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Jobs in America

When I went to work in America during my university vacation I found my jobs there before going out. It is really important to find work before you go out. Although there are lots of jobs available for students coming over from Europe, you do need some time to find a place to stay, get familiar with the surroundings and so on before you have the opportunity of finding work. Also, you need to plan ahead so that you have plently of time, as I did, to go travelling in America.

Working with the Amish on an Artificial Insemination Ranch (1/3)

The last thing I saw was the face of the smiling woman. And as I blacked out my brain seemed to fizz and crackle like the Terminator, experiencing a power outage – and, finally - out.
The first thing I saw was a long, scary-looking beard. I don’t know how long I had been out for. Probably just a few seconds. But I found myself sprawled out across the sofa - with an Amish man looking down at me. His eyes, too, were scary-looking but when he saw me wake up and move, began to smile and look positively cheerful. Where was I? Who was this man staring down at me? Why did he have such a scary-looking beard?
With more fizzing and crackling I suddenly came to and within a short while was fully conscious although bleary-eyed and overcome with sleep. Had the man with the scary-looking beard given me a potion (I don’t mean like spiking drinks in night clubs or parties. I mean, just for a second, he could have been a leprechaun or something).
‘Are you alright?’ the woman asked.
I suddenly remembered where I was. I was in America.
‘I’m fine thanks’ but I couldn’t remember who the woman was.
‘It must be the jetlag’ she smiled
‘Jetlag’ – I suddenly remembered. I was in Ohio. This was the wife of the man I was going to work for on his artificial insemination ranch.
‘ I’m fine thanks, Jackie. It was nothing, Jackie.’ I must have repeated her name about half a dozen times over the next couple of minutes in order to indicate to her that I knew who she was, that I knew who I was – and that I wasn’t mad.
Yes, I was in Ohio. In one of the Amish parts of Ohio (about an hour or so from Columbus). The only time the Amish had ever come into my life was when I watched the film Witness. But I had only been a teenager then and was far more interested in the main actress than anything else because she takes her shirt off in one of the scenes. Until Jackie explained to me who the man with the scary-looking beard was, I had no idea that I was going to be working in a part of America where the Amish lived (Ohio, not Pennsylvania, has the largest Amish population in the country, I was later to find out).
The next day was like walking onto a Hollywood movie set for Witness: there were Amish everywhere; barefoot Amish children with books, walking along the road; Amish women chatting together in groups; and, Amish buggies being pulled by fast trotting horses. In fact this was only the third day of my first visit to America. And since I had spent yesterday travelling from New York to here, via the city of Columbus, and since I had spent the first day travelling in a plane from Ireland to New York, so you could say this was my first proper day in America – and what a sight before me.

Working with the Amish on an Artificial Insemination Ranch (2/3)

I began work the next day, working in the bull desemenating-room (that’s what I called it) where bulls were desemenated (that’s what I call it too, if you follow me). Basically a giant condom-like thing, attached to a machine, would be placed onto each bull’s nether region and after a minute or so the bull would perform what he was expected to do in order for everyone on the ranch to earn a living. And after each performance the bull would do a poo. And it was my task, for the first few days, to scoop up the poo and put it into it into a bin, leaving the desemenating-room nice and clean for the next bull.
Work for me finished at 3 pm (most of the other ranchers had second jobs to go to after that). I bought a second-hand bike to explore the countryside with. In the area where I lived there were endless fields of lush green corn with bright yellow cobs hanging off them. Further away it was hilly. Further away, again, woody. And so on. But everywhere I went, there were Amish. With simple but well-maintained farms. Amish women sitting in rocking chairs under their porches making quilts. Their husbands out in the fields. Barefoot children playing. It was all a bit like the Little House on the Prairie.
Anyway, I soon became friends with one of the guys on the ranch who had been Amish (there were other men working on the ranch who were full members of the Amish community) but had been kicked out of the community for some reason. It could have been for drink because he drank a lot or it could have been for smoking and telling dirty jokes which he did, a lot, too (but he never divulged, and I never asked). Although he wasn't allowed officially back into his old community, he did manage to arrange for me to meet his family and friends: so that I could look around an Amish farm. I didn't know what to expect. But when I got there the Amish reminded me exactly of the country people I was used to back home in the west of Ireland (except that in Ireland they drink a lot, and generally, don't have long, scary-looking beards). I was shown around the farm (they had buggies, and silos, and other things, just like in the film Witness). And I was then invited back into their house for coffee. What I wasn’t expecting was for these people to be so chatty. There were so many questions I wanted to ask, such as: how do you get the grain to the top of the silo; when are you allowed to use an aeroplane, and various other inane questions but they seemed to get their questions in first, and seemed to want to know as many inane things about me, as I did of them. But I was a bit surprised when one of them asked me whether Ireland was in Germany.

Working with the Amish on an Artificial Insemination Ranch (3/3)

Besides getting to know the Amish a bit, I did lots of non-Amish things too. Went fishing on the great lakes (however, I spotted an Amish family on the shore, having a picnic – they seemed to be everywhere); went river fishing for pike with the guys from work (with standard deck chair, cap and crate of beer); attended a wedding shower (where the women friends of the bride get together - I was the only man present); attended a wedding (where some of the women, as part of a certain American folk tradition, tap these little puppet-like dolls on the floor along to the Appalachian-like music); painted a garden fence bright white (for the wedding); and finally managed to, permanently, lose part of my eyebrow after the telescope-thing of a rifle shot back into me after I fired a rifle (at some squirrel-like animal I was told was good to eat).

Anyway, quite a lot more happened during my visit to this part of Ohio Amish country . But going to end here. I was sad to leave. Unfortunately there were no spectacular finales or farewells when I left – instead the most dramatic thing or things that happened on my last day of being with the Amish was getting lost in Chicago airport (after flying there from Columbus); then arriving late on the plane with a few people toot-tooting at me for, supposedly, delaying the flight; followed by a storm during the flight that was even more spectacular, to say the least, than the storm on the farm). However, I went, one last time to the Amish restaurant where I had been almost everyday and where there was a certain Amish girl in her early twenties who would lay down a pint of freshly-made lemonade (alcohol is prohibited) on my table with the sweetest of smiles (and a plate of food normally with lots of sweet-corn on it). She smiled at me one last time. Then an Amish woman, who I had got to know, gave me a lace cap for my mother. And, finally, the Amish man who I had first seen after waking up from conking out on the sofa, gave me a light wave and a cheerful smile from the distance. And then I was off for my next destination: to work on ‘Leprechaun Farm’ on the west coast.

Beginnings - Dublin

Would like to start off my first proper post - in Dublin: Hatch Street, to be precise, because it was in Hatch Street, that I first made my presence known to the world. My first cousin was born in the same hospital just two days before me, and my aunt (and my cousin) and my mother (and me) were in rooms next door to each other. Besides the fact that I was born with long hair (and so looked, I am told, like a girl) I know nothing more about Hatch Street. And I haven’t been back since.
The only other thing I can tell you about Hatch Street, in fact, is that it is in the old, Georgian part of Dublin. Dublin has many things to recommend itself. One of those being Georgian Dublin. In fact Dublin contains some of the best examples of Georgian architecture anywhere in the world. Not only big buildings, but more importantly, lots of Georgian streets and squares. And Dublin is particularly well-known for the doors on its Georgian terraced houses.
I love Dublin. Not because I was born there or because it has wonderful Georgian architecture but because of its people, history and atmosphere (to be explored and, hopefully, brought to life, over subsequent posts).

E. Mahony of jobs.spotlightideas.co.uk

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