything around now! They'll think you're making a bid."

     Michael doesn't want to accidentally end up with another cow, so I freeze, pink digital camera in hand, where I sit on a wooden riser above the auction ring surrounded by men leaning over the fence, casually flicking a finger or winking an eye to bid on a young bull calf. I stare intently, trying to discern what is going on as scruffy old men with cigarettes bid against young boys and gentlemanly fellows dressed in collared shirts. Michael asks me if I can understand the auctioneer, whose voice is a constant current occasionally punctuated by loud proclamations of some number. I can understand if I focus- some of the time. 

     "See that red one- he's good. He'll go for about 500," Michael says.

      But the bids only get up to 390 Euros. 

     "Ah, the owner's not selling. Says it's not a good price, and he's right." So the red bull calf with the ample, curved muscling on his hindquarters and the broad, meaty shoulders will come back another week. I sit there with Michael for a while, learning to pick out which calves are better than others. 

    We're at the Clare Mart, a livestock market that twice a week fills with the sheep and cattle of all County Clare, and echoes with their calls. Michael took me here as an indulgence of my curiosity about farm life. 

     The Clare Mart opens every Tuesday and Thursday. An enormous, green-roofed metal barn with concrete floors and an endless maze of metal pipe corrals and fences is packed with ewes, rams, and cattle of all ages. It smells of animal urine, cigarettes, and men- although Michael points out one other girl about my age and assures me I'm not the only girl in the building. The mix of people here is a delight for somebody looking to experience the real Ireland- old men with tufts of white hair and checkered newsboy caps tilt their heads together to hear above the din of mooing cows and fast-talking auctioneers as they discuss prices and catch up on each other's lives. They lean on the sticks they carry for herding cattle through gates. 

    A young boy runs with a stick after several sheep, chasing them toward a gate as another boy opens it. 

    "Look at that young fellow, he'll love that job!" Michael says with a smile.

     Michael remembers doing the same when he was a boy going to the mart with his father and helping with the sheep. He's been a farmer his whole life, and when I ask him he says he likes it. There are men of all ages at Clare Mart, from the small boys who must be about 8 years old to the handsome farmers' sons who make me realize the origin of the cliché "strapping young fellow" to the grizzled old farmers I mentioned above. Michael fits right in, occasionally breaking his attention away from explaining things to me to talk with a neighbor. 

     It looks like chaos in here, with gates swinging and thousand-pound animals passing, sometimes more or less cooperatively, down the concrete aisles. As Michael explains to me, though, there is a detailed and intricate system at work. 

Upon arrival, animals enter single file through chutes.

Cattle are given ID stickers for the day,
in addition to their permanent ear tag IDs.

Sheep are weighed as they enter, and are sorted into pens.
Signs (not pictured here) display the pen number,
the number of animals, and their average weight.

Cattle are sold individually in the auction ring, which they
enter through a pen with a scale. They remain in the ring
just a few moments, with their weight, ID, age, owner, and
recent disease test dates on an electric display board,
until the bidding stops.

Sheep are auctioned in groups by the pens into which they are sorted.
The man in the green sweater is making a bid, and the man in the red vest is the auctioneer.

Throughout the day, animals are closely watched
and regulations enforced by an authority who
checks animal ID numbers, among other things.

     Michael doesn't buy or sell anything today- he just came to show me around, but he will be selling his calves and lambs in November. This is just a small glimpse into the work of farming in Ireland. Michael spends his days checking the condition of all his animals, plowing and reseeding the fields, and keeping track of the animals' breeding so he will have livestock to sell at the Clare Mart come Autumn.
    Clare Mart is probably not on any tour book lists, but it's the most authentic Irish experience I've had, and it is a nice change of scenery from all the castles.
    Also, who wants to bet I am the only vegetarian to ever walk into this building?