ONE DAY IN IRELAND

A series of shorts......

THE DOLMENS OF IRELAND.....   POULNABRONE DOLMEN

Some legends say the ancient dolmens and other stone structures found scattered throughout Ireland are portals to the realm of faerie......FAIRY FORTS!




.....through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes


Throughout my vast and elongated journey of reading and digesting the written word, I have accumulated a few books under my belt, so to speak.  Robert Ruark was the first modern day author to have opened-up my eyes, heart and soul to the mystical world of our beautiful earth.

The Serengeti Plain, a vast ecosystem in east-central Africa, was my base-station as I went on a safari guided by the best....the Englishman, Brian Dermott, who introduced me to the great lion, masterful hyena and powerful elephant.  My love for and desire to see Kenya and meet her people grew substantially with each paragraph that was read.  The book is entitled, Uhuru, written in the late 1950's and published in 1962.

Mr. Dermott's shooting device of choice was a long range hunting rifle by which he made his living.  Of course, today it would be the high-powered lens attached to a sophisticated camera.  Fortunately, times have changed! 

Interesting new words were introduced into my vocabulary such as nugu (ape), jambo (hello) and Bwana (Master).

My absolute joy for the written word began around this time....at least, I knew then that writing was both my career and my passion.  I realized that to be able to understand people and places of the world, I needed to add travel into this intoxicating mix.

I have yet to make that trip to Kenya in Africa and fulfill the dream of a 'starry-eyed' fifteen-year-old girl embarking upon a journey of a lifetime.....  So much has transpired since closing the pages of that life-changing novel and I do understand how it symbolized the freedom and joy that awaited me in the future.  Thank you, Mr. Ruark, from the depths of my heart!!

Eventually, writing and travel led me to many islands....and places semi-surrounded by the sea....with the sights, sounds and smells of its salty salve always healing the weary spirit like ointment on a wound.  Given the beauty, mystery and magical powers of Ireland that I read about in my youth, this incredible jewel, gently placed into the sea, resembles an exquisite piece of fine jewelry fit for a Fairy Queen (even a petite princess)!  

After all, doesn't the appearance of a rainbow, or the possible existence of the Banchee, Pookas and Changelings evoke mystery and intrigue?  Not to mention the most famous Irish legend of them all...the Leprechaun!  Who hasn't devoted at least one afternoon of their childhood enraptured by the movie 'Darby O'Gill and the Little People' and believed if they searched hard and long enough, a Leprechaun might just be inhabiting an underground world right in their own backyard?

Yes, it has taken a few years.....but, I believe I have actually found him!  My Leprechaun's name is John.  John is a farmer who lives on the west coast of Ireland, County Cork, but near the mountains and the sea.  At least, so he claims.....

Well, you decide for yourself if John holds Leprechaun status and let me know what you think.  All we know is that something magical happened that day in Ireland, high-up in the Caha Mountains, in a place of mist and legend....  
 


Author repost of One Day In Ireland.  
Originally posted: August 8, 2009

 

I know I must have sounded like a proverbial “broken record” to Family and Friends during this time period, however, I wanted to experience the joy of being a Grandparent in the worst possible way.  I believe I controlled my “Grandparent Desire” as much as I could while around my two married daughters, mainly because of the intricacies of conceiving that both had been experiencing.  My heart and profound love poured out to them each and every day.

       During September of 2006, very dear friends of ours joined us on a week-long visit to the west coast of Ireland where we shared a beautiful rental home located in Adrigole, County Cork.  Seated at the French doors of the kitchen eating area each morning, we sipped our pressed morning brew and devoured, what seemed like, and most likely were, pounds of Irish soda bread slathered in butter and Irish whiskey preserves.  This marvelous taste sensation was only equal to our view of the sun-kissed Bantry Bay that was a mere palm tree and ten grazing cows away from us.  But that’s another story and another time……

My story today involves our view from the other side of this comfortable property, just beyond the stacked stone pillars and ornate Iron Gate that separated us from the road into Glengarriff and the misty undulating outline of the ancient Caha Mountain range to the north.  What a spectacular sight they were each day as brilliant rainbows and steel gray clouds adorned their peaks with halos of color like giant ornate headpieces drenched in smoke and tears.  Within that ancient atmosphere of cool, moss covered stone and hidden vortexes is where this tale begins during the morning of our third day on this mystical and beautiful island.

Heading north in our rental car along R574, we knew we were entering a fairy tale land as the mist rose revealing the magnificent depths of the insanely lush, green valleys dotted with tiny, distant houses of unfathomable means of entry as we rose higher and higher toward Healy Pass.  “How on earth do the people get down there?” I asked my husband, Dan, not seeing any roads snaking their way along the valley wall below.  Having spent a lot of time traveling through the Great Smoky Mountains of Western North Carolina, I was more accustomed to seeing the houses literally sprouting from the sides of the mountain with complete communities clustered together deep in the valley rather than individual homes interspersed here and there.  I thought I might be lonely living down there in one of those houses.  But, would that even be possible if I was surrounded by such unbelievable beauty?

We did not pass nor did we see another car heading up to Healy Pass from the other side and by now we were feeling very possessive of the scenery as we stopped to take pictures.  The four of us did not hear the crunch of tires navigating over the loose stone parking area.  We did not see the other vehicle at all until the blue jean stuffed leather boots approached us bringing with them a compact gentleman who seemingly appeared out of nowhere!  With a twinkle in his eyes, I kid you not, he introduced himself as John, a local sheep farmer and began speaking to us as though the five of us had known one another all of our lives.  I sincerely believe he could have been Dan’s sprightly Irish Grandfather reincarnated in order to watch over us on our journey.  Looking more like he was in his late sixties, John kidded with my friend Christine and me and said that he was still, at fifty-two, looking for a wife and wanted to know if we were available.  Turning his craggy, weather-worn face towards me while placing his arm securely around my shoulder, he became quite serious and began to ask me questions.  Was I happy?  Did I have children and, if so, how many and boys or girls?  Were my two daughters married?  And, the most poignant question of all…….did I have any grandchildren yet?  Wait a minute.  Was I actually tearing-up as his calm blue eyes rimmed by bushy, salt and pepper eyebrows, looked deeply into my soul?  Yes.  I told him that God had yet to bless us with grandchildren but that we were waiting, hoping and praying for them.

The next series of events will stay with all four of us forever simply because there is no rational explanation for them at all.  Squeezing my shoulder, John said that 2007 would be a very good year and not to worry about grandbabies, they would come.  As a matter of fact, I would have two, both born the following year.  He kissed me on the cheek and slowly began walking back to his beat-up little car parked within inches of our back bumper.  As the back of his deep blue and perforated by age wool sweater penetrated my vision, I remained speechless until he waved one last time and headed down into the valley below.  He was as mysterious in taking his leave as he was in his arrival only moments before.  Not a single one of us spoke for almost a minute….quite a while considering what had just transpired.  Beyond the most obvious question of what was that all about?, the four of us calmly got back into the car only to pursue some rational explanations later…..after we could think more clearly.  Did we believe in Leprechauns?  Maybe we had no choice.

Miss Brenna Elizabeth was born to our eldest daughter, Alexandria, on May 17, 2007.  Miss Lydia Kaprice was born on November 23, 2007, to Corinne, our youngest daughter.  Whenever I see a rainbow now, I think about John and hope he is as happy as we are.