It was Sunday, September 28, 2013 and our group of regular church-goers was instead, this Sunday, on their way to catch a little of a Leprechaun’s gift of gab at the Blarney Castle by kissing the legendary Stone of Eloquence, found at the top of the Tower. Kiss it and you’ll never again be lost for words, so goes the legend.

The Blarney Castle was started in the tenth century as a wooden structure. Around 1210 A.D. it was replaced by a stone structure, later demolished for foundations. In 1446 the third castle, still standing today, was built by Dermot McCarthy, King of Munster.

For over 200 years, famous people from all over the world, from every occupation, have climbed the steps to kiss the Blarney Stone and gain the gift.  At one time visitors had to be held by the ankles and lowered head first over the battlements (defensive architecture). Today, with safety in mind, visitors lean backwards from the parapet walk, holding on to an iron railing and kiss the Stone, still set in the wall below the battlements.

The legend of why we kiss the stone goes back to the McCarthy’s of Muskerry and the McCarthy who was King of Munster, who was said to have supplied four thousand men from Munster to assist the forces of Robert the Bruce of Scotland at the battle of Bannockburn in 1314 against the English. Legend has it that Bruce gave half of the Stone of Scone, the famous coronation stone, to McCarthy in gratitude. This, now known as the Blarney Stone, was incorporated in the battlements.

My favorite story about the stone is the opposite of eloquence and more in line with our saying today, “That’s just a lot of Blarney”.  It is said that Queen Elizabeth I commanded the Earl of Leicester to take possession of the Blarney Castle. Whenever he attempted to carry out the command, McCarthy always delayed the attempt and the Earl always delayed the reports to the Queen by making up excuses, maybe telling lies, in fact. The Castle, still not taken, so irritated the Queen that she remarked that the Earl’s reports were all ‘Blarney’.

We were nine of the typical millions of tourists, over a few hundred years, to visit the Blarney, a world landmark.  As they say, “When in Rome.”  We couldn’t pass up an opportunity like that.  Our very own Springfield Castle was only a little more than an hour away. While seven of us attempted to become eloquent speakers, two others ventured off to have more time in the gardens built in the eighteenth century during the reign of Queen Anne. Sir James St. John Jefferies built a Georgian gothic house up against the castle, the custom all over Ireland. At the same time, the Jefferies’s family laid out a landscape garden known as the Rock Close with massive boulders and rocks arranged around what seemed to have been druid remains from pre-historic times. Many of the yew trees and evergreen oaks that we saw are extremely ancient.

After climbing to the top of the tower and kissing the Stone while being hung over a drop that seemed twice as high as a football field is long and being held in place by my ankles by a teenager who probably has a secret dream of doing away with all adults, I was ready to stroll in the Rock Close and relax! (I was really held at the waist, but don’t you think that “held by my ankles” makes this story a bit more dramatic?)

The Dolmen was truly magical, as was the Wishing Steps.  If you closed your eyes and walked to the top and back to the bottom while you concentrated only on your wish, it would come true. I did it, eyes closed, without falling, concentrating on my wish and it still hasn’t come true.  The myth did not say how long it would take to come true, but I am impatient.  I want it yesterday!

We drove on to Cork City after our Blarney experience.  Cork City was big, hustle, bustle and non-descript to us on that drizzly day.  We had had a wonderful time visiting the Blarney Castle and especially the gardens, so we didn’t have a lot of time in the City.  I had printed directions for a parking garage and had prepaid before we left the US.  Parking anywhere in Ireland is a pain in the behind and expensive.  Those particular Google directions were so misleading!  We went ‘round and ‘round trying to find the place.  I was ready to pull into any garage and forget about the $26, but there were none to be seen. After asking for directions, more than once, we finally found it.

