My Collections

Fifth in a series.......

 

 

Natural Beauty

A Series of Short Stories

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes


I always bring back a stone or good sized rock from all of my travels.....as long as it doesn't weigh down the suitcase too much!  In a way, I feel as though just a tiny piece of the place comes home to live with us.  We can touch it, hold it in the palm of our hands or, just look at it and we are instantly swept back in time; living within our memories.

Down the Lane

I remember doing this as a kid on all of our family vacations with a stone from the Blue Ridge Mountains, Lake of the Ozark's, Upper Peninsula of Michigan and the foothills of Pikes Peak in Colorado.  I say foothills because once out there, my Dad refused to ruin the brakes on our car by climbing and descending this rocky behemoth with an elevation of over 14,000 feet!  Eventually, each 'unmarked' rock was put in a small box to mingle together throughout time and space.

This is the same way I feel about the images, usually in the hundreds (thank you digital cameras), brought home and uploaded to the computer.  Should I dare to wonder why the PC is so slow?  Note to Self: Finally use that 'external hard drive' to store your pics, OK?

One year, on a trip to Normandy in the north of France, I smuggled home a few scoops of soil.  I'm outed now!!  Having purchased flower seeds from a small nursery and garden shop along the Right Bank of the Seine in Paris, I nurtured those seeds in the Normandy soil within a pretty cobalt blue pot and witnessed the beauty of the seedlings as they matured into a profusion of color and fragrance on our lanai.

During that same visit to France, we went over knowing that our youngest daughter was engaged to be married.  Seeking what we believed to be a perfect engagement gift, led us on a series of interesting adventures among the locals of a small village near Mont-St.-Michel.  We came home with the prize: antique, monogrammed French linen sheets.  Sheets that only improve with time.  However, the unique stories we returned home with while looking for the sheets were nothing short of priceless.

People, places, fantastic memories and a few natural things.....these are the souvenirs of Joy and Happiness that constantly feed us until our next adventure begins.  This is what life is all about whether the experience is a shopping trip to the local Publix store for groceries or a pre-planned excursion to parts unknown.  Life itself is the adventure.....!

Once again I sit at my desk going through the pictures from Galway and Connemara thinking about the story behind each one.  The stories come seeping out around the edges of a picture like the bubbling juices of an apple pie recently extracted from a hot oven.  Yummy, delicious stories made from many letters and emotions mixed and infused to create a whole, at least, in my mind.

It is so enjoyable sharing these sweet thoughts with you, in story and picture form.  I am uncertain as to whether my goal is to entice you to visit where we've been or, create the essence of you having already been there via my stories.  Whichever works for you, my readers.  My stories and pictures are combined with you in mind.  Also, I really enjoy the travel, writing and photography!!

Today I am introducing 'My Collections' segment.  Before leaving for places yet to be discovered by my camera's lens, I create a list of ideas to focus on.  It may be a collection of 'lace curtain' windows, colorful Dublin Georgian doors, or children in Paris walking home from school.  Opening my imagination to any and all suggestions, it's amazing what collections are added to the list once we arrive at our destination.  This is a major part of the excitement of travel for me.  The photos that come home with us are the basis for all of the stories I write and they serve to remind me of things leading up to, as well as what transpired after each was taken.

In addition to my photo collection, potential rock-garden from around the world and agricultural transgression (singular, I might add!), the books by French and Irish authors brought back to fill our minds and spirits with great stories have become an essential part of my life.  Eason's Bookstore and WH Smith Books, my Irish counterparts to Barnes and Noble, are a must stop each trip.  My husband and I never wonder why our check-in luggage sports a bright red tag for 'excessive weight' on returning flights!

I made my virgin visit to the Eason's, located at Lower O'Connell Street, Dublin City, back in 1990, bringing home books by Michael Farrell, Brinsley MacNamara, J. G. Farrell and a 1988 paperback edition of a book entitled The Lilac Bus by Maeve Binchy.  This was still quite early in her career and she had yet to be picked-up by her U.S. publisher, Anchor Books.  Consequently, I had no earthly clue as to the future importance of this little gem of a book or the brilliant impact this author would soon have on the literary world.

Today I bring home talented U.K. authors the likes of Cathy Kelly, Edna O'Brien and the talented Kate Mosse who, with her well written trilogy that revolves around Carcassonne, a fortified French town in the province of Languedoc-Roussillon, has one foot in the U.K. publishing market and the other in the U.S.  She lives between England and France.  And, yes, I may covet her life to a certain degree.....

Anyway, the point is that as I've been writing this piece, my initial 'Collection' has been following me down the page.  Have you noticed?  Ever since checking into our sweet little cottage in Oughterard that was surrounded by the most charming dry-stacked stone wall, I've been captivated by them.  Of course, they are everywhere you look in Ireland.  They were stacked with hard work, pain and absolute attention to detail and some remain totally naked of vegetation while others are tenderly wrapped like exquisite Christmas packages in tendrils of ivy and soft, soft moss.  Everywhere we turned these beautiful dividers of working fields, homes and barns, and emerald green pastures provided a local art form passed down from one generation to another.  I felt so privileged to have had an opportunity to preserve them in my own way.

