Author: Nyla Anne

A subject many find difficult to discuss, and which some women will get downright emotional about, is that of our continuing role
as breeders.

In Ireland this has been particularly apparent to me. As I have travelled around this country for five weeks I have met and seen so many amazing women. Strong women.

Beautiful women.

Adventurous women.
Kind women.

Additionally, I have met a fair share of professional women. Executives running their own international businesses, career artists making a living from their creativity, women in broadcast media, women in the tech industry, health care professionals, even a couple of talented architects.

Yet many of them shared the pressure they feel to be a “successful” woman while also being a “super mommy”. This is not new, I know that. I felt those same pressures myself. In the 1980’s. However, I thought we’d somehow gone beyond all that.

Yet here they are, shining women, possibly talking on cell phones, pushing prams, riding herd over two or three other young ones, questioning themselves: “To breed or not to breed? Is that is where our worth still lies”.


Ireland, long anxious about what they call their “brain drain” (the term used to represent the numbers of young, educated people choosing to leave Ireland to live and work in other countries), might want to transform some of that anxiety into educating and supporting its women, professional or not, who feel the pressure to pump out babies as if there is no such thing as global resource depletion.

Yes, I understand that men are part of the equation. I also fully get that this problem is not unique to Ireland. We have plenty of women running the same sad path in the U.S.

However, Ireland tops all other EU countries for birth rate with an average of 3 babies per woman, married or not. 1/3 of those babies are now being born to women who are single.

As a single mother myself for a number of years, I commend these women’s commitment and courage. It is damn hard work.

Still, while the average may be “3 babies per woman” (yes, I did see a lot with that exact number), there are definitely sisters who are going well beyond.

Many of the people I spoke with blame it on the Catholic church and it’s outmoded values around birth control. Others blame the government for its Draconian laws around abortion. These things may be true, but ultimately, its the women themselves who are the ones making that choice to breed.

I suspect some of my readers are going to become angry with me over this post. I am sorry if you choose to become offended. However, my sentiments are not a secret and I am not going to keep quiet.

I think it is irresponsible, in this day and age, to choose to bear more than two children, the number required to keep growth balanced with the death rate, in the hope of slowing our world’s rampant overpopulation.

If you want more children, I support your thinking. There are hundreds of kids out there who need loving, safe families. You do not have to keep spinning your own genetic blueprint in order to have a large family. Foster or adopt. Everyone will be better off for it.

Okay. The next part: I understand the cultural and class issues connected to birth rates. I get that I hold this opinion from a position of privilege. It doesn’t matter. I feel strongly about this: our world’s resources simply cannot sustain this level of entitled breeding.

I am not anti-pregnancy. I say all of this as a woman who loved being pregnant. I remember my own times as a pregnant woman as being two of the most spiritual and magical times of my life. I loved my changing body. I delighted in the fact that I was creating beautiful, intelligent, amazing human beings.

I gave birth to my two at home, felt such peace while nursing them that I continued until each of them was nearly two, that they might receive full health benefits of mother’s milk. So I get it. It’s a beautiful feeling, unique to woman born women. Just limit it to twice, please. For everyone’s sake.

(Aware Irish woman with her two)

It’s just that these past weeks, seeing so many women, with so many children, as though they have no responsibility for the fate of the rest of human kind, has agitated my thinking.
Yes, Ireland is a female country. It has honored the Goddess for centuries.

But as I have listened to women’s doubts and anxieties about the issue of breeding versus developing a new identity for Irish women, it has made my heart ache.

Yes, my sisters, it is possible to have it all. But there is a price.

Do you really need to?

There is evidence that the harvesting and use of peat for fuel in Ireland has been going on for over a thousand years. Indeed, it is estimated that more than 16% of the island was originally bogland, which, in addition to turf, or peat, produces a habitat for a unique array of plants and animals. This includes Asphodel, Heathers, Deer Sedge, Purple Moor Grass,
(close up taken from the side of the road after I stumbled into the Midland bogs commercial harvesting area)

Cranberry
and an interesting little carnivorous plant, the Sundew,
which eats on the average, five insects per month.

Animal life includes the Irish Hare,

Dragon Flies, Spiders, Lizards, Bog Otters,

Frogs, and many varieties of Beetles and Moths.