We took the opportunity to walk down the wide snaking St. Patrick’s Street and found a nice place for our late afternoon meal.  The place was hopping with sports-minded, Guinness-drinking fans.  According to Ireland (the magazine), St. Patrick Street dates back to 1783, but instead of a street, it was a canal of the River Lee.  In 1783 it was arched over and for the last 230 years has been Cork’s main commercial center. If it had not been a Sunday and late in the day, we may still be there shopping with the River Lee running deep beneath our footsteps.  There were several places I would have liked to have shopped.

The traffic was horrendous.  If you’ve been reading my blogs, then you’ll remember that we all got into the sport of Hurling while we were in County Clare. (Read below if you want to learn more about Hurling.  It is fascinating!)  Now we were in County Cork, the home of the rivals in the big match. And it was this day and this time that the team was heading home.  We had the insight to wait until after rush hour to leave the city, but the merchants and shoppers traffic was replaced with sport’s lover’s traffic.  We had been around the city enough, earlier, trying to find the parking deck, that we had a better understanding of the layout by this time.

We made our way out of town and on to the road home.  It was dark by now and traffic moving toward Cork City was bumper to bumper.  We noticed advertisements for a horse show in a village between Cork City and Springfield Castle for that particular Sunday.  We saw horse trailers galore in that steady stream of headlight-blinding traffic.  It didn’t let up.  We kept thinking that the farther we got away from the city, the better the traffic would be.  We thought that when we passed the village where the horse show was being held, the traffic would lighten up.  It didn’t.

As the traffic thinned a little, we began seeing cars flashing their lights at us, giving us signals to slow down. Low and behold, on one of the few wide highways in this region of Ireland we ran smack into a huge herd of cattle.  I thought that one of them was going to walk right up and over the car.  They were big cows that stood much taller than the car!  I’ve seen the romantic scenes in movies or in advertisements about Ireland when the starry-eyed lovers are stopped in the middle of a country lane by a flock of sheep.  But really!!!  Cows!!!!  And in the dark of night!!!  Really!!!!

Hurling:

Hurling, ancient Gaelic and of Irish origin, is played in other countries but Ireland is the only country that has national teams, administered by the Gaelic Athletic Association (GAA).  The game has prehistoric origins and has been played for over 3,000 years.  It is thought to be the world’s fastest field team game. It is a mix of hockey, lacrosse and baseball with a little football-like scoring thrown in for good measure.  One point is scored if you hurl the ball between the crossbars and three points are scored if you hurl it into the net.  Go to this YouTube site to see it in action:   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TmzivRetelE

The 2013 All-Ireland Senior Hurling Championship was the 126th playing of the championship since it was established in 1887. The championship began on May 5 and ended on September 28 when Clare won against Cork.

 

 

 

