Arise! and Shine

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.

My wonderful, delightful landlady, Josephine, her daughters, Sarah and Sheila and their children.
in the backyard of her Salthill home.

They invited me over last night for drinks, “to get acquainted”, and to help me locate my missing link McCarthy family.

Josephine is from Lauragh, the very same area where I had stayed in the Bothy in the woods a couple of weeks ago while on the McCarthy trail. Faster than I could finish my drink, they were on the phone with a parish priest in Kerry and I now have his number to call for help searching the local records.

We all connected so easily that it just turned into a great, long, positive evening of women sharing with women.

Josephine went back to school at 60 or 61 after her husband’s death to get her degree in archaeology. I am really impressed by her life-force, generosity and her adventurous spirit. She’s also got a wonderful singing voice and after a few gin and tonics she can be coaxed into sharing a very funny Irish song or two.

Sheila has lived and worked in Cambodia for 16 years with her Cambodian partner. They lead specialized tours for a variety of types of people. Her website is

http://www.hiddencambodia.com Check them out.

She is an intelligent,aware woman who balances her interesting career with the demands of being the mother of an active five year old. She spent years in hotel management before giving it up to pursue her much more interesting career sharing her love of Cambodia with others. She’s warm and so easy to hang out with that I know her tours will be fascinating and fun. I want to go on one.

Sarah is a professional photographer. She also has a lovely singing voice, even after midnight. Smile. She delighted with an a’cappella version of Fly Me to the Moon. Sarah has two young children and I have no idea how she manages to stay so graceful and positive and keep up with it all. I did see her husband entertaining them from time to time with affection and great patience. Bravo, good man!

Here we are looking at the map of known Sheela na Gig locations throughout Ireland which I found in an antiquities shop on the Dingle peninsula.

We had gone outside to admire Josephine’s Sheela, which may or may not be a reproduction. Josephine is a devoted caretaker of this Goddess. I felt lucky to be sharing drink, songs, ideas
and friendship out in the garden with both the stone Goddess and the three Irish O’Sullivan goddesses who took me in so generously.

As our evening progressed we all shared songs, stories, laughter, and pondered this and that. We ended up discussing the concept of The Goddess and Ireland’s evolution to a patriarchal country, huddled around the Aga in the kitchen until 2:00 am.

I haven’t done that sort of thing in a great long while and I will confess that I felt it when I woke up this morning. But I wouldn’t change a thing.

Here’s the link to Josephine’s airbnb outside of Galway.
http://https://www.airbnb.ie/rooms/4975128?eluid=1&euid=3b3242d6-75ea-91f0-7a98-ffc6261221b9#host-profile

Stay with her. You’ll be glad you did.

I arrived exhausted after a long day visiting the Burren and the Cliffs of Moher. More on those later.

I’d been traveling on small lanes and country roads for weeks so the traffic of Galway caught me off guard. It was rush hour, the International Performing Arts Festival is happening and the big Galway Races are just gearing up. Traffic jams and accidents abounded. Everyone seemed cranky and in a hurry, though none of us were really able to go much more than five miles an hour for over an hour.

I had booked my respite lodging just a few miles north of town in Salthill, a little beach enclave about a three mile walk along the promenade into town. It would be quieter, more affordable and the once garage turned studio had a kitchenette so I could cook. Four nights to rest and rejuvenate, fitting in some Galway action.

Was I glad to pull off the main street in Salthill and see this welcoming little lane.

I turned into the driveway and pulled up to this tidy, welcoming house. My little studio is there on the left, with Eocha, silver steed (Nissan. I know) in front.

Opening the door I was greeted by an Irish welcome. and settled in for the duration.

The next morning I strolled through the park and into the center of the village.

Not as frenetic as Galway itself
you can see the bay in the distance

Today I happened upon a wedding

And two dear friends out taking the air

A bit of street art
including some Gaelic graffiti

And the moneymakers feeding on the families who come for a vacation at the beach

The Beach. Where a little girl can enjoy herself regardless of the weather

Where people walk their dogs and the buskers busk

The promenade where everyone is happy to be outside and alive

My little stroll in Salthill did wonders for me.

After all, salt air is healing

Known now as Kilnaboy Parish in County Clare, lands around this area, including the ruins of Kilnaboy Church, were originally known as a female centric ritual center headed by Abbess Inghean Baoith.

the Ruins of Kilnaboy Church, sited on Inghean Bath’s sacred site

This area, located within the geological wonder that is the Burren, is recognized as sacred by the High Druids of Ireland.