I became interested in this and decided to educate myself when I found myself accidentally in the heartland of the midland bogs after taking back roads following a sunrise visit to Clonmacnoise in County Offaly and came upon this:

East side of the lane, commercial turf harvesting
(this photo, taken off the web captures the scope better than my humble pictures).
It felt like a wound in the earth, open and aching

Yet, simply looking across the road to the West side of the lane in its natural state, before harvesting (or, possibly after some reconstruction), yielded this:

A few miles further down the road, I came upon an area with a sign offering “peat plots for hire”. Here, people are harvesting turf in the more traditional manner, albeit at a much greedier scale

In “olden times”, it was common for families and individuals, even communities working together, to hand cut, turn, stack, dry and then carry their turf home for fuel. Hard work leading to a romanticized image of the rural Irish peasant

When the water content dries out of turf, what remains are very burnable, plant based, logs.

Sisters performing a critical service

Carrying the harvest home the “auld” way

The boglands existed in the public mind as a sort of symbol of poverty and barrenness. So, as early as the late 17th century, the government began to implement various schemes to reclaim the land: draining the water from it to make it more compatible to agriculture, then selling off the fertile acreage to monied agari-enterprises.

There are two main types of bog in Ireland: blanket bog, which is found in the uplands and throughout Western Ireland, where the rainfall is the highest

and raised bogs, which are formed out of lake basins and are found throughout the midland counties
in this image we can see just how deep the layers can be on a raised bog

Boglands are critical to the island’s biodiversity and they help alleviate the effects of climate change by locking away the carbon. In fact, bogland is a sort of proto-coal; always wet, it remains turf–if entirely dried out, the turf would turn into coal. However, this process takes thousands, possibly millions of years, and given Ireland’s bounteous rainfall, it has never happened.

It helps to think of bogland a a kind of giant sponge: it stores water and prevents flooding during heavy rains, then due to its high carbon content, it purifies the water which seeps through it and back into the water table. This is a very good thing.

But the survival of boglands, and with it, Ireland’s climate health, is in serious trouble.

Commercial harvesting of the blanket bogs has increased to an unsustainable level since the 1930’s, when the Irish Free Government formed what was originally known as the Turf Development Board. It later became Bord na Móna, the entity which now oversees marketing and “management” of the fragile boglands.

Presently, in addition to the mass selling of peat to the population for home heating purposes, there are several turf-fired electricity stations consuming over 3.8 million tonnes of milled peat supplied by Bord na Móna per year as part of the Irish energy plan. One of many of the peat fired electrical plants being subsidized across the island

It has been estimated by the Peatland Conservation Council that viable bogland had been reduced to just 6% since the advent of these giant truck harvesting schemes.
midland bog being raped for profit

In many of the central boglands, there are even train tracks and transport systems in place across the midland bogs to facilitate swifter transport of the highly valuable peat. Born na Mona approved

This should be of concern to everyone because Peat is the most expensive, as well as one of the least effective, fossil fuels out there. It adds twice as much greenhouse gas and CO2 to the atmosphere as natural gas. It costs more to produce electricity using peat than it yields in revenues.

In fact, the Bord na Mona has been subsidizing the production of electricity through peat fueled power plants to the tune of over 45 million Euro per year! This, just to break even. Imagine how many sustainable and environmentally friendly jobs could be created with that sum of money.

Given the politics involved and the pockets being lined, it will take the creation of an aggressive and creative social marketing strategy to inform Ireland’s citizens and change their fuel consumption practices if the bog lands are to be saved.
natural bogland, thanks to an organized conservation project

“Determined now her tomb to build,

Her ample skirt with stones she filled, 

And dropped a heap on Carnmore;
Then stepped one thousand yards, to Loar, 

And dropped another goodly heap; 

And then with one prodigious leap

Gained Carnbeg; and on its height

Displayed the wonders of her might.

And when approached death’s awful doom, 

Her chair was placed within the womb 

Of hills whose tops with heather bloom.”
Jonathan Swift, 1720

Like the better known Newgrange, Loughcrew (Sliabh na Caillíghe–The Hill of the Witch) is a passage tomb constructed in the Neolithic period, sometime before 4000 B.C.

More accurately, Loughcrew is a complex of passage tomb cemeteries, over 30 of them known, spread out over two miles of the Sliabh na Caillighe hills, making it the largest Neolithic necropolis in
Ireland.