We left County Clare in the dust and arrived in County Limerick a bit after sun down but made our way to Broadford without too many directional mishaps. We couldn’t miss the impressive entrance gates to Springfield Castle, even in the dark. The straight, long, tree-line driveway up to the Castle was a little eerie. The trees hovered over the gravel drive protecting us from the night fog and drizzle. There were turn-offs along the driveway, but we sensed that we needed to continue on. Finally! We saw the silhouette of the Castle, back-lit in the distance, and knew we were correct. We were greeted with another gateway into the parking area. A big ornate fountain was gurgling water as we drove on the gravels crushing beneath the cars. The outside lights were on and the key was in the door waiting for our arrival, all prearranged with our hostess, Karen. We opened the front door to the East Tower, found the inside lights and gasped! Wow!!! Black and white tile floor and a dazzling chandelier illuminated the bronze dogs! Everyone scurried through the enormous accommodations oohing and aahing. We picked our bedrooms and unpacked the cars. We were all getting hungry again, as usual. We spread out the provisions we found in Kilfenora, opened the wines and made our way down through the game room and onto a small conversation pit outside, just below the actual tower. The night was warm enough to enjoy the evening outside, and especially the array of conversations, from saving the world to reminiscing about the experiences we had in Ireland thus far. I’ve led several of these types of trips to Italy, France, Spain, Amsterdam and other places, taking a handful of people with me. In France and Spain especially, I found apartments or self-catering accommodations. The camaraderie of the evenings, sharing wine and cheese and reminiscing about the day is one of the best parts of the trips. I travel extensively alone, but I had much rather share the experiences with friends, new and old. The pictures I’ve posted of Springfield Castle do NOT, in any way, justify the grandeur of the place. The scale is so hard to photograph. Even with people in the pictures, you can’t imagine how large and spacious the rooms are. Here’s a small notation about the history of the Castle from their website, www.springfieldcastle.com: Springfield Castle, the ancestral home of Lord and Lady Muskerry, whose motto Forti et fideli nihil dificile which means ‘nothing is difficult to the strong and faithful‘ underlies over 700 years of family history. In their day, they were patrons to Irish poets and musicians. (I was especially intrigued to read this.) As you enter the impressive gateway to Springfield Castle a plaque on the wall commemorates Daithi O'Bruadair, a classical Irish poet of the seventeenth century who lived at the castle with his patrons, the Fitzgerald family, recording their lives (and general events). He described Springfield, or Gort na Tiobrad as it was called in its Irish form during the time of the Fitzgeralds, as "a mansion abounding in poetry, prizes and people" . I was so glad we had rented the East Tower and not the Castle. We took a tour of the Castle on our last day and learned so much more history of the family and Ireland from Karen. She is the daughter to Betty whose brother presently owns the property. The Castle is ornate and stately, but a little more worn. It sleeps a bigger party too. The Tower is more newly renovated and even though we had a kink or two in the plumbing, all went really well. Karen was “Johnny-on-the-spot” to correct anything. The tower under renovation will be for parties, dinners, and entertaining, especially weddings. The day trips were great from this vantage point and we all enjoyed getting back each evening to enjoy one more facet, one more nook and cranny of a spectacular place. There were so many nooks and crannies in fact that I actually missed the very big billiard table in a room next to the East Tower. I wouldn’t have known about it if Barbara had not mentioned it on the flight home. And! I missed the spirit! Rob and Harriet had their water to turn on full blast without them assisting. There were other small incidences as well. I’m about to decide that it was O’Bruadair, the poet, who has followed me home and is helping me blog about the trip. I’ve never been so possessed to write! After a trip to Italy and Brazil within a few months of each other, I felt possessed to paint and went on a tirade, really adding to my portfolio. This time, I’m on a tirade to write. Off to bed to dream perchance of seven days as kings, queens and princesses!  

