Put your cares and anxieties into a bit of cloth, affix it to a tree, and when the cloth erodes and vanished, so shall your cares...
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| Kylemore Abbey |
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Oooh - camera blur with the mysterious Kylemore Abbey peeking through
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Fountain at Abbeyglen Castle Hotel, near Kylemore Abbey, Clifden
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Abbeyglen Castle Hotel, ca 1830
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The Royale Cushy Chairs await, with fireplace saying mmmm, come in from the rain!
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Kylemore - recommend taking the road around, not swimming the pond. There are things there that - nibble..
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A very old flag, made of very thin wood, with a well tuned harp
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When England took over, they renamed everyplace because, well, it's what they do.
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Back lighting for the backside - pride in plumbing in the 19th century
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The young bride who succumbed to travel curiousity (and a touch of cholera)
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Kai-yen phonograph. It doesn't quite fit the decor, but it is a phonograph, and I'm not going to find one like this around Edmore.
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The Chapel
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The green marble is locally sourced. All the rage in the 1800s.
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Being a basic pagan, I thought at first glance the array on the left was a portable organ for the chapel.
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The furniture seemed more Stickley than Celtic.
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The mourning widower of the castle saw to it that this chapel would have a decided feminine tilt.
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Can never find a sundial that I can sync with my fitbit.
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Ruins of the many greenhouses in the garden area.
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| The comfortable life of a chief gardener in the 1800s. |
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And now to DK Cannemara Oyster Farm
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Owner of the farm, showing how to sneak up on an oyster and snag him!
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It takes three years to grow a proper oyster, which means, of course, that even a fresh oyster is three years old. A young lady in the tour consumed nine of them (they brought out a second tray) and later thought she felt funny. I had one. Didn't feel funny. Salty, perhaps, but not funny.
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Dan O'Hara Is More Than a Ballad - The Amazing O'Hara Homestead Farm
The
heartbreaking story of Dan O'Hara's family was a template for thousands
of Irish immigrants who came to the US during the famines of the
mid-1800s. His modest family life in a simple farm house was
devastated; he lost everything, brought his family to New York, watched
each member succumb to hunger in an intolerant new world, and died on
the streets, trying to sell matches to buy food. It is the stuff of
ballads. The farm owner, Robert (accompanied by his deaf dog), shared the
story and building with our group with his steady tenor, edged by a
recent tonsillectomy. The sense of space and time was preserved, and
the surrounding peat bog remains another source of preservation (during the famine, it served as a last-ditch effort to preserve food staples). Robert
displayed his knack for slicing the dark, dense vegetation, representing
three millennia of nature's compression of grasses, into fireplace
fuel. This stop was among
the most touching and illuminating visits of the journey. The power of
survival, with the celebration of a life always lived, was clearly
demonstrated in this beautiful afternoon visit.
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Robert, a professed "poor farmer"
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A brief lesson on peat, bogs, and keeping a clear head on a cloudy day.
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Many an Irish descendant has stopped at this homestead farm over the years, planting a tree on the walk to the modest home. Their names are commemorated with their trees, and are frequently familiar to the viewers.
This is a shot upward into the rafters of the thatched-roof cottage. Peat also serves as support for the thatch, and then it doubles as insulation.
A "poor farmer's" view from the front door.
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Sump'thin's on the kettle - quit yer knockin' and come on in!
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