The Burren near what is now Kilnaboy Parish

It was one of the key “peripheral zones” of the island; that is, lands safe from ongoing battles between clans, devoted instead to learning, healing, the development of culture and a dedication to spiritual pursuits. It was an honor for a king of Ireland to have such a center located wit in his Chiefdom because they were few and far between.

History provides us with very little factual information about Inghean Baoith. However, through deep digging on one very rainy day, I managed to unearth the following:

She was the daughter of a wealthy man named Baoith, a member of the highest family, the E’oghanacht, who served in unknown capacity for the Chieftan, Cathair Conmain, on whose land Inghean was granted permission to site her center. She did so in 540 A.D.

It is said that she used to sit for hours in a natural depression in the stones above her Convent looking out upon the countryside. There is, in fact, a holy well near that location named in her honor, then dedicated to the Virgin Mary.
photo Art with Heart

Interestingly, there are a total of 18 wells dedicated to her throughout County Clare, which gives us an idea of just how important she once was. The well above the Kilnaboy ruins near where she sat meditating is considered to be the most holy.

Historian Padraig O’Rianin describes Inghean Baoith as having 45 or 56 “spiritual children”. These were most likely female acolytes who studied and lived with her in this safe place. They practiced Goddess based spirituality,
wiped out by the 12th century Church reforms driving the creation of the patriarchal religious system that remains in power today.

The church, as part of its ongoing destruction of female “Pagan centers”, conscripted the name of Inghean Baoith, turning her into Saint Inghine. It then built a church on top of the lands where her Goddess practice had flourished. Lands which, by the way, are less than 6 miles away from the Poulnabrone dolman, a critical Neolithic portal tomb dating back to between 4200 and 2900 B.C. where Goddess worship reigned.
One of several dolmans and burial mounds in the area

Another interesting fact, Kilnaboy, the name of both church and parish, is a variant form of Baoith. Even as the church tried to kill her memory they retained her name.

Sources say she was the aunt of Brigid of Kildare, Abbess of her own Goddess based convent,
also appropriated by the Church.

She was then reinvented as Saint Brigit. You may remember reading about her an earlier blog post of mine.

A poem written in Irish in the 11th century about Inghean Baoith documents that she once challenged Saint Senan. She reminded him that before “the end” there would be women on his island. His island is Scattery Island, the site of a male only Bishopric visited by both Saints Brendan and Ciaran. The legend of “St. Senanus and the Lady”, as told in Tom Moore’s lyric, is founded also on this fact. It is a bold and unusual challenge to have been made by a woman during these times.

I discovered that as late as the 1960’s, infertile women continued to make “rounds” of the existing church ruins from dusk until sunrise, seeking assistance from Inghean Baoith and the Sheela na Gig above the doorframe in conceiving. This, in defiance of the strict controls the Catholic Church places upon women. Local women also continued to name their children after Inghean Baoith for generations, modernizing the name to Innewee.

As we so often find with churches established during the 12th century Church Reform, a Sheela na Gig is, indeed, prominent on the entry doorway of Kilnaboy Church.

close up of the Sheela
This covert symbol, carved by Stonemasons and placed throughout Christianized holy sites, was done so to protect against supernatural evil presences.

Sheela na Gigs are believed to be representational symbols of the cow goddess, Boand, also Goddess of the River Boyne, flowing through the most fertile heart of Ireland. It is interesting to note that St. Inghine Baoith, founding Abbess of the site chosen for the Kilnaboy Church, took her name from this same fertility goddess, Boand/Baoith.

Saint Inghine’s feast day is still celebrated on May 6th.

Apparently, the lands of Inghean Baoith’s early female convent were a major stopping place on the international pilgrimage route. This belief is validated by the fact that the Catholic Church decorated Kilnaboy Church with one of only two double barred patriarchal crosses, known as the Cross of Lorraine, found in Ireland.
The double barred Cross of Lorraine on Kilnaboy Church ruin

These double barred crosses are reminiscent of the cross found in the Holy Sepulcher Church in Jerusalem, the place of the reported resurrection of Jesus Christ. Churches throughout Europe and the Middle East displaying these rare double barred crosses are believed to have received valuable holy relics, fragments of the “true cross”, which were hidden beneath one of the bars.

Thus, this church built around 1200-1250 A.D. would have been a major reliquary pilgrimage site. Which would explain why, as the church fell into dis-repair, it was extensively rebuilt in the 17th century.
lovely windows built in 1743ish
the original Altar

Kilnaboy Church is curious in that it has a strange, unknown mythical beast carved into one wall.

No one knows what it is or why it is there, though many speculate that it is another display tribute, similar to that of the Sheela na Gig.

There is an unusual crucifixion tableau on one wall dated to 1644.