The first Saturday of our visit in Ireland was bitter-sweet. Only three days in the country and we were leaving Ballyvaughan, a village we had all fallen in love with, leaving Kathleen, our inn-keeper who made the best breakfasts and for me leaving behind a strong sense of belonging. I can’t explain how comfortable I was in that part of Ireland. At the same time we were excited. We had a day planned for exploration in The Burren. What’s more we were on our way to Springfield Castle, our home for the remainder of the trip. If we drove straight to Springfield, it may have taken a couple of hours, but this day we wanted to see and experience this big rocky landscape between Ballyvaughan and County Limerick, The Burren. The Burren, actually means, in Irish, "great rock", according to Wikipedia. To me it looked like something right out of science fiction or what one may imagine of a moonscape. The Burren covers a big part of northwest County Clare and is one of the largest karst landscapes in Europe and reaches all the way to the Atlantic on the west side. The Burren is full of historical and archaeological sites with megalithic tombs, portal dolmens and ring forts. There is so much myth and folklore there. All the history I was reading about there, reminded me about an article I had just read in Ireland, (the magazine), September/October 2013 edition, “The Celtic Roots of Halloween”. I had no idea that our Halloween celebrations came from Ireland! When the Irish emigrated here, they brought the traditions with them. Years and years before Christianity was introduced to Ireland, people’s spirituality centered on nature and what we think of as Paganism. Even when Christianity was introduced, there was a slow, peaceful merging of the two faiths. The celebrations of Pagan’s Samhain eventually evolved into Halloween as we know it today, as did many of the Christmas celebrations we have adopted. October 31 marked the end of the Celtic old year and the beginning of the Celtic New Year, the beginning of the dark of winter days and the end of the light of spring and summer. Just as we dress up for Halloween today, people of that time dressed up to pay tribute to their animal deities or good spirits and to ward off and hide from the evil spirits. This tradition also kept the costumed people’s identities secret. There were several customs written about in the article, but one of my favorite was about “Stingy Jack”. Stingy Jack was a myth from a northern county in Ireland, a mean spirited farmer who was so stingy that he wouldn’t pay his bar bill. A drunkard and gambler, Stingy Jack invited the Devil for a drink and then tricked him out of that bar bill also by getting the Devil to turn himself into a gold coin. Jack was to pay the bill with the coin. Instead of paying the bill, he hoarded the coin, but years later in a drunken stupor, Jack freed the Devil. Jack died and was not allowed in Heaven or Hell, but was given a turnip with a chunk of burning coal from Hell to light his way, condemned to walk the earth between the living and the dead for eternity. In memory of Jack, the people of Ireland used a carved turnip as a lantern and when they immigrated to the US, they began using pumpkins. Hence the “Jack-o-Lantern”. We spent the whole day visiting some of the ancient mythical sites and walking in the ring forts, imagining ourselves living those lives and imagining the rituals they carried out. When we stopped at one of the more famous, the Poulnabrone Portal Tomb, we talked at length to a very informative Druid character. He was making metal pendants using Ogham, an early medieval Irish alphabet. I think we all bought one or more. We learned so much from him about the Burren, the Druids, myths and more. We stopped in Kilfenora and saw a short film at the visitor’s center about the Burren. We were still a good distance from Springfield Castle