What feeds your desire to travel to a certain place and then, perhaps, return there again and again and again......?

Connemara Bound

Fourth  in a series......


Our Little Fiat and My Happy Chauffeur

A Series of Short Stories

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes


Seaside dreaming today with warm breezes and beautiful people and heading back to Orlando just isn't on the itinerary.

Driving on the left side of the road while correctly observing any and all laws of the road in Ireland is a highly appealing endeavor for my husband.  Notice I did not say challenge....no, because he absolutely feels right at home traversing Irish roads whether they be within a city or country setting.

Personally, just sitting on the left side of the front seat and not having the steering wheel right in front of me makes me nervous.  Watching him shift gears with his left hand while on the right side of the vehicle is very strange.  Having all of this come together seamlessly is absolutely amazing!  My saving grace is that I willfully become the navigator for the duration with the power to direct us, most of the time, in the proper direction and down the right roads.


You see, it's really about having the power and, with us splitting up the 'obligations of the road' like this, it affords us both the semblance of sharing that power as one unit.  All I really know is that it seems to work for us and we safely navigate the Irish roads feeling very much like the locals heading out on an adventure or intentionally seeking a favorite pub for a pint with friends.

After recently settling into our comfortable cottage and conquering mountain heights, we decided to seek out the extreme  beauty of the Connemara coastline and capture the distant sights, as seen from the summit of Diamond Hill, and preserve them in pictures.  From up high the coastline resembled long, narrow fingers of land and rock reaching out into the chilly blue waters of the Atlantic as if pointing the way to America.  All aboard.....next stop America, the land of opportunity!  I could literally imagine its extreme magnetic pull on the starving Irish population in search of a better life.

Rushing down the N59 towards Clifden felt comfortable to us by now and much like traveling the familiar roads that lead to and from Grandma's house when you are young.  Clifden is a stunning city nestled ideally between the mouth of Clifden Bay and the cloud shadowed and rounded peaks of Na Beanna Beola or The Twelve Pins.  Even though Clifden was on our radar, we made the decision to approach it via the narrow, scenic roads that hugged various bays that ultimately made their way out into the Atlantic Ocean.  Clinging to these roads like small, semi-precious gemstones adorning a landscape so filled with color and texture that even the most perfect female neckline would not do them justice, were small villages named Derryrush, Carna, Bunnahown and Cashel.  To this day, as we pour over our pictures, the vegetative saltiness of the sea is awakened in us by these images and our sensory perceptions return us to their rocky shorelines.

We were feeling a bit like voyeurs witnessing places never seen by tourists because the tourists can get blindsided by travel books and flashy neon signs.  Instead, we looked within the valleys and rocky crevices for the places and their people nestled among local parameters often not diluted by the outside world.  So, as we approached the town of Roundstone, we expected to see marquee attractions with tourists rushing back and forth in a mad dash to purchase that perfect keepsake to bring back home.  Oh, we might have several years ago, when Ireland was feeling an upsurge in tourism and Euros spent.  Today, this Mecca for traditional music, crafts and fashion has been tamed by the economic oppression of our times with one art gallery, a small gift shop, several restaurants and many empty storefronts lining its main street.

Walking down to the artist's village just south of town was sadly disappointing, as well.  A once thriving commune set gently beside the sea had at one time boasted many studios but had dwindled down to two, a pottery maker and a music shop, and had the ravaged appearance of a defeated community replete with untamed vegetation and chipping paint.  We decided to walk back into town for a light lunch and then continue on to Dog's Bay.
 
Dog's Bay was amazing as we walked the picturesque beach leaving our footprints in the sand to be washed out to sea by the incoming waves.  The artistic impressions made by the water at high tide resembled the paths of worms or random tree branches embedded in the wet sand.  Each was unique and very beautiful.  We walked the beach line hand-in-hand while skirting wayward rock formations dripping in neon green vegetation and looking like turtles sporting bright toupees.  The sea water was chilling as it snuck up on us and despite this, several young families bravely romped waist deep in the late September surf as they screamed in playful shock and sun-streaked delight.

Having walked to the terraced stone wall that flanked the southwestern end of the beach and separated it from the open sea, we retraced our steps and then headed up the grassy slopes that literally divided Dog's Bay down the center creating a mirrored beach on the east side.  Within this fertile grazing area lived scattered cows and sheep and we gingerly followed along the fence line separating the beaches before making our way back to the parking lot.  Looking back over our shoulder one final time, our eyes were bedazzled by the myriad of diamonds sparkling brightly as the afternoon sun kissed the azure sea.

