Shane and a farm

Some of y’all surely know of my obsession with Ireland. If you don’t, now you do: I am mad for Ireland. Its history, literature, music, dance, beauty, humor, accents, its President, Michael D. Higgins—aka Miggledy—and even that it’s an island because it makes for dramatic scenery. In Dublin in 2022, I happened to attend the opening night of The Steward of Christendom at the Gate Theatre, and who walked in but Miggledy himself!! It was a great evening. I continue to read a LOT of Irish authors: if you’re in the market for a great book, try Trespasses by Louise Kennedy or As You Were by Elaine Feeney. Both are beautiful tearjerkers and they stick with you.

Anyway, do you know the Pogues? They’re a Celtic punk/rock band from the 80s and since, really, minus some lost years to alcoholism and other demons. Their founder and lead singer, Shane MacGowan, died on November 30, and today was his funeral. All of Ireland mourned, and the tributes have been utterly moving. He had such a unique, moving voice: it just gets inside you. Fairytale of New York (not a Christmas song but a Christmas-adjacent song in case you’re in the mood! I never tire of it.) and A Rainy Night in Soho were both performed. I sent my family a video of guests dancing in the church aisles to songs sung during the service with the instruction that were any/all of them in charge of my funeral, it better match the level of love and joy of Shane’s send-off. His mother is dead, but his father and wife were there today, and I hope the celebration of Shane’s life gave them a bit of comfort.

I thought of his life, a life well-lived, fully nine lives of nine lived when his body just couldn’t go anymore. He was a raging alcoholic who loved heroin for a while, lost most of his teeth, replaced them (including one gold incisor), grew up with a hearthfire for cooking, and wasn’t great at school. But he had many gifts and shared them generously. Rest well, Shane.

After getting the boys off and running errands and kissing goodbye, I drove to West Virginia this morning. I have been angsty this week and tired from a really rough case of sinusitis which onset during the flight home from Scotland. At one point, my right tear duct was squirting tears at a rapid pace and I swore I was having an aneurysm. The pain behind my right eye was literally excruciating. I’m super tired of being sick (pneumonia and a virus in the month before this sinus disaster) and am thankful for this quiet weekend. The break between my last visit and this one is, I think, my longest ever, and I delighted in getting reacquainted with all my barn friends.

I spent a good few hours building random shelters for any wild creature that might be in need. No idea if this is something an animal would trust or use, but it was an oddly therapeutic and fun activity, and I look forward to more work tomorrow.

example shelter

Did I tell you about ordering winter coats for the goats? This was and remains a good idea that is, nonetheless, so much harder to execute in real life than in theory that it should be in some sort of training manual for determination, creative problem solving, and resilience. Measuring the drama queens with a CLOTH measuring tape took three people, and our “measurements” were aspirational and in some cases, completely fabricated.

Undeterred, I ordered seven bespoke insulated goat coats because if y’all had seen the boos shivering last winter, you’d have ordered them too. Each goat got a different color. Generally, TomOlJack were supportive, but for Beverly, our blond goat, I chose a turquoise hue and have since been accused of making our girl look like a Floridian grandmother. Whatever. She is now easy to find. And, incidentally, she was the only goat still wearing a coat when I got here today.

Oliver and Tom came when Jack and I were away and managed to get four on. That was down to three by the next day, two the following week, and, as I mentioned, one today. Getting to four rendered Tom dragged over a boulder and superficially impaled by a horn in the hand; Oliver gave up. I managed to get Rambo’s on today. He promptly reached down with his mouth and unVelcroed the strap around his neck, but I was waiting for such chicanery, acted as alpha, and the next thing I knew, he was this:

he’s fine

I will return to battle tomorrow.

Little good to say, so back to Ireland

Jack still doesn’t have a physics teacher so we’ve hired one (if that is not antithetical to the mission of public education…), I just watched a professional dog walker let four pups pee and crap all over my front garden (non-yard green space is EVERYWHERE around), a guy laid on his horn this morning when I stopped for a school bus letting elementary schoolers board, and I was nearly hit by another driver who seemed to feel it her right to turn left because she wanted to. Italy has elected a hard-core right-winger who cozies up to people like Steve Bannon, Berlusconi, and the other right-wing Italian political parties, trump is still not in jail, and high schoolers in VA are walking out en masse today because Gov Youngkin is trying to enact anti-transgender legislation. You go, students! I am totally with you!