Also like Newgrange, Knowth and Howth, the three better known sisters to the east, Loughcrew was created with precise attention to astronomical motion. However, unlike those sites which are aligned with the Winter and Summer solstice celebrating the return of the Sun (male light force), Loughcrew is aligned with sunrise of the Autumn and Spring Equinoxes-that day when lightness and darkness are in perfect harmony (the female light force). The exact religious significance has not been proven, but for centuries it has been believed that Sliabh na Caillighe is devoted to a female, matriarchal form of worship.

Legend states that Garavogue, a magical woman, was told that if she could succeed in dropping an apron full of stones on each of the three Loughcrew peaks, by jumping from one to the next, she would be given the rule of all of Ireland.

She gathered her magic and her stones and succeeded in dropping them on the first two peaks but then missed her landing on the third and fell to her death. To honor her, the giant stone seat,
or altar, on the side of what is now known as “Cairn T”, was constructed for her spirit to come, rest and survey the land that dwelt in her heart. This legend is given as explanation for the impressive group of 5000 year old passage tombs which are spread across the hills.

Jonathon Swift was so enamored of Irish folk tales and legends that he wrote the passage I used at introduction of this post to commemorate Garavogue’s epic actions.

It is thought that Garavogue may be yet another name for, or incarnation of, the Celtic Goddess Bui, the Cow Goddess, who is also associated with fertility and the River Boyne (where Newgrange, Knowth and Howth are located, some 40 miles east of the Sliabh na Caillighe hills).

She is also known as “the supernatural female wilderness Goddess”, or Earth Mother, who watches over the landscape. This provides another explanation for the existence of the Witch’s Seat at the Tomb. This seat, found only at Sliabh na Caillighe, is unique among the neolithic ruins of Ireland. It is 10 feet long, 6 feet high, and is estimated to weigh at least 10 tons. Legend states that a woman who sits in the Witch’s seat with pure intention will be granted one wish.
My wish was not for personal gain. I hope that counts.

It is interesting that the megalithic art found incised throughout the stones, both when entering
and when within the tombs themselves, has been interpreted as referencing more “feminine” objects: celestial stars, moons, Goddess deities, floral and plant shapes, patterns of chevrons, zigzags, and circles. This is in contrast to the art found at Newgrange, Howth and Knowth, which has been described as geometric and mathematical.

Most experts believe that the design elements of all megalithic art most likely comes from hallucinations.
It is well known that magic mushrooms and other hallucinatory plants were used in early religious practices, much as they are still used in authentic Shamanic societies.

It is also believed that the spiral motif, which occurs over and over again in megalithic art across multiple societies, may well represent a sacred vortex which facilitates travel between the different realms, or dimensions, of existence.

Most archaeologists agree that while the cairns of Loughcrew were definitely burial tombs, they also served as ritual, or religious, centers for their communities, for whom celestial motion was sacred.

Cairn T, known as “The Hag’s Cairn” (minimizing our magical woman by giving her one of the negative patriarchal names for a powerful aging woman), is the principal monument in the Loughcrew complex.

It is located at the summit of the Sliabh na Caillaghe hills, which is the highest point in County Meath. Its’ location gives it 360 degree views over 18 of Ireland’s counties, making it a powerful place to look over the lands.

The mound itself is 115 feet in diameter.
The passage from the entrance to the back stone of the inner chamber is almost 30 feet in length. At it’s “hotspot”, there is a cruciform with 10 foot ceilings where the inner chamber and the three side recesses all come together, each with its own corbel roofing.
This is both unique and very impressive. Even more impressive is that at sunrise on each of the equinoxes, the sun rises over the hills and shines directly through the entrance passage, to reflect on the ornately decorated altar/backstone within.

Cairn T was once known as “Carbane”, which means “white cairn”. This is because the cairn, like Newgrange, was once clad with white quartz, which would have caused the site to gleam and sparkle across the land.

The entire necropolis of Sliabh na Caillighe, with its 30 tombs, can be explored on foot over the course of a day or two.
It is thought that there were even more tombs in this location but that erosion, looting, and thoughtless development of the land accounts for the destruction of countless others.

There are ruins of six satellite chambered tombs on the main hill which I visited on the eve of Lughnasadh. None of these has been excavated or opened, making this hill a truly “thin” place for those willing to make the effort to visit it.

“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.”
― W.B. Yeats

The Castle, still in restoration, seen behind the restored Gardener’s quarters, now serving as cottages for guests

I walked the grounds owned by Beverly and Jonathan Baylis today. The grounds which make up the current desmene of the Castle, which is far less than the 29,500 acres which were owned by Lord Clonbrock and his family.