There are also the remains of a round tower, once splendid, now just a nub,

which served successfully as a defense post for centuries until Cromwell’s forces finally brought it to ruin.

Given the historical prominence of this site I find it interesting that it is not on the tourist trail. However, I am glad that it has been mercifully spared the bus loads who swarm many of the much lesser sites. Could it be because of its origins as a Pagan Goddess center and ongoing efforts by the dominant patriarchy to make it disappear?

I do know I was grateful for the peace and solitude I was able to experience as I visited this important pilgrimage destination and pay homage to the almost forgotten Abbess who once served there, Inghean Baoith.

Blessed Be.

Most everyone has heard of Ernest Shackleton and his exploits with his ship, Endurance. In fact, I sat through a leadership training designed by a well paid consultant who worshipped Shackleton’s leadership style, which by all accounts, was a bit autocratic.

Some people have also heard of Captain Robert Scott, a less inspiring leader to be sure, who had the sad misfortune of losing his life, and that of everyone who went with him, in a futile attempt at being first to reach the south pole.

Having been bested by the Norwegian Roald Amundsen who had arrived days before, Scott and his men planted their flag and then, weak from hunger, snow blindness and frostbite, died, one by one.

I learned of this when researching the role of Kathleen Scott, Robert Scott’s wife, for the tragic play, Terra Nova, which enjoyed an artistic and commercially successful run at Artist’s Repertory Theatre back in the late 1980’s.

What most people don’t know, and what I only found out a few days ago here in Ireland, is that Tom Crean, an Kerry man, worked for both Shackleton and Scott, on both the Terra Nova and the Endurance, and was quietly the real hero of every expedition in which he was involved.

Tom Crean was born on a farm in Gurtachrane, in July 1877, in the hills outside of Anascaul on the Dingle Peninsula in County Kerry. He was one of 10 children and times were hard for his family.

At 15, he borrowed a suit of clothes and enough money to get to what is now called Cobh (the same port the Titanic later sailed from) and ran away from home to enlist in Queen Victoria’s Royal Navy. He lied about his age in order to be accepted.

Tom was stationed in the Pacific on another warship when Captain Robert Scott sailed into New Zealand aboard his ship, Discovery, en route to the South Pole. One of Scott’s sailors had attacked a petty officer so was dismissed immediately. Tom, who was 24 by then and had an excellent reputation, volunteered to fill the vacancy. Scott gladly signed him on.

Discovery was at that time the best funded, best equipped and largest sailing expedition ever sent South. It would be gone for 2 ½ years, out of touch with civilization.
base camp, Antarctica

In 1902, while learning how to survive raging winds, temperatures in the minus 60-80’s, and conditioning on the ice for a push to the pole, Tom Crean was chosen by Scott as one of the few men to accompany him as they tested his newly conceived human pulled sledge across the ice.

In 1910, they returned to the Antarctica on the Terra Nova. This time Scott was determined to “take the pole”, planting the flag for England, and proving his naysayer’s wrong. He wanted Crean with him.

Eight men, including Captain Scott and Tom Crean, marched with the sledge to within 150 miles of the pole itself. At that point, Scott and his men were weakening and weather conditions had strained their already limited food supplies. The sledge was proving to be more of a hindrance than a help and Lieutenant Evans, one of the explorers, was in a very bad way.

Scott ordered Crean, his strongest man, and another, Lashly, to take Evans back to base camp, a distance of 750 miles, where they were to then grab more food and supplies and head back to join Scott He expected to be returning from planting the flag by that time.

Crean and Lashly pulled Evans, who, believing he was dying, ordered them to leave him behind. They refused, pulling him over 100 miles before their strength began to play out. Crean volunteered to go alone, on foot, to Hut Point, 35 miles away, where provisions had been stored. He walked, stumbled, and crawled, with no tent or sleeping bag and only 3 biscuits and 2 slices of chocolate to sustain him, He arrived at Hut Point within 18 hours!

Unknown artist’s rendition

This is after having already marched more than 1500 miles in 3 ½ months by this time. He returned to Evans and Lashly, with supplies, saving them both.

Captain Scott and his remaining four companions meanwhile did reach the pole, only to discover that Amundsen and his party had claimed it a month earlier, then come and gone. Disheartened, starving and exhausted, they died on the return trip before Crean was able to get to them. Scott’s last words, written in his journal to be discovered later were, ‘My God, this is a terrible place.”

Crean’s action has been called the greatest single act of bravery and endurance in the entire history of arctic exploration. For saving Lieutenant Evan’s life,
he and Lashly received the Albert Medal, the highest honor one can receive for gallantry.