Soon we slipped back on the R341 rounding a host of small lakes to our right and Ballyconneely Bay on our left.  Not noted for remaining on the beaten track for very long, we made a left turn onto a small road that we knew would dead end at the sea but might offer us another adventure.  We were not disappointed as we passed the ruins of a rather large country estate and wondered about its history and its missing roof!  As we rounded a large mound that had been beaten senselessly by rain, wind and time, we followed a sweeping curve lined with old stone houses, as well as modern two-story condominiums, all framed by large hydrangea bushes still wearing their magnificent pink blooms.

Parking our car by the wharf, we walked to the end of the pier facing out to the open sea.  Looking over to our left, we were now across the water from the beaten mound and the forgotten estate.  Another couple, quite well dressed and who looked to be in their mid-70's, had followed behind us.  Somehow I felt that even if they weren't locals, they surly knew a bit about the history of this area, and they certainly did!!

Still living in Dublin but having vacationed here for over ten years, they purchased one of the modern condo units and drive between Dublin and this small village every weekend.  The four of us braced ourselves against the strong sea breezes and turned-up the volume of our voices for the next twenty minutes or more.

What an interesting life they had led with five children, now grown adults, scattered from Ireland to Great Britain and down to New Zealand.  The gentleman gave us the estate's history saying that the owners, told to pay soaring taxes on the estate by the Irish government, allowed the roof to be removed and the weather to claim it rather than pay more taxes on a property they could barely maintain in the first place.  Unfortunately, this has been the case throughout Ireland for many decades thus robbing the country of its rich and valuable history.  And, by the way, our weathered mound turned out to be a sixty million year old dormant volcano!
  
With the sun dipping low in the sky, we finally reached the outskirts of Clifden and followed the narrow road out to the yacht club and bay, one of the narrow, stony fingers pointing out to the sea.  Turning around and heading east, back towards the city, the setting sun majestically pulled its golden cloak over the land and by the time we reached a hilltop, the richness and beauty of Clifden lay before us in all its glory.  The spires of two churches pierced the evening sky and towered like mighty sentinels standing between the mountains and the bay as they silently protected the inhabitants below.                                                                        

                                                                         Clifden

Slipping into Malone's Pub located on Market Street in downtown Clifden, we enjoyed a delicious steak dinner while being entertained by local musicians playing traditional Irish music.  It was Art Festival Week in Clifden.  What beautiful timing for us!

Our late evening drive home on the N59 wrapped all of the scenic charm of this drive within a blanket of darkness.  Eliminating this pleasurable distraction afforded us the luxury of talking about our amazing adventures that day.  Arriving back in Oughterard later, we already had an idea as to where we might be heading out to tomorrow........but, no earthly idea about what new and exciting adventures might be waiting for us. 

Until then........!
 

                     
                                                                  Beach At Dog's Bay

Land Between The Sea At Dog's Bay 

Our Irish Cottage

IRELAND...A RICH, ARTISTIC PERFORMANCE - PART II

Beautiful Yellow Cottage In Adare, Ireland

Many of us pine away for a simpler life with an intense longing for a time from the past that could make us feel safe and calm once again.  Dlaura Cottage, located just north of Galway City, did just that!  With sheep and cows as our neighbors and a cozy, peat fire to keep us warm....this petite, thatched cottage provided us with a glimpse into the past, before The Great Famine, when walking the grassy path into town and back was a day's adventure.

Between now and St. Patrick's Day, March 17, my initial three stories of 'MOVING ON.....2013' will be spotlighted.  Most Bloggers realize that as time goes by, our archived stories need to be dusted-off a little bit and reintroduced as our 'Humble Beginnings.'

I see Ireland as a rich, artistic performance, alive with nuance, as in, forty shades of green!  Please enjoy Part II of this 'retro' series entitled, Our Irish Cottage, dated October 31, 2013.












Third in a series........

  

Gateway to Connemara

A Series of Short Stories


By: Jacqueline E. Hughes


We recently arrived at Shannon Airport to collect our rental car and make our way to Galway City for the night and going back to Orlando was the furthest thing from our minds.....

A View From The Lane 

How does one approach something that has only been a dream up until now?  My husband has the tendency to calmly seize the moment allowing it to wash over him like light summer rain requiring no umbrella as he absorbs each little detail completely and then neatly tucks it away for future reference.  I, on the other hand, as our children will attest to, approach life's offerings with a more unsubtle attitude.....much like a thunderstorm with my head up among the massive, gray cumulonimbus clouds personally heaving giant lightening rods down upon the trembling earth below while laughing uncontrollably from the shear excitement of it all.  Consequently, the Pragmatist and the Dreamer sharing a meaningful life for over forty years together despite the mixed bag of atmospheric conditions.