Most of that has been sold in large parcels to local farmers who run their cattle on the lush, giant fields. The Baylis’s have procured a lovely corner of the original lands, which include river frontage, woodlands, the ruins of the substantial stables and some pasturage. It is largely untouched, due to its size, but what has been “tamed” is lovely indeed.

Starting on the inside of the renovated garden, we see the corner tower, Lady Gregory’s Tower
She may or may not have stayed there. This bust is meant to be a representation of the woman.

Along this wall we see the remains of espaliered apple trees. The man I spoke with who has been doing all of the masonry repair on the castle itself told me that during the height of the estate, there were 57 gardeners living and working on the grounds.

Here, we are looking across the lawn to what was originally the Head Gardener’s home. It is now where Beverly and Jonathan live. The cottage where I am staying has been created out of a line of smaller cottages where the Master gardening team would have lived.

The rest of the gardener’s were most likely scattered around the estate, though through this entrance in the wall, to a “secret garden”, there are also the ruins of a greenhouse and a couple of cottages.

You can see the remnants of a fireplace in the back

Leaving the walled-in Gardener’s area we come to some of the rich lands which were stolen from the Irish and deeded to Sir Henry de Leon, ancestor of the Dillon family (later made the Earls of Clonbrock), for his support of the Earl of Moreton, (later King John of England) to establish his Lordship of Ireland in 1185. You can see why it was such a gift. Look at those Oaks!

The Castle was built by Tadhg Caoch O’Ceallaigh shortly after 1469, when he was proclaimed Chieftain of half of the Ui Main, a vast tract of land laying between Lough Corrib and the Shannon River. The entire region had belonged to the O’Kelly’s since at least the 4th Century, when Main Mor, a chief of the Clan Culla in Ulter, conquered this part of Connacht. Somehow, between 1754 and 1610, the Dillon family, of whom Thomas Dillon had become Chief Justice of Connacht, managed to take possession of the Castle and lands.

The pasturage is fertile, there is water, ample sunshine, and it’s on the fringes of “The Pale” (the far outskirts of Dublin), making it a fashionable location.

For my part, I wished I had one of those excellent Irish horses I see daily so that I might have gone for a gallop across the fields.

Instead, still on foot, I turned off into this little lane passing the ruins of this gatekeeper’s cottage and heading toward the river

where I disturbed this poor doe, who had been bedded down under the old bridge I was standing on as I took the picture. She was so fast that I barely had time to catch her image.

Taking that as an excellent omen, I made my way back to the wall

found my door

and went inside to make myself a delicious vegetable soup.

Clonbrock Country House was built between 1780 and 1788 by a popular Irish architect of the times, William Leeson, for Robert Dillon, the First Lord of Clonbrock. The house in it’s heyday

The Dillon family were one of the first Anglo-Norman families to settle into Connaught and originally arrived in the 1580’s. They were Catholics, which was rare for the Anglo-Normans, and by all written accounts, were pretty much liked by their neighbors and their land tenants.

However, after Cromwellian malevolence hit Ireland, the family, in 1734, converted to Protestantism to prevent the neighboring Trench family from reporting them under the penal laws and seizing their lands, which were considerable and growing even more so.

workers tilling the farmland on the estate

In fact, by 1826, the land totaled more than 29,500 acres of farmland and parkland in the area of Ballinasloe.

It is said that during the famine, the Third Baron of Clonbrock shot the deer on his holding in order to feed the starving people who lived on and worked his land.
tenant farmers struggle to eke out food from their holdings on the estate

Clonbrock house, at his height, was considered one of those “fashionable” homes in Ireland. There was a photographer’s studio, dubbed the “Photograph House”, because the nine (9!) daughters of Lord Clonbrock had taken up the then, new hobby.

the Photograph House, surrounded by its own gardens

family and friends posing with their cameras

Photography was a calling for the idle wealthy classes looking to express themselves and do something with their time

They were avid photographers and documented life, not only of their family,

A few of the ladies enjoy a pleasant afternoon

but of the locals and the people who worked there.

sheep shearing on the estate

some of the house help getting a “break”

Their collection of photos, remarkable in size, is now online, archived for us to study. the dining room

the drawing room

The 1901 census lists the house as having 55 rooms and 73 outbuildings. 18 people lived there: 7 members of the Dillon family and 11 staff.