Three years later, Crean was recruited by Ernest Shackleton to join the crew of his ship, the Endurance, for its famous hopeful, but failed, attempt to be the first to cross the Antarctic from one side to the other.

Tom Crean was one of the 28 men, including Shackleton, who found themselves barely surviving on drifting ice floes for nearly six months when the ship became stranded in pack ice.

When out of desperation they launched their three small lifeboats to row for survival, it was Stancomb Willis, the lifeboat steered by Tom Crean, which was the first to reach uninhabited Elephant Island and touch land.

Recognizing that a few men could survive on fish and water for a limited time on that remote island, Crean then joined Shackleton and four others to set off in a 22 foot open boat in the hopes of reaching the whaling station, South Georgia. The men made the 800 mile journey in 17 days.

Crean, Shackleton and a third man, Worsley, then had to march across unknown ice terrain and glaciers with no tents or sleeping bags in the hope of reaching Stromness. They managed to do it in an astonishing 36 hours.

It took four more months before they were able to return to the rest of their crew, still on Elephant Island, but they did. Remarkably, not one person died.

However, this was the last expedition for Crean, who turned down Shackleton’s offer to join him in yet another. We will never know the words spoken between the two adventurers but Shackleton was reportedly disappointed by Crean’s decision. Crean chose instead, in 1917, to return to his beloved Ireland, where he met and married a local woman from Anascaul, Eileen Herlihy.

They lived peacefully and happily, had three children together, and in 1927 they opened the South Pole Inn, where they lived until Tom Crean, the world class adventurer and hero, died unexpectedly in 1938 at the young age of 61 due to a burst appendix.

Those who knew him say that Tom was a gentle man, soft spoken, who never talked about his adventures. He just lived his life and enjoyed meeting the strangers who passed through. It wasn’t until his death, when his children, prompted by historians, began to discover the truth about their father and all of the extraordinary things he had done.

Knowing what I had learned about the Terra Nova expedition from my research for a performance in the play all those years ago, I made a point of stopping for lunch in the South Pole.
I became somewhat emotional as I strode around the inn reading the newspaper articles and looking at photos and paintings his family has hung on the walls. However, it is a happy place, full of talkative people and positive energy.

There is a timeline of Crean’s life as an explorer painted on the ceiling. It is an impressive list of accomplishments.

I am happy to report that I was served delicious fresh sea bass in this place created by an extraordinary man. I am happy to share him with you here.

Moving slowly through the streets of Dingle on a busy Sunday afternoon, taking in the sights. Here’s a taste of what I saw:

a bit of history to put things in context

Then, a couple of doors caught my eye. The Irish excel at the welcoming door.

Drain pipe graffiti in the middle of the land

Yet right around the corner is this lovely garden

Then I noticed the street sign on the corner thinking of a past life brought the smile to my lips.

Well, after that, this hallway into the “ladies” was just too perfect
but the dispenser in there seems rather risqué
condoms and tampons, what more could you possibly want?

Perhaps a drink to put one in the mood? this pub specializes in fine Trad music

Should your tastes run to spirits and horses, then this is worth a drop by
or, just go have some lively fun!

What? Not in the mood for a pub? No prob. How about a cuppa, instead?

Refreshed, and still moving slowly, I come down a quiet side lane to discover this beautiful church complex which is actually now the site of this theatre program.
How nice to receive the funding the arts receive in Ireland, to be able to buy a building for a program to have a home. Without that pressure to focus on producing things that will sell, the theaters can actually focus on producing art.
And, since theatre was born in the church, this purchase is most fitting.

Now, St. Mary’s Church, on the other hand, is still very much a church.
That tower is pretty impressive. It was designed by a McCarthy. J.J. McCarthy, apparently a name in church architecture of the time.

But inside it is the Harry Clarke stained glass windows which bring me to a complete stop. Here is one panel for you to contemplate

This mother and daughter were contemplating something else. They took their candle lighting and prayer very seriously.

I went on to contemplate this entombed Bishop and then got out of there

back into the streets where the people are alive

With children

without children

who knows?

Even the shop windows have their own kind of alive

happy, creative minds in that yarn store!

I also loved this cow in a gallery window

unfortunately the artist’s name was not to be found.

So I wandered slowly back to my car, mooooved.

Yes, I was a slow moving woman this afternoon; one whose brain was a fast moving machine. Taking it all in.

Farewell, prosperous Dingle Town, and your old, busy harbor.

photo g.duff

Oh, did I get to geek out today! In a pilgrimage which includes tracing one’s ancestors, I am not sure I could go back any further than this.