The desire to one day stay in a true Irish cottage had been one of ours for so long now I can't really stamp a date on it.  I do know that the small thatched cottage located in Adare, County Limerick, we visited on our initial visit to Ireland in August of 1990, has always held a place in our hearts.  Our daughters, aged 14 and 11 at the time, accompanied us on that trip and I can still envision them as they seemed to meld among the tall, shiny flower pots dripping with a profusion of blooms of every color imaginable that generously decorated the stone paths of the petite structure.  Yes, my Canon AE-1 was a huge factor in helping to create and collect these amazing family memories.  And, even though I would be lost without my lightweight, highly intelligent Canon EOS today....my AE-1 was a very worthy predecessor and now looks down on me from an upper shelf in my home office as I work.

Two years ago we had originally planned this current trip with Galway City and parts north in mind and had actually booked a week long stay in our traditional cottage back then.  We fell in love with its location in Oughterard, known as the Gateway to Connemara, as well as its close proximity to Galway City, Lough Corrib and 'The Wild Western Way' which we planned to walk a small portion of this visit.  Unfortunately, due to circumstances way beyond our control, we had to cancel that stay at Cottage No. 255, Dlaura Cottage, for a week in September, 2011, but somehow could never quite forget about it.  Having booked it through Matthew Boyd and his competent team at Shamrock Cottages, the same group we'd booked our house through in Adrigole, County Cork, back in 2006, I highly recommend them if you desire self-catering accommodations in Ireland.  I promise you, I do not profit in any way from this recommendation except for leading you in the right direction.

Finally, we were to meet Mrs. Christina O'Malley of P Joe's, Clifden Road, Clareville, Oughterard, County Galway.....proud owner and caretaker of Dlaura Cottage!!  That's right there with the illogical sounding yet appropriate directions to Craggy Island B&B we would receive later in the week.




Dutch Door Entryway

Christina O'Malley resembled the proverbial aging elementary teacher with her permed and graying coif, appealing country manner and style, all topped with a generous broad smile which was the cherry on top of the ice cream sundae.  She made us feel welcomed and instantly right at home.  Having met her at P Joe's, the name of her home located directly on the N59, she asked us to follow her in our separate vehicle as we mini-caravanned our way down a grassy lane for over a mile and then made a drastic right-hand turn down an even narrower lane actually passing one home under construction and another farmhouse high up on a hill.  Eventually, we approached an opened gate and, chugging up a small hill, we were introduced to our Home-Away-From-Home for a week, Dlaura Cottage.


The Internet pictures could never capture the true essence of this amazing spot we would be calling home.  My jaw dropped as she turned the key in the lock of the Dutch door, painted bright green against the stark white of the cottage's exterior, with dense, water-marked glass panes decorating the erratic mullioned rectangles of its top half.  Walking inside, our sense of smell was sharpened by the lingering aroma of previously burned peat in the air and she drew our attention to the small, black stove centrally located in the tiny living area....our main source of heat.  Later, she showed us how to light and maintain a fire which we ultimately allowed to burn itself out because of the intensity of the heat.

Mrs. O'Malley was so proud to hand us a cut-glass plate of homemade scones and raspberry jam as a housewarming gift and we savored them with freshly pressed coffee each morning for breakfast.

The Grand Tour lasted only a short while, but we had so many questions for Mrs. O'Malley that she remained talking with us for quite some time and we learned the homestead, including stone house, barn, wall and several out-buildings, had been built around 1830.  The families who called the cottage home throughout the years were mainly very poor farmers barely making ends meet.  She told us she had acquired the cottage via her husband's grandparents who raised their four sons there and she, eventually, married Patrick, a son by their youngest boy, Joseph.
     

A 'Dry Stacked' Stone Barn Wall Still Standing

She explained that she has many returning customers to Dlaura Cottage and we definitely could see why.  She walked us outside to show us the modern meter hanging on the side of the cottage which we were to use to calculate our energy consumption for the week and leave payment on the table before departing the following Saturday.  Wishing us a wonderful week and offering her services anytime needed.....she was heading down the lane and still waving good-bye from the open window of her silver Nissan.

What followed next was akin to a major animal feeding frenzy.....there is no better way to explain it!   Unsheathing my camera from its case, the first of many, many pictures of this magical spot was taken.  The lighting was good and the scenery spectacular that afternoon with several cows grazing on the grassy slope behind us, large fluffy, white sheep roaming the pastures in front, all the while I was intoxicated by the heavy, earthy aroma of our peat fire chugging grayish smoke from the white chimney above.  Nothing was safe from my camera lens and several of the cows just stared at me, juicy grasses drooling from their mouths, in complete wonderment as if I were a Banshee wailing, not for an impending death, but rather for the beauty and purity of life.





