The Cottage - Day 7
It is Saturday, but to know that I have to look it up on the computer.
Stillness. Blue sky, blue sea, green fields, green islands.
Let’s not waste time Dog-dog. The weather may not last. So let me just finish this cup of tea.
We walk. For 4 and half miles. It feels like 7 and takes over 2 hours.
Because of the mountains.
The house with the green gable has a satellite dish. His little white van we see 3 times on our walk. The 2nd time you can see the look of surprise as he wonders how he keeps seeing us everywhere he drives. He probably saw our look of surprise too.
The 3rd time we see each other we both just nod, resigned as we are by now to seeing each other everywhere.
We go past houses with huge piles of wood, big enough to keep me and a small dog warm for 3 winters. A couple of fields beyond I see more than one house that was started being built but then abandoned. I have seen a dozen such semi-structures in the area.
Mostly though we are in a land of small farms.
-Stone walls, I say to the dog.
-And the grass is green, the dog replies.
About 2 miles from our cottage we reach what for the last week I had assumed was a hostel. Because in 1970s Ireland it would have been. But this big building is a single family home, nestled into the mountain near the top, pretending to be single story but with more gables than Clark’s parents.
When we cross over the mountain we pass a string of maybe 6 cottages over a mile, each one it seems populated by an old man with a dog. Perhaps this is where I’m meant to be. Their dogs are mostly sheepdogs, with dreadlocks for ears.
At one point a sheep dog comes racing towards us from a couple of hundred yards back. But then I see he’s actually following his owner, from the front. The car follows behind him at about 15mph as the dog happily races away constantly looking back at the car a few feet behind. As Dog-dog and I step onto the grass to let them pass it occurs to me it’s like watching a cartoon.
When the rain starts I reach the man from the house last night who told me I had a nice little dog. He is out cutting the grass at the side of the road with a scythe. He wears a black woolly jumper, a black woolly hat, and no teeth.
-A nice day
-It’s lovely
-That’s a nice little dog
-she can be
-You came over the top?
-I did
-The Maam we call it
-I’m living in the cottage on the other side
-That’s a good walk
-It is
-A few mile
-Yes but just one to go
-A couple of Poles used to live in that cottage
-So I hear
-They’re gone now?
-I’m told they’re somewhere in the area still, but they’re gone from the cottage.
-They had a little red car.
I’ve no idea why he chose to tell me about their car, but it makes me wonder if the red car with the L plates that came up my drive was the former tenants.
I ask him if he’s going to cut it all the way up to the Maam, and he laughs. He tells me a tractor cut it above but couldn’t reach across the ditch here so a scythe does a good enough job.
Gesturing at his cottage I ask him if he was born there. He smiles his yes and tells me it’s quiet here.
-I’m enjoying the quiet, I reply.
-You can have too much noise, you know, he adds before we both carry on with our day.
Walking through the gap is a thrilling experience in either direction, not lessened in any way by previous trips. Going this way, down, you are on the level for a bit, all anticipation, knowing the view is almost there just like when you are almost at the top of a mountain.
Then the rocky curtains open and there is your view. The sea. The islands. The cliffs. The bog. The beaches. The headlands. The fields. Those same blues and greens I woke up to hours earlier. And down among them is our cottage.
Making tea I hear a wasp make a lot of noise in the porch. He is in a web but nearly managing to escape. The spider goes for him but quickly turns away. I decide that little spiders shouldn’t be eating big wasps, though I haven’t read the rule book on web food for spiders. However seeing as he only just ate a whole bluebottle I go in for the rescue. It takes a while but I get the wasp free and out to a fuchsia bush.
Unpacking more boxes, a slow process for I have nowhere to put their contents once I take them out, I come across a series of paintings I’d forgotten I’d started. Irish townscapes. And then I open another box and discover a painting almost finished that I’d completely forgotten I had advanced this far.
The dog has little to bark at in this world, despite the greatest view she’s ever had. So when she goes nuts I know something more than a magpie is annoying her.
The farmer is in the side field with his sheepdog. They are moving the sheep. In truth I don’t know what they’re doing. It all looks like you’d think it looks and sheep move here and there in orderly groups while the sheepdog sprints up and down green slopes littered with rocks. But when it’s all over there are still the same number of sheep in that field. Perhaps they’re different sheep.
When I see a boat that’s not the ferry it prompts me to suggest a short evening walk to Dog-dog. I bring Long Grass for really I am in search of wood. Near my gate there’s a circular patch in the bog surrounded by a bank of heather. It appears to have been used as a dump a long time ago. Wheeling the bike up over the bank I see a frog at my feet. Not wanting it to come to the same fate as a slug I saw in our porch earlier, I shield it from the dog as she goes past.
The evening is too nice to finish there though so I cycle for a couple of miles holding Dog-dog on the leash. With no enticing rabits or squirrels, and no traffic to be pulled under, it’s all very pleasant and a good way to stop the midges finding us.
Back in the house I think that maybe the smell isn’t a dead mouse at all, but is water damage. How could I not know the difference? I look under the sink and see socks stuffed into where the pipes come in. Wet socks.
What should I do, what should I do, I ask myself?
Outside the window I see the ferry seem to go sideways in the lively sea, and I decide. I decide to make a pot of tea.