In 1903, the estate was running in the red because of the cost of maintaining such a sizable estate, supporting the habits of all those children, and cultivating the kind of lifestyle required of the gentry in those days. The hardworking tenants and their allotment payments simply couldn’t keep up with the rising costs.

Times were tough for everyone. The Fourth Baron chose not to evict his tenants for their unpaid rents and had even considerably reduced them in an effort to help them out. He finally sold off great tracts of the land, earning roughly $19 million of today’s dollars, which he invested in the stock market in an effort to shore up and save the place.

Alas, the First World War, the Russian Revolution of 1917, the Great Depression and the Wall Street Crash of 1929 came in rapid succession, wiping the family out financially.

Then, the Fourth and Fifth Barons died close together, hitting the esstate with massive death taxes.The final Baron left no heirs.

There are stories of the last living Dillon inhabitant, Lady Ethel, living there alone, with just one aged butler. Though she was shaky and frail, she was still proud, walking the grounds with the aid of two sticks, maintaining her sense of entitlement and privilege. Lady Edith in her younger years, holding a dog, beside her sister who died years before her

After her death in the 1970’s, the house was passed on to her dead sister’s son, Luke Dillon Mahon, who, overwhelmed by the prospect of maintaining such a magnificent home, decided to sell everything at auction in 1976. Agents from Christie’s auction house set up large tents across from the house and sold it off, lot by lot.

There was a well known library, noted for its collection of rare leather bound first edition travel, art, design, agriculture and natural science books.
One set of volumes, dated 1783, recorded Captain Cook’s final voyage. The entire lot sold for what amounted to one quarter of the value of the estate’s final proceeds.

A sword, belonging to Napoleon, rare butterfly collections, complete sets of vintage china, and the magnificent furniture, all disappeared, much of it from Ireland, into the hands of private collectors.

The house itself was finally sold off, along with only 50 of its original acres, in 1979. A Lady Dortha ffrench (correct spelling) lives there today, quietly, as the house slowly becomes eaten up by mildew, ivy and neglect.

She has stated on record that she hopes to return it to its former glory but according to my hosts, Beverly and Jonathan Baylis (who purchased the original Castle, built long before the house, and of which very little history is known), she has made no progress.

They, however, have. It’s incredible what they’ve done.

Twelve years ago Beverly and Jonathan
(Beverly is elusive, no pic of her to share)

bought the ruins of the Castle, the stables, the desmene, and the gardens and grounds to the river.

Jonathan told me that they originally purchased it “as a vacation project”, thinking they would come over from Oxford, where they both worked and lived, once or twice a year to work on it.

It soon became more than a hobby and they now live here full time. The work they have done on the Gardener’s Wing is impressive and quite lovely and they are to be commended for their commitment to saving this historical treasure from ruin and obscurity.

I am staying in what is now the “West Cottage”, where I am writing, resting, and exploring the historically rich area.

The Gardener’s Wing then

and now. The cottages are on either side of the middle door

The gardens were rescued from complete overgrowth and neglect and are now beautiful grounds again.
Beverly admitted that she sometimes feels “restoration fatigue” but that living here and bringing something historical back for the benefit of others makes up for it all.

Their website, http://www.clonbrockcastle.com shows the journey they have undertaken. It’s a fascinating process.

I investigated the Castle itself (historical photo of the ruins taken by unknown person)

Here it is just a couple of years ago, after restoration work was begun
scaffolding everywhere

and here it is today

Interior work is still in progress, but it’s now safe enough to go all the way out onto the roof if you’re very, very careful. (I did).

Their “vacation project” has become a massive undertaking. It will be quite something when it is finished.

In this photo, taken by one of his daughters, we see Lord Clonbrock at the Castle entrance gate, circa 1900

same metal gate, original chain even still in place

A walk up the circular staircase, four stories high

third floor, looking toward the exterior wall

and there’s Eocha, my silver steed, waiting patiently across from what used to be the gardener’s quarters

Looking out one of the fourth floor windows. This shot gives you an idea of just how thick the castle walls actually are

and here we see the Murder hole. Every castle has one. It’s a form of defense. If enemies managed to get past the mote and breach the gate, boiling water or scalding sand, then rocks and knives, would be thrown down the hole onto them to prevent them from getting up those narrow stairs. Contrary to what we see in movies, boiling oil was rarely used as it was quite expensive and precious.

