Tuesday to Sunday...

Cead Mile Failte!

Tuesday, we journeyed to Burrishoole Abbey. Near the road's entrance, there is a stone wall creating a closed circle with three huge trees. This is the burial site for famine children who had not been baptized, a large grave site with no markers now on private land. We walked down the abbey road at our own pace -with Connie, Dotty and I sharing a moment with three local cows (I mean cattle). It felt a bit like a stand off to see who would move last. The cattle won. :-)

Burrishoole Abbey was built in 1469. It is on the land's edge where the quay and ocean converge. It is believed that cows will lie down on patches where water runs in the earth beneath them. Farmers not too long ago would carry a slice of bread of something in a pocket in case they suddenly experiences Faire Gortha (Great Hunger). Some believe it is the convergence of water under ground, and I believe it could also be related to where a famine victim collapsed or was placed on the ground by those carrying them when they had to switch sides. It is a sudden strong need for food that can't be appeased by a fruit or sweets (at least it wasn't for me).

On Wednesday, we journeyed to Achill Island exploring another of Granuaille's castles, more famine houses, and cemetery where the sheep have adapted to walking on the rock walls or leaping up onto them to get over them. They seemed much more hesitant to jump down than they did to jump up. One came within the width of a gravesite distance for the grass growing beneath me. Walking back, I met Louisa, an adorable white terrier who posed for me and shared her collar tag that read: "When I grow up, I want to be a Rotweiller."

The afternoon was spent walking Keel Beach, a blue flag beach, where swimmers donned wet suits and took to the frigid waters. One man wore only a brief - we shivered and couldn't watch. As we were leaving, Sue and I met a young couple who had come on their honeymoon from Leichester the first time, and returned now with three small children.

Thursday, we visited the Craggan. The vast bog lands on the way are so different that the sheep won't even graze there. That is indeed a sign, as the animals here seem pretty smart. We enjoyed a late lunch at Neville's Pub. I had my first of Irish beef, and it was so tasty. I could really taste the freshness.

My favorite day was Friday, when we took the ferry to Clare Island. We were transported up the three miles to the lighthouse. Carefully, on hands and knees, I crawled to the edge and photographed downward. I was so high up that it was disorienting at first - and then I realized just how high up I was: 350 feet to the rocky shoreline below me. Crawling backward and walking up steeper, I looked back to find that the overhang we had been on was solid, yet eroded in spots. The winds there made it impossible (or foolhardy) to walk up to the edge. What a rush, and more scary after - when I realized just how high up it was. We meandered in the sporadic mist and drizzle (no fogging up the lens necessary), the three miles back downward toward the dock - stopping along the way to visit with a weaver in her shop, shared crackers with a knitter, and enjoyed our packed lunch in the cozy cottage of Shari & Olcan.

The island is not really a tourist destination for most, instead, it is a working village where its residents rely on good old fashioned hard work and ingenuity to get by. The local school serves 21+ children, and secondary students must live in the mainland homes of other family during the week and only go home on weekends and holidays.

My last day with my photography group and photo caddy, Saturday, we stopped in Kinvarra, a small fishing village with a castle. We were given the challenge to only take 10 photographs. At first, it was tough, but with a bit of focus I found I was better at capturing better, more meaningful images. Thanks, Connie!

We lunched in Ballyvaughan, where thatch cottages are more common and for rent, and walked about making our way back to a meeting spot. Along the way, we had the great fortune to stumble upon a painting landscape competition with artists who were very willing (the two I spoke with) to share their work and their thoughts. Our final time was spent in and around The Burren. It is so beautiful, and so barren at the same time that it is amazing how much life it sustains. It is much like a granite dessert. We not only saw a variety of wild flowers, but also wild donkeys and farm cattle. At one time, farmers were asked to reduce the size of their herd by half (paid to do it) because the thoughts were that the cattle grazing was harming the wild flowers and such. Recently, botanists who've studied the impact agreed that the reduction was actually harming the landscape because of the reduced manure.

After hugs and wished for a safe journey, I parted from my photography group yesterday and had my first late dinner with no soup. I couldn't bear to not have Olcan serve Maureen's...it was the best! Instead I had Irish stew (poor lamb) was so yummy and filling - and the music of Ceolan made it so much less like I was alone.

As my photo friends made their way home, back to America, today - I photographed the Doolin Village and then...(to be continued)

Slainte (correct spelling!)