Read the Next Day at the cottage
Read the Previous Day at the cottage
List of all the Days at the Cottage
More from The Cottage:
• Photos of The Cottage
• Day 1 at The Cottage
• 12 Photos of the Scenery Around the Cottage
• 12 Photos not all Mountains and Islands
• My Cycle Across America
Eolaí gan Fhéile:
So there you have it folks, my first 7 days in what appears to be my new home.
I’m not sure what to do now. It’s actually Day 12 as I post this and I do have the other days written up too, so I could just carry on posting. Or I could leave it and just spot check once in a while.
I’d like to thank all the commenters on this 7 days in September. There have also been a lot of comments offsite, via email, Twitter, and other direct messages. It’s far from alone one feels when the comments come in, so thank you
If I do stop posting the cottage entries now, I do intend to continue journalling it for myself anyway, so it’s always something we could revisit. Maybe I’ll do the blogging thing and let you decide?
Keep ‘er lit. I’m loving it. Not in a MacDonalds way you understand. I’m falling in love with the place and I admit that a small part of me, a toe I think, is enthralled at the unfolding tale of a towny adjusting to rural life.
Sounds like a lovely world you find yourself in, far from the madding crowd, with a dog.
Primal - That wouldn’t be the same toe you dipped in the bathwater? I mean the bathmilk?
Branedy - It certainly is.
Please don’t stop posting. It sounds so lovely I wish I could be there for a time. I love the photos and the moments of your day. Sometimes I feel like I am there watching from afar. The soft rain, there is nothing like it hear, the fresh sea air, the beauty of the countryside reminds me of my trips to Ireland. Please continue.
I, for one, hope you don’t stop the daily blogging. I am in a small town outide of St. Paul, Minnesota, USA and you have no idea how much I, and several others at my place of work look forward to reading your blog. I’ve been to Ireland several times and your writings transport me back there.
Roxanne - welcome and thank you for de-lurking and your kind words. For a time we should all be here. I’m not sure that time should be today though and I only wish it was a soft rain right now. You are actually nearer to here than KC is, what with the world being round and all. I’ll need a better camera to do the scenes more justice, but I’m certainly mulling over carrying on in the vein this has started.
Marie - a warm welcome to you too. I doubt if you’d thank me if I transported you at this very moment back here. A premature harsh winter it is, or at least I hope that’s what it is or else winter will be really scary. But that’s for another day. And thank you for your kind words. I shall certainly bear them in mind.
I’m tempted to say ” keep posting”, but I think that might be selfish of me. This looks as if it will be the sequel to Cycling Across America, and I don’t want to do you out of any royalties.
Is the sock stopping a leak in the pipe or is it stopping weather from coming in from outside? It’s each a different repair, neither difficult, but you need different stuff and tools for each fix.
Will you be finishing the Irish Townscapes and putting them up for sale?
Pardon my ignorance, but what is “Long Grass”?
I’m enjoying these Cottage entries and the pictures!!
Martha - Wouldn’t royalties be a lovely thing? Whatever way I take it I need to not get too ambitious. That would hurt painting and everything that flows from that.
The socks? Hmmm, pipes, leaks, repairs - what is this strange language you’re speaking.
Patricia - Yes, I’ll definitely be putting the paintings up for sale, and here. As to when I finish them - just as soon as I can.
What is “Long Grass”? I can offer you a long answer or a short answer
And thank you.
I also say ‘keep ‘er lit’, Eolai!
It’s been WONDERFUL READING.
There really is a book here, you know.
I feel like I’ve been drawn into the first
chapter and can’t put the book down.
Think about what to POST but for God’s
sake don’t stop recording the experience
so you can publish later.
You have hit upon the ‘essence’ of what
a lot a of folks with Irish descent really
WANT to read about. The simpler life,
the LAND, the AIR, the SEA, the RAIN.
I know you went there to paint, but
maybe something even more important
is happening now. Do BOTH THINGS, if
you can. SHOW us what you see with
your brushes and style, but don’t forget
to write about it with your fine style as well.
Kevin
will you be taking holiday bookings eh eh eh?
Kevin,
You are very generous, as always.
I think there’s a lot of fun to be had writing about the first times one is going through a new experience, especially in noticing one’s innocence and ignorances, which probably later will make one cringe, so yes I definitely plan to carry on documenting. The issue really is if I can find a way to share that as I go along without letting it consume too much time in how I go about that. But if I can I will.
Manuel,
I will. Just let me know what size tent you’ll be bringing, and make sure there’s enough moolah in your pocket to leave with a painting. I’ll tell ya how much when I open the ESB bill.
Prime location you know, and away from those unsightly holiday homes!
Sounds like an idyll.
I could dearly do with some of that peace and quiet and “just being” for a bit, but for now it’s just nice to read about it. What a handsome life you do lead, Eolai. And lucky Dog-Dog! It must be heaven there for a dog.
I thought you were in the quiet part of SoCal there, Ms ProblemChild?
Dog-dog is very happy but, being less cynical than I, she misses people. And bogs, mountains, and boreens are great for her but she misses the kind of free running that only parks can give - at least until I take her to the beach.
I think I’ve an idea where you are now- the hints are good. And now the weather has turned benevolant, there might be better places but I’ve not heard of them.
Everyone knows Polish people drive red cars. Everyone.
If you can do a blogging journal and it doesn’t get in the way, this lurker would be tres happy.
I suspect there’s more hints a comin’, Sniffle.
A blogging journal that doesn’t get in the way would be ideal. And the easiest way to do that I think is to live in a place where it practically writes itself. We’ll see, but thank you very much regardless.