Old Stones

Since yesterday, we've been hosting Maureen's good young friend Hannah and her boyfriend Rainin.  Last night we were visited as well by Jeannie Williams, a friend a more than three decades from Massachusetts.  On a four day trip to Dublin on business, she took her day off to travel here from Dublin by bus.  We had a long night of talk, laughter, stories and Irish whiskey, first in our local pub with dinner and then gathered around the turf fire in our cottage.  Its lovely to be strangers exploring a different country and culture, but how extraordinary to be here with old friends from home.

We saw Jeanie off on another bus this morning and later walked down to the lighthouse on the lake.  The Ballycurrin lighthouse is the only inland lighthouse in Europe and dates from the 1700's.  It is long deserted, as it was lit once upon a time only by a large bonfire on its top.  The steps are stones projecting from the lighthouse on the outside.  We thought of climbing up but were faced with 40 mph winds off the lake.  The whole day has been dark and brooding amid the gale.  In this rather alarming weather we explored the castle next door (about thirty feet from our cottage).  The castle is a ruin from the thirteenth century.  It is partly broken down and covered with massive amounts of ivy.  We had long since discovered the entryway into the ground floor (two large rooms with amazing arched ceilings of a million stones).  But today we found another entry that leads to a winding old stone staircase rising two more stories up into the keep.  The second floor, growing everywhere with moss, ivy, and vines that seem as old as the castle itself, is a magical world that I wish I had been able play in as a child.  I can still envision hours of fantasies filled with knights, swords, armor, and, of course, damsels (in distress and otherwise).  There is a further winding stair that (rather dangerously) brings you out into the open air at the top of the ruin.

The whole place seems enchanted.  But the amazing thing is that this is no tourist site.  It is no protected preserve with roped off areas and explanatory plaques on the walls.  It is just a part of a hill next to a farmers field, here to be explored and wondered over by any passers-by and would be explorers with all the dangers of climbing over old and crumbling stones.  History is just part of the air that people breath here.  And so we get to stand alone on the crumbling battlements of the thirteenth century and view the Connemara mountains across the lough while facing forty mph gale winds.  If that doesn't make you feel fully alive, nothing can.

Tonight we go off to Dublin to celebrate Hannah's birthday with a fine meal.  Life is good.