and daylight was getting away from us. I knew the castle was located in the center of 200 acres and between two small villages. I really wanted to get there before dark to avoid getting too lost. As usual we were hungry. We also had one more factor to deal with. On this day County Clare (where we were at the time) was having a play-off with County Cork (on the edge of where we were headed) for the National Hurling title. I’m not talking about upchucking, but something more like our football’s most famous day of the year, Super Bowl. Everyone was closing their stores and restaurants to go home and watch the event. We found a wonderful pub in the middle of Kilfenora that agreed to feed us before the crowds gathered there in front of their big-screen TV. After our late lunch we found a grocery store that hadn’t locked their doors. As soon as we left, the door almost hit us in the butts. We bought provisions for the castle and the next morning’s breakfast, wine and cheese for the evening and Irish junk food. Harriet even talked the young man at the counter into selling her a County Clare flag. Both our cars were already flying an Irish flag in order to keep in sight of each other. Harriet agreed not to hang the Clare flag from the window when we entered enemy territory. We were really catching that Hurling fever. We listened to the game on the car radio on the drive to the castle. Now mind you, we didn’t have a clue of what was happening, but could make out a few important quotes, straining our ears to understand their Irish accents. We had a running debate on who actually won the game, but couldn’t be certain until the next day when we made a pilgrimage to Cork and were caught in the middle of crowd control as the players returned to town. We didn’t get to the castle before dark, but only got turned around once. Ok, maybe twice, but certainly not three times!!!! I’m really glad you’re reading my blogs about the trip to Ireland. It is very cathartic for me to write about this. It was a truly inspirational journey and I was too busy to write while we were there. I want to journal about the trip before I forget some of the finer points. I’m also having fun reading about some of the history and culture online now. I can relive the moments and understand more about what I was seeing. I found a wonderful website that explained a great deal about the Burren. Keep reading if you’re interested, but check back here for more on the trip or scroll way down my website for the first few blogs, just in case you need a good tonic to induce sleep. Facts from http://www.burrenbeo.com/burren: • The limestone layers that dominate the Burren were laid down 340 million years ago. • This limestone is composed of skeletal remains of marine organisms that lived in the warm, shallow sea during that distant period. • They were compressed by their own weight and elevated by plate tectonics or continental drifts to reveal the fossil-rich beds that we see today. • The darker, impermeable rocks that once covered the entire Burren were removed through glaciation. • The last Ice Age, began roughly one million years ago when much of the upper layer of the Burren was stripped off and exposed the limestone by erosive glacial waters scouring by the ice. • Studies in the Burren uplands and the archeology remaining, has allowed an understanding of the evolution of the agricultural society from 'hunter-gatherer' origins over six millennia ago to the present day. • The Burren has been described as one 'vast memorial to bygone cultures'. • Wedge tombs of Neolithic origin have been found in the region, from an estimated national total of just over 500. • Hundreds of ancient cooking sites or fulachta fiadh and ancient cist graves are found throughout the hills. • About 500 ring forts are found in the Burren. Tower houses and Early Christian church sites are also common.  