A Bovine Friend Looking On

Finally, I came up for air and went inside to find my husband and unpack.  Did I really just loose all constraints of time for over forty-five amazing minutes?  Yes!  The sheer joy of my experience still enveloped me as I looked into the tiny kitchen to see a strange look on my husband's face only to find out that he had just removed from the kitchen one very large, hairy spider, as well as several smaller versions confidently scurrying around the other rooms.  We had always concluded that Saint Patrick, having rid the Island of its snake population, did absolutely no favors for the arachnophobia inclined people he left behind.

During our visit to Adrigole, County Cork, in 2006, I did gain 'Banshee Status' after walking into a rather large spider web while entering the garden early one morning armed with a full mug of steaming coffee in one hand.  My husband, in total shock behind me, witnessed a scene that probably scarred him for the rest of his life.....  Because, five seconds later, I was holding an absolutely empty mug and always hoped that I had fried the spider with its hot contents as I danced wildly about the garden.  Someone once wrote that after walking through a spider's web, they felt like they had just completed a weeks' worth of cardio.  I can attest to that!!

 

 

Our Cute Kitchen

                                                           

Having concluded that he was on spider control for the week, I began capturing interior shots prior to unpacking, eventually exhausting what little natural light that was left.  We gingerly unpacked and made ourselves right at home because that's exactly how this small cottage made us feel.

Soon, with hunger pangs guiding us along, we set out on a new adventure by locking-up and heading down our narrow lane at dusk, closing the gate behind us.  Leaving our cottage behind for several hours, we were off to discover the shops and people of Oughterard.  And, even though we were unaware of it at the time, we were setting out to make The Boat Inn, the popular eatery and hang-out for the locals, our harbor after daily adventures and main source of nightly entertainment.....




Great Grandparents of Mrs. O'Malley's Husband

  

                                          




Our Soft Front Yard Friends

                                                         

The Cottage Heating System

                                                          

The 'Keeper of the Gate'

                                                              




Leaving the Light On.........!

                                                            

STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN

IRELAND...A RICH, ARTISTIC PERFORMANCE - PART III 

WISHING YOU A VERY HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY!

Each visit to Ireland leaves me breathless....and, pining for more and this deep longing to return haunts me until I am finally back and enjoying the rich, artistic performance attributed to the genuine beauty that God has bestowed on this land...her people.

Today I dust-off yet another archived story in tribute to Ireland and St. Patrick's Day, the final in a three-part salute to a place that has always made me feel right at home. Her people, landmarks and history amaze me and are what stories and legends are made from. Today I honor St. Patrick himself and sincerely apologize for my short-comings when it came down to the wire the day I stood looking-up at Croagh Patrick and declined your offer to climb.....

Hopefully, I have since made-up for my indiscretion.

Yes, I see Ireland as a rich, artistic performance, alive with nuance, as in forty shades of green! Please enjoy Part III lovingly entitled, Stairway to Heaven, and dated October 24, 2013.  

CASHEL

Second in a series..........



Croagh Patrick ~ County Mayo

A Series of Short Stories 




By: Jacqueline Hughes


We were waking up on Tuesday morning, the fourth day of our trip in Ireland, and going back home to Orlando was the furthest thought from our minds.....


The Boat Inn located in the center of Oughterard soon became our home away from home....away from home.  It's where we rubbed elbows with the locals and learned interesting tidbits about the history of this beautiful area, if not interesting tidbits about the locals themselves.  This establishment soon became our haunt, refuge, thirst and hunger quencher, and source of laughter and good cheer after an exciting day of traversing the Irish landscape.  With the condensation from our pints of Guinness creating small, circular pools of water on the wooden tabletop, many major decisions were made there each evening.  Yes, what shall we have to eat and should we order another pint were among them, but not exclusively....


Allow me to flip back several months before, during the planning stages of this Irish adventure to celebrate our Wedding Anniversary.  We decided we wanted to climb a mountain!!  Not just any mountain.  We knew in our bones that Croagh Patrick would be conquered by us paying homage to this beloved Saint, as well as to the Catholic upbringing of our youth.  No....we would be practical and walk up the mountain and not crawl on our hands and knees or bare feet as many penitents do, especially on the last Sunday in July called Garland Sunday.  And, we firmly believed that climbing Croagh Patrick was an attainable feat.  No questions asked.....outcome practically written in stone, so to speak.


Sitting at our table at the Boat Inn that Sunday evening, the end of our third day in Ireland, we were singing a completely different tune......and, with good reason.  We'd spent the day driving up to Westport and then taking the R335 to check out this ancient, stony monument that had placed us in its shadow for the last 45 km and evoked a real sense of foreboding in me.  Initially, I didn't share these dark thoughts with my husband and by the time we had parked and walked up to the Visitor's Center at the foot of Croagh Patrick, my hands sweating, my knees buckling, he asked me what was wrong.  At this point, I was beginning to think of the proverbial theme of Good vs. Evil with the mountain oozing Love and Kindness and me.....well, I won't go there.  Anyway, I told him of my trepidations and anticipated his concerns for me but, oh no!!  No.  He wanted to conquer Croagh Patrick!  Plain and as simple as that.

