BALLINAMORE

Awakening in Ballinamore, the ears reach out to the crows fussing at each other in the tall trees. We were 1/2 block from the main street, where cars are precariously parked randomly on both sides. Brian never remembered that he could sit on the left side of the car in the front passenger seat, and I had to remember frequently that Andrew was in the proper place on the right side. Most of the cars are smaller than U.S., but the trucks, and even logging trucks share the road. Sometimes I just closed my eyes when approached by a huge vehicle! Andrew figured out in U.S. $, Irish gas is currently about $7/gallon, although they buy liters. But their cars get far better mileage than ours.

At breakfast I had my first boxty. This is a very flat pancake (no leavening), made with mashed potatoes, grated raw potato, and flour. There are various brands apparently, some dumpling style, which I didn't get to try. Potatoes were present at all meals in restaurants, and you're likely to get fries and mashed potatoes with an entrée. Boxty's were tasty, so Andrew will send the recipe. Earlier in his life he worked on the industrial side of the food industry in quality control and safety. I spent 12 years as a cook and sous chef, so we had a lot in common.

We had a good walk checking out the town, and hearing stories from Andrew about its history. He and Robert grew up here. We stopped at one store, a "must see" Andrew said, that was absolutely packed with household items in no order whatsoever. But when customers came and asked, the owners knew right where things were. Then came the conversation about Andrew's family, and their family, and various others we didn't know, including where they live now, and who's healthy and who isn't. They were knitting the undergarment of community all over again. This ritual was repeated at every meeting of Andrew with the townspeople. It was a belonging reminder, and also a way to check on what one had heard from other sources.

We met Robert and Sarah for dinner, then drove to the church where Sarah and Har (Brian's birth father) were married, and where Har is buried. Sarah had had Robert come into town earlier in the day to buy plants to plant on the grave. They were cyclamen, which is a houseplant at home, but along with azaleas, can live year round outside here. The little church was very sweet, a refuge for hundreds through the years; it has an active congregation to this day. The basement housed the local school at one time, both Andrew and Robert remembered.

Back at the farm, we took a leisurely walk down the lanes in our Wellington boots (ditch boots) Andrew purchased for us, noting how dandelion looks slightly different, and excited to see lots of nettle. (It was used like rennet is now in past times, and for early mild greens.) Robert's dog, Bonnie, and I romped and chased while he did chores. He is the local inseminator for the small cattle herds that grace the pastures. So when he gets called, he goes for an hour or two in his Wellies! Another quiet evening with Sarah at the stove. She made a gift of a scarf for me, and we talked a bit. Then she began nodding off, then smoking, or drinking tea or coffee. Just as we were to leave, Robert offered Sarah and I some Baileys, and Brian a Guinness. This lead to some jokes about the U.S. political situation, and about the condition (or lack thereof) of Brexit. We all noted how Boris Johnson and D. Trump looked similar, and wondered at alien influences!

Welcomed by the fire, offered sweets and tea, joking, sharing, the weaving of family stories and passing of information, all of this brought a peacefulness to the evening as we started back to the BnB. My enchantment with our journey was deepening, and sleep came easily to us both.