I’ve been working in economic development through arts, culture and tourism in many capacities for more than 10 years now. One theme that comes up over and over and the theme that many of the institutions in SWVA are built around is an Authentic Experience. When we have visitors to the region, are they getting a true and authentic experience? Heartwood, SWVA’s Artisan Gateway has the byline, “Authentic, Distinctive and Alive.” On one particular evening, Friday, September 27, 2013, on my recent trip to Ireland, my friends and I had that truly authentic experience, and it happened by chance. If I could, I would never plan anything for a trip other than the flight to and from. I would leave all the in-between to chance. Nevertheless, alas, when one is planning for nine people, one needs to have plans. Our group had a wonderful day visiting the nearby Aran Islands. We returned to the mainland about 5pm and were hungry. Including me, there were three single women on this trip and I had the bright idea of stopping in Lisdoonvarna, only thirty minutes away from the docks at Doolin, to take in the largest Matchmaking Festival in the world. According to the website http://www.clare.ie/events/view/festivals: “Matchmaking is one of Ireland's oldest traditions and, for the last couple of hundred years, a good deal of it has taken place in Lisdoonvarna during September and early October……… The town developed into a tourist centre as early as the middle of the 18th-century when a top Limerick surgeon discovered the beneficial effects of its mineral waters. People travelled from near and far to bathe in, and drink, the mineral waters.…………It was due to the popularity of these mineral springs and the huge amount of people going there that led to the Lisdoonvarna "matchmaking tradition". September became the peak month of the holiday season and with the harvest safely in, bachelor farmers flocked to Lisdoonvarna in search of a wife. By the 1920s, matchmaking was still in vogue and people continued to come and "take the waters", including many of Ireland's clergy. It was around this time that one of Lisdoonvarna's most famous sayings was coined, describing the town as a place "where parish priests pretend to be sober and bank clerks pretend to be drunk". Today, there is just one official Matchmaker left in County Clare: Mr. Willie Daly who runs the riding centre outside Ennistymon and practices match-making part time. With the exception of the pairings he plans and negotiates, very little genuine matchmaking takes place nowadays. However, Lisdoonvarna's annual festival has evolved into Europe's largest single's event………For the month of September, dances run from noon each day and carry on into the small hours of the next morning………there's live Irish music in most pubs, although getting to the bar can be quite a task………..” We had dinner in one of the quiet pubs and the married people with me indulged me a walk down the street and time for one dance with one Irishman who was gracious enough to teach me the locals’ steps. I didn’t recognize the steps. It certainly wasn’t Irish Step Dancing. Not quite the same beat at a Texas Two Step; slow, slow, quick, quick. Not really a box step either. It was more of a side step, feet together, other side step, feet together. Anyone who knows me, knows I love to dance. In about a minute that gentleman had me backing up and swinging around and around. I felt like we were Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. What fun!!!!!! Now believe it or not, this is not the authentic experience I am talking about. We gathered the troops and headed back to Ballyvaughan. There was a lot of discussion of one car going and one car staying, but in the end we all headed back. It was only about 9pm and I wasn’t a bit sleepy. My jet lag had long gone. When we drove through town, cars were lined half on and half off the sidewalks. We experienced this park-where-you-like in many of the towns whose streets were so narrow there was no room for parking places. They were lined up outside O’Loclainn’s Whiskey Bar, the place I was so attracted to the day before, the same one with the beautiful window boxes full of purple petunias, the one that wasn’t open when we were touring the town. I still hadn’t had an opportunity to taste the much acclaimed Irish whiskey, and this place was about a two minute walk from our B&B. I didn’t have to drive to get there. It didn’t take much persuading to get five more people talked into walking to that pub for a drink. As we walked up, there were two guys standing outside and one was doing jumping jacks. I thought it a little odd, but let it go. Angela started in the door and turned quickly and said, “Too crowded, we can’t get in.” I’m not one to let a good time slip by so easily. I said, “Wait a minute, let me look.” I walked in and a couple of friendly people spoke and suggested that I try a table in the back. I did, but the empty table was reserved for an elderly couple who couldn’t stand and who had not arrived at that minute. I squeezed my way back to the front attempting to get back outside to my waiting group. The friendly guys wanted to know why I was leaving and I told them I hadn’t had any luck in finding room at the inn. In true Irish hospitality they said, “Wait.” They talked to some of their friends who were sardined on a wall bench and a few short stools and the next thing I knew, they were getting up and giving my group their seats. They were used to squeezing together to enjoy a pint, so they just lined up two-deep along the bar. We all ordered our libations. The bartender advised me which whiskey to try. Angela tried a Jameson. The bartender gave me Green Spot, a special in Ireland. I asked my friends at the bar what I should chase it with and they said very as-a-matter-of-factly, “Another whiskey.” So I did. Irish whiskey is distilled three times instead of the usual two as in the US. It was so smooth. I didn’t need a chaser and I didn’t need a mixer. It was delicious. By this time we’re all feeling good and enjoying the mix of people in the pub. I noticed that Mr. Jumping Jack had reappeared at a table near the door. He stood up and used a spoon to ring his glass for attention. The bar got quiet and he started reciting a wonderful poem. I wish I had a recorder with me. Everyone toasted and another person sang an Irish ballad, Acapella. I realized that Mr. Jumping Jack was the emcee for the evening. All through the night, he quieted the crowd and allowed another participant or himself to sing or recite a poem or tell a story. I found out that many of the people in O’Locliann’s that night were part of a walking club and there was a Walking Festival happening the next day. We landed smack dab in the middle of a ceilidh and didn’t know it. If they hadn’t been so friendly and welcoming, we would have walked out and never had that life-long memory. If you haven’t had a chance to experience a ceilidh, they are described as literary entertainment, stories and tales, poems and ballads, songs, conundrums put, proverbs quoted, and many other literary matters discussed. Many years ago, the Carmichaels of Galax and Lynn McClary (one of my travelers) of Grayson County organized ceilidhs at the 1908 Courthouse in Independence. I hope they can be resurrected. I would have been happy to stay there to the wee hours listening to their craic (Irish word for fun), a truly authentic experience, and a good time was had by all…….