 

FAMINE SCULPTURE OF MURRISK, COUNTY MAYO

 

Realizing that instead of driving us closer together along this 'Journey of Life,' St. Patrick, at least his mountain, was parting us like the Red Sea.  It was not pretty and that's all I will say.  Not saying much of anything to each other, we walked down from the lower footpaths of the mountain, through the parking lot and made our way across the road to the Famine Sculpture of Murrisk, County Mayo.  Anytime you can pay tribute to scores of people willing to sacrifice everything in order to escape the nothingness that made up their current existence.....it is a powerful experience.  We stood together looking at this superb bronze sculpture, big as life, depicting the refugees it carried as dead souls hanging from its sides.  Walking around to the front of the piece to take another picture, we both slowly began to realize just what had brought us there that day.  It wasn't to balance strength and stamina with the mountain.  And, it certainly wasn't to prove anything or drive a particular point home by feeling uncomfortable and not speaking to each other.  Rather, it was to take this picture......the skeletal depiction of our own ancestors fleeing from a life so inhumane, degrading and brutal that this pain even seeped into their very souls because all was so hopeless, so exasperating.  Looming high above the sculpture from this angle and offering quite a spectacular backdrop, was the mountain, our bone of contention.  Except that now, this humble shrine made of rock, blood and tears, acted as the protector it always has been, opening its giant arms wide to enfold the souls that gave up so much, even their land and culture.  Simply, they literally were sacrificing the future of Ireland.


Who was feeling humble now?  That was quite a 'kick in the butt' there, Saint Patrick.  Always believing that things do happen for a reason, we smiled at one another and allowed the power of that moment, that scene, to sink in and bring us both back down to the size of a grain of sand.  We are all interconnected, an organic whole, and we can't do it alone.  Walking hand-in-hand, we strolled down to the chapel ruin just down the hill and through the trees.

 

KYLEMORE ABBEY

 

Having 'refreshments' at the Boat Inn Monday evening, we reflected on our visit to Kylemore Abbey earlier in the day and how the nuns still operate the Abbey as a school to this day.  Originally a hunting lodge, the beautiful structure is surrounded by lakes, mountains, sculptured gardens and Connemara National Park which was actually part of the original estate.   We began discussing the park in terms of walking trails and becoming one with nature....and all of that.  Sounded great to me because I really enjoy walking in the woods with gentle breezes and being surrounded by trees, birds singing and blue skies above.  My husband then mentions that the park is dedicated to a single feature named Diamond Hill.  Really, a hill?  That sounds reasonable to me.  Hiking nature trails and walking leisurely up and down a hill works for me.  After bending our elbows one last time that night, we collapsed into our bed back at the cottage with the anticipation of tomorrow quickly pulling us into Dreamland. 


Layering our hiking clothes due to an overcast sky with possible rain forecasted, we gingerly headed out Tuesday morning with destination....Connemara National Park/Diamond Hill.  I just love the drive to get there because it takes us through some of the most amazing hills and valleys shocking the eyes with many serious shades of green that are bisected by random waterfalls that spring from the mountains like majestic watering fountains for the gods!  We circle Na Beanna Beola or The Twelve Bens mountains that slither throughout Connemara as if together they were a dragon gliding low to the earth scouting out its prey.  Our journey takes us alongside the Wild Western Way, a walking trail that stretches across some of the most rugged and beautiful landscapes in Ireland and is an inspiration for all who seek out exercise and nature at its best.


Nearing our destination, I decide to pull out my trusty DK Ireland to get some useful facts about Diamond Hill because I'd noticed before turning in last night, my husband had been perusing the DK, as well.  Yes, Connemara ponies roaming semi-wild, strong and beautiful.  The St. Dabeoc's heath or purple heather should still be decorating our walk and helping to give some brightness and color to a hazy looking morning.   With any luck we may come across red deer, a wild fox or even see merlins, small falcons that nest in the scattered clumps of wild heather along the bogs.  Then it hits me, ".....four of the Twelve Bens, including Benbaun, the highest mountain in the range at 2,400 ft. and the peak of Diamond Hill, lie within the park's more than 5,000 acres!!"  I am so screwed!


Having been sheltered within the tree line while entering the park, I hadn't noticed the hulking behemoth that now stood between my physical being and my severely bruised ego.  Oh, and did I mention marriage, as well? 

Three paths charted as White, Blue and Red marked our way.  The White, simple, created a pleasant access to taking pictures of the handsome Connemara ponies that grazed within its circumference; the Blue offered a longer walk of stacked stone with occasional wooden walkways that navigated the bogs that surrounded the base of the mountain; the Red.....well, it went, for the most part, pretty much straight up to the summit and down again. 


