OLD AND NEW

Sept 11, 2019: We travelled north yesterday from Roscrea to Ballinamore, a drive between the endless hedges and bushes, broken by a sudden field in the enchanting green we all associate with Ireland. I've decided it's the shade of green that is achieved in Montana when the pastures are fully alive after winter, for that brief time before they are to their fruition and begin to dry. It's not a new shade to me, but absorbing it every day, everywhere I look builds my red blood cells, and I hope I'm storing it up for our winter!

On the way we stopped at the Rock of Cashel, an imposing structure overlooking the town of Cashel and miles of surrounding land, rolling green in uneven shapes bounded by bushes and rock walls. As a center of power it dates back to the 4th and 5th centuries, and it was visited by St. Patrick. In 1101 the then King of Cashel gave the fortress to the Church, for solid political reasons, so the main building forms a cross, constructed in the 13th century. The roof is gone now, and I found my mind again mulling over the perseverance of the church, and it's parishioners (workmen) to dig and shape rock, build walls thirty feet high, and achieve balance and protection, with tools made by hand. That was the sacred awareness that flowed over me as we moved through the space, and walked among the graves outside.

After settling into Hamill's BnB, built to be a BnB by a family that had previously owned the shoe store where Andrew and his siblings bought their shoes once a year or so. Unlike BnB's in the U.S., the ones we stayed in were spotless with multiple rooms (up to twenty), towels were changed daily, and the morning meal was huge, generally with the owner being the cook.

Finally it was time to drive to the farm, to meet Brian's other half brother, Robert, and Andrew and Robert's mother, Sarah, who had just celebrated her 91st birthday. The  farmhouse is not unlike many we've seen, except for the flowers Robert has planted which were a cheerful greeting: hydrangea bushes in full pink bloom, rocket, a wild rose...I'll share the pictures as soon as I can. This is the land that Brian's father, Har, came to from Roscrea, a farm that was in Sarah's family. It was tough going because the soil holds water, you can't dig in it to plant, and it took a few years, lean years I'm sure, for them to manage that. Now there are cattle, blackberries, fireweed, tall trees, and an energetic 9-month old brown border collie named Bonnie (of course).

Sarah's eyes still sparkle between dozing sessions in her chair by the cook stove fueled by peat bricks, and "sticks" (logs). She listens and understands what's going on, and very occasionally lights up a cigarette under her sons' watchful eyes. She had gone to sleep in her clothes, and become tangled up in her brassier the previous night. I waited a bit and took a risk: "Sarah, brassieres are the work of the devil!" She made resounding agreement, chuckling "I know!" We also agreed ironing boards are in the same category! It was a quiet visit, since Sarah doesn't hear well, and Robert is a man of few words. But it was a lovely start and we felt welcomed into the fold

. We all agreed to lunch the next day in town.