When you think of Ireland, what is the first impression you come up with in your mind? A few might be Leprechauns, Rainbows, Four Leaf Clovers and Green, right?!!??!! Now that I’ve experienced this “Emerald Isle”, I can better understand why these symbols pop to mind. When I scheduled a trip for late September and early October, I knew we wouldn’t have perfect weather. After doing a lot of pre-trip research, I found that in summer months we might have rain and cooler weather anyway. So why not go on the shoulder season and save a few bucks? We didn’t go a day without sunshine and we didn’t go a day without rain. What’s the old saying? “If you don’t like the weather, just wait a few minutes and it’ll change.” It was easy to see why Ireland is so, so green. Sunshine and rain! Sunshine and rain! What more could the grassy pastures need? We were really blessed on the day we scheduled the visit to the Aran Islands. There was sunshine all day and very little drizzle. The temperature was very pleasant. I wore a coat for the ride to the islands on the boat, but I was very comfortable with it open, catching the wind as I rode right on the bow like Kate Winslet in Titanic. Our B&B, Oceanview, was less than 45 minutes from the dock at Doolin. Doolin is right beside the Cliffs of Moher. I had prebooked passage with Bill O’Brien Line Ferry that left the dock at 10am. The passage is, at times, too rough for a trip and one must call ahead. Our wonderful innkeeper, Kathleen, called her friend Bill and all was well. Bill was standing out front of his place waving us over and shouting, “Penelope”! What a friendly place. There are three islands of choice so I chose the larger one. Here’s what Wikipedia says about it: Inis Mór is a major tourist destination, with bed and breakfast accommodation scattered across the island. Private minibuses, horse-drawn carriages and bicycles are the main methods of getting about for the numerous tourists who visit the island in the summer months, the majority of which are the Irish themselves but with an extraordinary number of British, French and German holiday-makers. There is a small museum illustrating the history of Dún Aenghusa and its possible functions, while The Aran Sweater Market is also a focal point for visitors who can trace the culture and history associated with the Aran sweater through the on-site museum. The boat ride is an hour one-way. We got off the boat and straight into the arms of a pony cart driver. He was NOT at all a sleazy-tourist-chaser-get-rich kinda guy. He was very polite and told me what he could offer and how much it was. The gang had already said they wanted to see the island via the pony cart and that they would pay extra (besides what they had already paid for the trip) to do this. This was the best decision the “committee” made. We had three carts and three people in each cart. Angela, Lynn and I rode with Donal (Gaelic for Donald) and his horse Silver (not named for the Lone Ranger). His brother Michael carried Carol, Pat and John, while Harriett, Rob and Barbara rode with a real character, Kevin. Donal was a younger man, born and raised and who had spent most of his life on the island. He came back to the island to run the farm after he lost his parents. He had been a school teacher and is presently teaching children’s enrichment classes on Gaelic and the Gaelic culture on the island. He was a wealth of information! We learned so much about the topography, flora, fauna, history etc., etc. Kevin was a life-long resident of the island and full of story and myth according to the Meineckes. I think they got a few wooly explanations about the tiny houses for Leprechauns and the like. When I let it slip that Rob was a vet, Kevin had Rob examining his horse and diagnosing an ailment. Rob was so good-natured to just go along with it all. They came home with an order for a special bit to be mailed back to Kevin. We took the whole day with the pony traps. They dropped us at the Dún Aonghasa Fort, an important archaeological site that also had a spectacular view. It is not known when it was built, though it is thought to date back to 1100 BC. Donal had actually worked there a few summers back in an archaeological study. We had a leisurely hike to the top, a snack and many “Kodak moments”. I laid down to absorb that ancient earth energy, with my head just feet away from a huge drop to the ocean. Before I knew it, almost all the crew joined me. We just laid there with our backs stretched out on that hard, irregular, unforgiving rock. And it felt good!!!!! The pony cart trip back to catch O’Brien’s Ferry at 4:00 was along the ocean. We missed the seals and the puffins, much to my chagrin. Just not the right time of day or season, who knows?! I know they’re there. I saw one little seal stick his nose up as we were arriving on the boat. We had thirty minutes to shop in the Aran Sweater Market before we made a run for the boat. I felt like a drill sergeant-“you have ten minutes to finish your purchases!” Then outside counting the flock, “Who are we missing?” No one had to spend the night on the island, thank goodness! Everyone fell silent, almost sleeping, on the hour long trip back to the mainland. The sun was falling orange on the horizon as we came closer and closer to shore with the Cliffs of Moher making a dramatic statement. A memorable segment of the trip, indeed!