Not many words were spoken between us standing at the base of path number three, appropriately colored (as in RED for Danger), I might add.  After the debacle at Croagh Patrick, things were only looking up.....straight up!  I remember repeating over and over in my head as we climbed how stunning my pictures will be taken from up there.  And, bonus....my social life progressed very nicely during the climb as I would literally have to squeeze into the side of the mountain to allow other hikers to pass us thus affording all of us a brief chat along the way.  This was a maneuver deftly acquired while golfing and allowing others to "play through."  I am nothing if not polite. 


Saint Patrick secured his penitents after all between softly spoken prayers and heartfelt promises to be a better person in the future, this climb was challenging, rewarding and truly a religious experience for both of us.  Finally, after a series of false summits and strong, loving hands boosting me up from behind, we reached the pinnacle of our desire; the culmination of our strength and determination.  An amazing German couple, who we had allowed to "play through" earlier, greeted and congratulated us and took our picture on top of the world to prove that all of our efforts were rewarded by the panoramic beauty surrounding us.  Soon they headed down and we became the greeters on the summit.  A young Irish couple stumbled over the top next and we shouted out our happiness for them.  She immediately acknowledged that it never would have happened without her companion pushing her up from behind and I confessed to the very same.  Her Irish gentleman, laden with layers of outer gear, looked at me and said, "At least you kept your own jacket on!"  That's true.


The view was spectacular and the photos outstanding, to say the very least, but the pride and self-confidence I brought down that mountain with me that day was beyond compare.  Was I humbled?  You betcha, and so grateful for the chance to be able to share this priceless experience with someone I love so much.  If you ever feel the need to measure the patience level of your spouse, just climb a mountain with them.  Mine was a rock!


 

IRELAND...A RICH, ARTISTIC PERFORMANCE - PART I

I vividly remember returning home from our last trip to Ireland with sunshine in my pockets and the enthusiasm of a child anticipating Christmas morning!  It was time to explain every step we had taken, each thought we had had and volunteer a tidbit about everyone we had met during our visit and place these amazing memories in a brand new Blog site I created just for this purpose.

Between now and St. Patrick's Day, March 17, my initial three stories of 'MOVING ON.....2013' will be spotlighted.  Most Bloggers realize that as time goes by, our archived stories need to be dusted-off a little bit and reintroduced as our 'Humble Beginnings.'

I see Ireland  as a rich, artistic performance, alive with nuance, as in, forty shades of green!  Please enjoy Part I, and my first Blog contribution, simply entitled, Adrian, dated October 18, 2013.

 



ADRIAN


First in a series.....




Craggy Island Bed and Breakfast








 




Adrian and Small Pipes

.....as seen through my eyes!





By: Jacqueline E. Hughes



We were one day away from heading to Shannon Airport and going back home to Orlando, yet a million thoughts away from having to board a plane.......

The gas tank was just shy of full after filling up the night before at the local Topaz petrol station in Oughterard, our home-away-from-home for the last week. As anyone knows who travels, especially to places they hold near and dear to their hearts, the final few days of the visit can do wild and crazy things to one's psyche......such as, extensive/obsessive picture taking.  As if by so doing, one could permanently retain, not only the image of where you are, but the true spirit and essence of each breath you take while you are there and be able to digitally bring it home to stay with you forever. Or, travel roads you didn't expect to on this particular trip except for the fact that "Memory Lane" keeps calling with the promise of prolonging your departure a bit longer.

Well, both of these phenomena stroked our heart strings as surely as a red headed lass deftly playing her harp.

So, heading south on the N59 towards Galway City, we made a plan to veer west into The Burren and make our way through Ballyvaughn and Lisdoonvarna with the destination of Doolin in mind. Doolin, in County Clare, sits just off the Atlantic coastline and seven years ago it was our jumping-off point for a ferry ride to the amazing Aran Islands. We spent a few hours....okay, quite a few hours, back when, in Gus O'Connors Pub in Doolin bending an elbow with a pint or so of Guinness and listening to Traditional Irish music with tears in our eyes but joy in our hearts and gratefully sharing the experience with good friends who joined us on this visit.

This time, however, we knew our time here was limited and opted for a wine and cold sandwich picnic replete with a huge 'rock table' overlooking the sea and the Aran Islands to the west and the Cliffs of Moher nestled comfortably at our backs, protecting and supporting us. Amazing!




Ferry Boats to Aran Islands



As we ate and drank, talked and devoured the scenery, we were thinking the entire time about Adrian O'Connor.....  You see, we fell in love with Adrian seven years ago while staying at Craggy Island. Adrian and his beautiful wife, Beth, ran this cozy, rustic farmhouse as a B&B that happened to be our final two night's stay back then. Nestled high on a hill and surrounded by fields and trees, livestock and long, winding roads just begging to be walked down, the wind off the Atlantic circled the little establishment as its curled and chilly fingers held it firmly within its grasp. Beth would offer you hot tea to stave off the chill and Adrian, a local renowned musician, would whisper stories about County Clare or enlighten you with the emotional and personal reasoning behind the music he had written, arranged and produced on his first CD entitled......Often I Think About Doolin. We brought this particular CD with us on this trip to play in the rental car as we traversed the narrow roads of Connemara and Mayo knowing that Adrian's musical lilt would keep us safe.....comfortable.

