Ireland - June 2010

(has music soundtrack)

Our two week visit to Ireland was a 20th wedding anniversary gift to ourselves. We were married on St. Patrick's Day in 1980. Believe it or not, we did not plan our wedding date or our 20th anniversary to be "Irish" things. They just turned out that way.

After our return, I sat down and wrote my immediate impressions. Here is the list with some other pictures we took. Although I could go through our itinerary while there, I feel that this best conveys our experience.

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Ireland

Upon arrival we drove from east to west Ireland (less than a day's drive across) and stayed with a friend, Una. A schoolteacher, she lived in the above pictured house on a lush hill surrounded by trees, rock walls, horse farms and a distant view of the sea. We stayed there 4 days before heading eastward along the southern coast area for several more days before reaching our starting point and flying home.

Visited a "working farms" exhibit on a typical Irish day, slightly cloudy, slightly cool and slightly damp. It was a walking tour that led us down down peaceful dirt roads lined by swaths of ever abundant Irish foliage while stopping to visit little farms of varying size. There were thatched roofed cottages and peat moss fires burning quietly in some rustic fireplaces.

Shaggy sheep on a verdant mountain pass. The highest mountain in Ireland is 3,414 feet above sea level, so there is no timberline area. Every Irish green thing has enough oxygen to survive.

Field after field in valleys and on hillsides, bordered with timeless rock walls and thick varied hedges.

Soft, clean cattle eating mouthful after mouthful of long luscious, delicious grass

The fine aged face of a widowed farmer who was born in the house where he lives with two grown sons. His name is Michael. Una's good old Dad. He has tended his cattle. He has never lived anywhere else or set his Irish foot outside of his homeland. His bride he brought to the house, his children she bore there. And there the angels bore her away to be with them on a sad day.

Bleeding heart bushes several feet high and long

Tropical palm trees in unusual places like next to an old church ruin.

Abundant forest ferns growing from crevices in ancient stone walls

Flat fronted Irish homesteads in creamy shades of white. Then the occasional bright burst of a buttery yellow abode.

Clothes hanging on the clotheslines. Dryers not preferred in Ireland it would seem

Beautifully landscaped gardens

At the San Antonio B & B in the pretty harbor town of Kinsale, our gracious host loaned Merle his guitar in the parlor.

Thick cream for your sweet, hot cup of perfectly brewed tea

Irish Fry – heart attack breakfast of fried egg, sausages, bacon and black and/or white pudding. It’s not a pudding really, but a type of sausage. Black pudding has blood in it. All the "fried" meats and toasted breads done up in the typical Irish oven broiler.

Butter on your brown bread, your soda bread and your scones. Marmalade too.

A thick chowder of oysters and fish chunks and carrots and potato eaten on a pub patio with a neighborly cat and intermittent rain clouds and sun

Very old rock walls bordering the narrow country roadways, overgrown with so much vegetation that they can hardly be seen.

Suddenly, a compact forest of pine, neatly growing in the middle of an expanse of grass

Changing skies of blue, gray, rain, sun. Wind.

The smell of the harbor

The fishing boats. Some large, some small. All festooned with floats. Some with rust, others brightly painted along with the rust.

Walking in a salt marsh where several narrow bridges span small rivers of salt water. A sudden rain shower. We pulled our rain hoods close to our faces and turned our backs to the blowing water drops.

Open toed sandals – the footwear of the Irish ladies in summer.

Beautiful children with fresh wind chafed faces and wild hair.

Vivid music played by rough and tumble toe tapping lads

The Auto Loo

(It does everything but pee for you)

Evenings. Light until 11p and later.

A pint of Smithwicks, bangers and mash

A pint of Smithwicks, cabbage, bacon and parsley sauce

Babies. Baby carriage with babies. Toddlers at the beach. Lots of children here.

Down a one lane valley road with pullouts. Black Valley. Pony carts of tourists toodle by. Pull over we must.

Moments of tenseness on the road as inches separate you and the car or immense tourist bus traveling in the opposite direction and the impenetrable hedgerow on your other side.

Breakfast at a sunny roomed B & B served by the owner, a lady from Germany.

Being the passenger of the car on the right side of the car and as the car goes around a curve on your left, you lean to the right – it’s too close.

Blacksmithing. A doorway into a dark small room. A fire glows heavily. The steel is pressed to the flame and it glows with the fire. The blacksmith bends and pounds it into curling shapes that become the horns of a ram and then snuffs out the glowing in a quiet, cool barrel of water.

Everything against a background of many greens

The sea