These are tracks made 385 million years ago on the southernmost tip of Valentia Island by the first known vertebrate to crawl out of the water onto land, the Tetrapod. 

Artist’s rendering. 

From archaeological evidence we know that they were slightly longer than nine feet, tail included.  The tracks left behind show four legs and the drag marks of their tail. They were heavy, which accounts for the well preserved footprints and skid marks in the mud. 

Down below there to the right you can make out a zig zag trail, almost as if one was sunning the way sea lions do. 

These tracks, discovered and authenticated in 1992, are the oldest known in the world. 

Tetrapods had gills, making them the first vertebrates to be able to breathe in and out of water. Before their evolution, fish were the only vertebrates on the planet. 

The Tetrapods evolved again, their fins becoming legs, creating the first mammals to walk on land.

And eventually, following further   evolution, they became even more complex, losing the tail and giving birth to generations of prehistoric mammamalia making the journey toward walking upright. 

Tetrapods are truly our oldest mammal ancestors. 

And these were right here in Ireland. 

This is the field you pass on your way down to the Tetrapod landing. Skellig Michael is 14 miles out to sea to the left of the frame. 

The force is with us all. 

This is John O’Shea.
Notice that very nice tractor behind him. He is quite proud of it, as he should be.

This is John’s farm. It is a beautiful, large spread at the base of Healy Pass in the Beara.

I drove up his road because I’d read that there was an Ogham Stone up there. There well may have been, but John didn’t want me trekking about on his property looking for it so he acted as if he didn’t understand what I was talking about.

What he did instead was flirt with me. Gently and in a non-threatening manner, but definitely a flirtation. He kissed my hand three times while speaking with me, once when I told him I was married, once when I told him the names of my children, and the final time when I said goodbye.

But before we got to that goodbye, John told me that he has never been married, will be 62 years old on October 22nd, and that both his mother and grandmother died in childbirth.

“Y’know, dey did it so differnt den. Women’s had 8, 9, even 10 bebbies. And dey were all borned at home. And dat’s God’s truff.”

I told him that both of my children had been born at home in America. He looked surprised for a moment but recovered quickly. I expected him to kiss my hand but instead, he took out a handkerchief and blew his nose.

“Well, dat’s fine, dat is. Doe, you were close enough to go to hospital if ya needed, weren’t you? Deese ladies in de oulder days, dey din’t have no hospital. Dey eever did it and lived or dey din’t. And dat’s da God’s truff, too.”

I agreed that we modern women have it a lot better when it comes to birthing babies. I stressed how grateful I was for that.

“And do you have enny grandchildren?” he asked. He smiled coyly, showing one full tooth and the stump of another in his mouth. I noticed that his hands were very calloused from hard work. He didn’t look 62, he looked like he might be 80.

I answered, “No. Not yet. My daughter just got married and maybe she will or maybe she won’t decide to have children. Either way is fine with me”. I didn’t mention my two grandchildren by marriage because the question was about my birth children, but I love both Josie and Maia. They are a delight.

“Dat’s good, dat’s good,” he was emphatic. “And yer son, whut about him?”

“No children there, either.” I replied. “He’s still living alone and waiting for a meaningful relationship.”

He shook his head knowingly. “I never found da likes of dat. No wife fer me. No. No wife for me. I live here and do alright, doe.” He gestured around his magnificent property.

He smiled again, slyly.”Ennyways, yer too young and too bee-yootiful to be a grandmuvver.”

“Thank you, John O’Shea.” I said. “And if I wasn’t a married woman I might share a cup of tea with you, but as it is, I will be on my way.” I couldn’t believe I’d used that line but there you have it.

And he reached for my hand and gave it one last kiss.
“Bye, so. Ye’ve a strong heart and independent spirit. I kin tell dat about ya. So you take care now, y’hear?”

“I will. And the same to you, John O’Shea.” I said. I then backed my car around and drove down his mountain

past the lovely waterfall on his property.

At the turning, I noticed again the neighbor (or perhaps, his partner?) who was cutting turf on John’s property.

This time he waved to me. Then went back to work.

At the very end of the drive to Tooth Mountain one finds this smaller stone circle
slightly different angle

And far up The Pocket, sheltered somewhat from elements and possible enemies, is the fulachai fia, where people camped and cooked.

Farther up Tooth Mountain itself it is said there are a set of standing stones, inscribed with a text no one has been able to decipher.

I longed to go up there but the gate to the land owned by the farmer where these stones are hiding was locked.
When a gate is merely closed, it is usually acceptable to enter, making sure to close the gate behind you. When one is locked, that is a clear message to keep out.

So I did.