Looking over the roof of the castle to the desmene below

While awaiting the restoration of the rest of the Castle, you can stay in either the West or East Cottage, or in Lady Gregory’s Tower, shown before

and today

I am staying in the West Cottage
with a nicely appointed kitchenette
(where I am catching up on my laundry as I write this)

a lovely loo

adjacent to this comfortable bed.
Mercifully, I didn’t hear about any ghosts roaming the grounds and it was a very quiet night. One of the things I love about the Irish countryside…

My little corner of the garden, Castle is in the corner behind the wall.

with the Green Man keeping watch over everything.

After staying for days in my sweet little, rustic Traveler’s trailer in Donegal, I confess that this feels like quite a change. It’s interesting have a sense of what it might have felt like to live a life so sheltered and still.

However, I never forget for a moment that this was all built upon the backs of the Irish people on their own land, taken from them by however benevolent a landlord Lord Clonbrock may have been.

Blessed Be.

Almost everyone has heard of the Cliffs of Moher. In fact, most of us have also seen them, even though we may not realize it: they were the setting of the Cliffs of Insanity in The Princess Bride. Ahhh, yeah, that movie; the one about love.

A few other facts.

They are part of the Burren (see my earlier post for more information on that). They are a little over five miles long and at their highest point, which is by O’Brien’s Tower, they are over 700 feet tall.

They are named after an old fort, called Moher, which once stood on Hag’s Head.

Hag’s Head is the most southern point of the cliffs and is named after the old woman, Mai the Hag, who fell in love with, then chased after Chu Chullain, the great Irish warrior. He was vain and spurned her love, leaping away while she stumbled and fell to her death in the ocean below. Not a happy love story. They say the rock formation took on the form of her head to honor her.

There are an estimated 30,000 birds living on the cliffs, representing more than 20 species. These include Atlantic puffins, which live in large colonies at isolated parts of the cliffs and on the small Goat Island, and razorbills.

I was impressed that the Irish government, during its late 1990’s development plans, made the cliffs, at least the part most often visited by tourists, mostly accessible. Well done, Ireland!

The visitor center was designed (and finally finished in 2007) to be environmentally sensitive with renewable energy systems, including geothermal heating and cooling, solar panels, and grey water recycling.

I got there early and enjoyed near solitude for almost an hour. I wandered past the “official” barrier and on down the trail for awhile to see some of the things you don’t otherwise see.

I loved this zig zag geology so much that after I took this shot
I had to go down there and sit awhile, looking out to sea.

The Cliffs are one of the most popular tourist destinations in Ireland, with more than a million people going there every year so you don’t get them to yourself for very long.

On my way back, the almost empty parking lot I’d arrived to looked like this, the source of the crowds

And the paths and more accessible trails looked like this.

That harpist down there set herself up in the middle and was making some change

However, even crowds cannot take away the fact that,
no matter what, the place is spectacular.

Just try to get there early…

This is the Debonair.

It is my blissfully quiet, peaceful retreat on St. John’s Point outside of Dunkineely.

Dusk is settling down upon us all following a lovely, rare blue sky of an afternoon.

I walked in the morning, before the sun arrived, through a misty soft day, over the rolling hills,

past cattle

and caves hidden beneath the cliffs.

Here are Gloria the Goat and friend, enjoying an evening snack as they bed in for the night.

Mommy Dearest and her two female foals come racing to me in the hope of getting a handout as they shelter in. I disappoint, though I give them each a good scratch behind the ears.

The hens, save these two adventurers, are brooding quietly in their stone cottage, safe from the foxes and weasels who would love a warm bite.

Eocha rests quietly in front of the caravan, happy not to be rolling on her wheels for four days in a row.

This little sheltered nook is a place to watch the waves roll in

the light change again and again
and again, while listening to sea birds calling out to their mates as they head inland.

The grass is green and rippling.

The head of the peninsula, beckoning.

Soon I will light the turf and cozy down deep for another peaceful night’s sleep.

What a gift is this life.

Blessed Be.

The Burren is one of those geological areas of Ireland that just blow you away. It is an area of about 10 square miles in the northwest of County Clare, formed over 250 million years ago.
looking away at the summits of Turloughmore

It helps to know that Ireland was originally located at the equator. Yes, before continental drift pushed things this way and that, Ireland was a hot, humid area rich with life evolving. Remember those Tetrapods from my earlier blog? Coming out of the water down around Valentia Island in southern Ireland, evolving into our mammalian ancestors?