I am really pretty sick of all this crap, and I am also sick of mosquitoes and still heartbroken over Federer’s retirement.

So, back to Ireland. We paused as I was about to share Day 6 of my Ring of Kerry tour. We began by driving through Cahersiveen, home of Monsignor O’Flaherty, a significant member of the Catholic resistance to Nazism during WWII. He was responsible for saving ~6,500 Allied soldiers and Jews! Thank you, Sir!

Then to Killorglin where, every August, the Puck Fair is held. As I learned, most Irish towns have annual festivals of which they are enormously proud. Killorglin’s is one of Ireland’s oldest festivals and involves men heading into the local mountains to capture (kindly) a wild goat and bring it back to town. There, a chosen girl anoints the goat king (King Puck), it is tied in the center of the festivities, and everyone drinks and celebrates (and cares for the goat) for three days. The goat is then returned to the spot it was found and released.

Signs were everywhere, for the Fair was quickly approaching. I was quite sorry to miss it, frankly, but maybe another time. As you can see in this article and the following photo from said article, it was extremely hot at this year’s festival and King Puck received hourly vet visits and plenty of cold water and shade. Delightful!

I do regularly wonder if the chosen goat is enormously confused during its three days away from its flock, if it is then happy to return, and if the others know and/or miss it during its absence. Hmm.

Ring of Kerry, Skelling loop, The Blind Piper pub: Ring of Kerry tour day 5

Following Ballynahinch, we spent two nights at Cahernane House Hotel (a lovely, lovely place built as a country mansion in the 1870s) just outside of Killarney town. It was a wonderful respite and I twice treated myself to room service so that I could sit by my spot of garden (see 4th photo) and read and write (I bought a journal in Dublin on Day 1 and diligently pressed flowers and leaves between the pages I wasn’t writing on) and rest.

Day 5 had us driving the Ring of Kerry and Skellig loop. The former is a circular route over the Iveragh Peninsula of southwest Co. Kerry that takes in a variety of towns - Kilorglin, Glenbeigh, Cahersiveen, Waterville, Caherdaniel, Sneem* and Kenmare also feature on the Wild Atlantic Way (an itinerary that winds from the upper reaches of Donegal down the Western coast and around to Cork). The Skellig loop takes you to the mainland point offering the best visual of Skellig Michael (aka Great Skellig), an abandoned 7th century Christian island monastery built on the furthest out of the Skellig Islands. You actually can visit it but doing so requires clear weather, a multi-hour boat ride, and a solid amount of physical fitness.

*Sneem is one of my favorite place names ever.

As an aside, skellig derives from the old Irish word sceillec which translates roughly to splinter of rock.

Star Wars fans know Skellig Michael as the location at which Rey finally finds Luke in The Force Awakens. I was dying to see it and take photos for the boys. What a marvel it is; to think of 7th-century folks schlepping way the hell out into the Atlantic, surely in somewhat rudimentary boats with, at best, minimal life-saving equipment. And THEN they decided to build and live on the furthest thing from land that they encounter. Closer to god, I imagine. Seriously, it is a nearly-miraculous accomplishment and place. Google it and peruse the photos of its sheerness and remoteness (then add a freezing, dark winter day to the mix) and its trails, buildings, and so forth. I very much want to hike it one day.

Anyway, what was supposed to be a day of incredibly gorgeous views was dashed by constant rain. It was our first such day, and although the fog and bluster were often beautiful in their own right and surely made for an authentic Irish experience, it was a shame to arrive back at Cahernane with a relatively empty camera roll.

But that is travel for you. And the wind made the county flags whipping in the wind all the grander. Just a few days hence, Co. Kerry (whose colors are green and yellow) would play Co. Galway (maroon and white) in the All-Ireland Gaelic Football final. Kerry would win.

And, the chilly rain made my lunch of beef-and-Guinness stew with champ potato at The Blind Piper pub even more satisfying than it already was. Divine. If you’re ever in the area, do stop at The Blind Piper! It is a pub extraordinaire!