With the final sip of the delicious Rosé we'd discovered and purchased at the Country Choice Shop in Nenagh, County Tipperary, after landing at Shannon Airport our first day, our plan was to find Adrian before heading to Bunratty for the night. I knew that he and Beth had given up the B&B when trying to make reservations there a few months ago for our last night's stay this trip, and could not. The local proprietor of the Traditional Irish Music Shop in Doolin told us Adrian still lived at Craggy Island......I love that the Irish name their homes......but had been ill and decided to retire. He instructed us to take this bend around that rock and turn left beside those ruins and then follow the lane to the right of that church.....and, we might find him at home! So, we did.

Amazing how you truly never forget the places that comfort you. True, perhaps we'd taken a wrong turn at several of the afore mentioned landmarks, and keeping in mind that we really needed to use up most of our gas considering car rentals in Ireland provide you with an initial full tank and ask you to bring it back nearly empty, meandering the countryside was a totally positive adventure. But, like a trained homing pigeon, we made yet another right-hand turn and victory was ours as Craggy Island sat majestically on her hilltop shimmering in the afternoon sunlight.

As we pulled into the familiar driveway, we didn't know what to expect. Instantly a very thin individual emerged from a shed at the back of the house and as he walked into the light we could recognize Adrian's fine facial features and elongated, slim musician's hands......

Adrian was in a three and a half year cancer remission with the toll of the disease and its chemical cure taking bits and parcels physically out of this beautiful man. Despite this, his smile could beam pure light into the darkest day and his zest for life was not hidden by the scars of his illness. I asked him if he continued to write more music and he told us he was working on several new songs and hoped to compile a new CD soon. It was nothing short of pure joy to see that his passion and spirit continued to soar above the clouds. Even though the Irish Hurling rematch for the championship title between County Clare and County Cork was due to begin shortly (Adrian was born in Cork but has resided in Clare most of his life), he invited us in for tea........always the gracious host! Sadly, we declined, not wanting to interrupt the start of the game for him.

Suddenly Adrian stood and told us he'd be right back, as if remembering the kettle was on and it had been whistling a merry tune in his kitchen all this time. We knew he'd truly remembered us when he returned within moments carrying a small set of pipes that appeared as old and craggy as our dear friend. Adrian promised to play the pipes for us seven years ago but we'd all been too busy for this private concert to take place. Now, through his illness, after five grandchildren had been born to us and, as sure as the salty Atlantic winds continue to lash relentlessly across this amazing coastline......, Adrian's music washed over us like a Mother's sweet breath as we stood swaying back and forth......promise fulfilled.

Okay, so I could barely make out his face four songs later due to the tears freely flowing from my eyes.  However, I knew that at that precise moment in time, as sure as the Irish sun was shining down upon us, as precious as the memory of a grandchild's kiss, as blissful as an invigorating walk through a green-splashed forest on a Sunday morning.....we were in the midst of a power so great and so strong, it was bigger than all of us, yet it was all of us combined! Love isn't complicated. You just have to be aware of it with every breath you take. My 'tears of happiness' equaled nothing short of pure peace and solace in my life. Thank you my friend.......

I asked Adrian if I could have my picture taken with him and, to my delight, a huge smile spread across his stubbly face like an Irish rainbow spreads across a bright blue sky after the rain. We missed seeing the vivid arc of a rainbow this trip because the sun blazed across this magical land for most of our stay. So, capturing his smile was exceptionally sweet.

Picture taken. Destination Bunratty imminent. E-mail addresses exchanged with promises of new work forthcoming. All good. All perfect in an imperfect world. Is this even possible? That day it was.

Many things crossed my mind as we were pulling out of Adrian's gravel driveway and waving good-bye to our friend and soulmate. Would we be blessed by his talent and hear his melodic voice again on a new CD in the near future? I certainly wanted to believe we would because Adrian, at that point, epitomized the perfect combination of Faith, Hope and Love within mankind. He was a survivor and possessed talent beyond compare. He made you believe in yourself. And, his unselfishness spread warmth and kindness to the four corners of County Clare and beyond.

As we made our way down the narrow road, I pictured him turning on his television to watch the game and hoped that Clare came through with flying colors. The next thing I did was give a huge shout out: "Up Clare!!"


Post Script: For all of you Irish Hurling fans out there, this is an update. County Clare proudly holds this year's title of Champions!

Adrian an Me