Glenshalane-Glen of the Fairies

The wildflowers in these photos are Herb Robert (or Red Robin), Meadowsweet, and Foxglove.

July 16^th 2010

After a long rainy morning inside working, we took off for our nearest small town—not village—to get a cup of coffee and a sweet at the famous (for good reason) Barron’s Bakery. We figured that maybe we would manage a short sidewalk-limited walk with our umbrellas before we returned home. But while eating, the sky cleared and the sun came out, in between the clouds. We decided to chance a walk on the Glenshalane River Walk, which we had a short description of. Glenshalane means Glen of the Fairies, and so it is the Fairy Glen River. The gorgeous rushing river is in a deep narrow valley, and the trail, sometimes down near the river and sometimes high above it, crosses the river on footbridges in numerous beautiful spots. Along the way we saw a couple of spectacular small waterfalls (at one, there was a tiny pool about 5 or 6 feet above us, and we left a couple of shiny pennies for the fairies) and many of the wild foxgloves we’ve been seeing everywhere, along with wild yarrow, speedwell, and others. Unfortunately, we didn’t realize that the walk out was about 4 kilometers, meaning that the walk BACK was also about 4 kilometers. Thank heavens we had both worn our good walking shoes! For some reason, it did not rain on us at all for the whole 3 hours we were walking! The only day it did not rain on us was Monday, in Ardmore.

Along the way we commented how we missed the sound of songbirds. Ireland—or this corner of it—seems strangely quiet, compared to Western Massachusetts and North Carolina, which are filled with the sounds of numerous kinds of birds all the time. At home, or in Maine, we are wakened every morning at dawn by singing birds, and I remember the same thing happening in Slovakia and Poland 2 years ago, at 4:30 am each morning. Neither of us ever minds it; we just go back to sleep. But here, we have not heard a single birdsong in the morning, and neither have we are on daily walks and hikes, although we are in such a rural place that it seems like the Shire. We are surrounded by farms, and expect to see throngs of birds rising from fields and woods, but have not noticed such a thing.

So we start having a conversation about this as we walk along, and about one minute later, we both hear one bird call out. We look at each other in surprise, and joke about it waiting for us to say it out loud. Then about 10 or so minutes later I start thinking about it again, and mention it again. Along comes another single bird call. I call out a thank you to the fairies—or whomever—for telling us that there are, in fact, songbirds here (or at least in Glenshelane). At this point (and I know some of you are rolling your eyes at the sentiment here), we begin hearing birdcalls regularly. Not like we are used to, and not more than one bird at a time, but by the time we walk the hour-long return, we have heard more bird songs—at least a dozen—than we have heard in the week we have been here. And on the drive home, we continue to hear them and we even see a number of birds swoop down over the road, just as we would expect to see in farming areas. We speculate that it is because it was the first time in numerous days that the sun shone for a few hours continuously! Maybe the reason they don’t sing is because, even at dawn, they are huddled somewhere, their wings around themselves, trying to stay warm and dry!!

On the way home, we stopped at our “local” in Villierstown, for a cider, and were greeted as old friends by Jeannie, the barkeep. We had a wonderful chat with two dredlocked men who had WOOF-ed (what nick and Anna did in France) all over Europe, one of whom had also been to Western Massachusetts a number of times. They both were happy to hear about the growth in the local food movement in our area, and told us about how it was also growing here (well behind the rest of Europe).

It was a chilly day, never 60, and quite windy down on the river. Nevertheless, we bundled up (it felt like mid to late October at home) and ate supper down next to the river. It was a beautiful evening. It doesn’t get dark here until after 10, although it got darker earlier tonight than a week ago, when we arrived! A week gone by already—wow. It went fast.