Well, after that happened, in the more recent times of the ice age of 10,000 years ago, glaciers moved across the land. The Burren is the result of them coming and going, scouring the land bare of all life leaving nothing but exposed limestone.

Rains then came and went, creating a form of acid which ate through the limestone, leaving crevices, forming the strange looking plateau that is today called in English, the Burren. Originally Gaelic, boireann, and meaning literally, “the rocky land”.

At first glance it seems inhospitable to life.

In fact, when the English came to assess Ireland for whichever lands they thought fit for stealing, they wrote the Burren off. Ignorant of them because it hosts more diverse life forms than anywhere else on the island.
wildflowers in the Burren

As the eons passed, those crevices, called grykes, filled with rainwater, creating algae, which in turn fed life forms as they evolved. Soon small mammals like rabbits and mice left behind their droppings, further enriching the space between the blocks of limestone (which are called glints) and all manner of plant life began to adapt and take root.

grykes and glints in the Burren

Mostly the plants are flowers and small fern like things, with occasional small shrubs and grasses that eventually get eaten by roaming goats and sheep.

I marveled at the way they push themselves up sometimes right between huge slabs and take root.

The Burren became a place for Neolithic peoples to build their stone forts and burial portals. Poulnabrone is only one of several dolman tombs in the area, but because of its size it has somehow become the one the tour buses aim for. Interesting to note that 33 individuals were buried here around 3000 B.C., along with their tools, fragments of pottery, some quartz beads and an axe. Poulnabrone Dolman

There are hundreds of pre-Christian and then later, Christian sites found within the Burren.
It is an archaeological as well as biological marvel.

I spent most of an afternoon wandering among the limestone glints and grykes of Mullaghmore, the wildest part of the Burren.
This was a tricky business to be sure, but since for hundreds of years penitents and pilgrims have done the same, creating an astonishing visual vista, I figured that a mobility limited modern woman should be able to handle it.

There are hundreds of cairns and stone displays built by pilgrims such as myself.

beautiful pilgrim displays

built by those of us who come here for whatever reasons bring people to such a remote location.

I moved a fairly heavy limestone slab into an upright position while speaking my intentions,
thus adding Nyla Anne energy to that of those who have passed before.

Being as it was July, the area was rich with wildflowers, the smell being delicate but very sweet and clean. I breathed deeply, over and over again, swallowing the taste of pure, clean air gratefully into my lungs and
giving thanks to All That Is for the opportunity to do so.

I think St. Colmchille would have approved.

This is the village, anglicized as Ballyferriter.
Looking one way down the one street.

and

looking the other way

Of course there is a church.

There is also a very beautiful and (unique in this area) brewpub Tig Bhric.
I highly recommend their cask conditioned ale.

As I walked up the street I checked out the corner building, which is for sale. This was left behind by the previous owner, the famous ceramicist and potter, Louis Mulcahy.
I’d stopped in his new gallery on the Wild Atlantic Way a couple of days earlier and fallen in love with his masks. But at a starting price of $700 they were not for the likes of me.

However, the beach was. And is. And always shall be.

This beautiful bit of the Atlantic is called Wine Strand and it is just outside the village.
I spent one of those rare, and oh, so precious, sun filled days on it.

Exploring tide pools

I discovered this seal or whale bone wedged between some rocks at low tide.

I picked my way across the strand carefully admiring the patterns in the sand

and then braved the limestone formations all the way to the water’s edge

It was a rejuvenating and beautiful day. I was happy to return to my new friend’s house to share it with them.

My friends, in Baile an Fheirtearaigh
the very excellent Linda Madeira, who is a wise woman, Ayurvedic massage therapist and professional singer, with her partner, Stephen, who is a traditional music session player of some renown as well as a gifted painter.

These two people will be my friends for a long time. We are of the same tribe, discovered by us over the course of three evenings singing songs, playing music, telling jokes and laughing ourselves silly.

This is their simple, homey, art filled home. I had a comfortable bed and slept very well in it.

Oh, I asked them about this sign which was recently erected.

“The latest Star Wars movie filmed a lot of scenes here, up in the hills and on the beach, so.” Stephen said. “It was big times and big money for us villagers.”

So I guess now I’ll have to watch the movie.