 |
| All the photos in this post are from The Burren, an area in County Clare of rough limestone fields and hills. We arrived there on the second day with our knuckles white from driving stick-shift on the left on roads so narrow they barely fit our compact car, let alone another vehicle going the other way, and ready to throw our "Irish GPS" out of the window. Finally we decided "Jane" wasn't taking us to a tourist center but rather was determined to get us on a cart path, so we stopped the car and took a hike. |
St. Patrick's Day this year was difficult. When you Irish step-dance and fiddle, the way Bridget does, you have a lot of gigs at that time, but the real issue was that we were in the midst of our second 50-year flood in a fortnight.
We live in a town bisected by a major river. It seemed that every road had been closed for days, some for weeks. Every trip out of the house involved strategy and planning and extra time built in. On top of that, the water coming down the hill decided to take the direct route through our basement.
Our two sump-pumps were overwhelmed early on, and the water had swallowed up the burners on the furnace and boiler: most of my energy was going towards keeping the wood-burning stove stoked and keeping enough hot water handy to do dishes. The fire department answered our call and added three pumps to ours and contributed a convict crew to sandbag the house!
I wanted to take a shower!
What I'm trying to explain is why, sometime during the first flood, I closed the file containing the flier a friend had emailed -- a flier that described a raffle offering free airfare and a "country home" in Ireland.
It was for a good cause -- a veteran's group -- and I wouldn't have minded winning, but I was in survival mode and had to clear the decks.
We went to one dance performance on St. Pat's and then we agreed that we just wanted to eat our corned beef in peace at home.
I was out of milk, so I sent Bridget and her father for a gallon while I got myself organized for dinner. The phone rang. It was that same friend who had sent around that flier for the raffle.
"Hi Leila, I have good news!"
What could she possibly be calling about?
 | |||||
| These butterflies ( Pearl-bordered Fritillary Boloria euphrosyne) are not found elsewhere in Ireland. |
 |
| In true Irish fashion (as we were to find out), it rained softly every day for at least a little bit, but hindered us not at all. |
"You won! You won the raffle for the Ireland trip!"
Reader, what was going through my mind was...I hadn't bought a ticket! I hope she doesn't realize that! But how could I win without buying? Can they read minds and do a virtual drawing? Will it count?
I know I sounded weird and disassociated, like I thought it was a joke or something. She put other people on the line to try to convince me. I thanked them and hung up.
 |
| Isn't it funny that they (whoever "they" are -- this area has been lived in for 4000 years, but any random stone structure could be 10 years old or 800 years old, who knows?) made these walls with the flat rocks vertical? |
When Phil and Bridget came home, I said to him, "Did you buy a ticket to the Ireland raffle?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Because we won!"
He was pretty excited! It turned out that he had bought the ticket from the husband of my friend as a favor and forgotten all about it. He literally tossed the ticket in his drawer and never mentioned it to me, although the tickets were $100 each (there were only 350 sold).
We don't just up and go to places like Ireland, you know.
We're not super comfortable going even close to home, what with all the different ways people do things and the difficulty understanding the natives and all.
For us the driving and the not sleeping in our own bed are a big obstacle to any venture. It's about not being in the habit of traveling, a state brought about by decades of low-to-negative bank accounts and personalities not suited to sight-seeing or interacting with strangers. And I think that even if we had the money, we just wouldn't like pouring it out the way you sort of have to when you travel for pleasure, at least when you go somewhere unfamiliar.
{I think it's kind of ironic that after last year's weddings (for which Nick's included us all going to San Francisco, you will remember), the Chief and I sort of agreed that we would spend the upcoming portion of the years allotted to us remaining quietly at home, writing, gardening, tending to bees.
This clearly will not be our future, now that Nick and Natasha are in Hong Kong and Rosie and Philip are in San Diego. And who knows who else will complicate things.}
So when we saw that the prize included that stay in a "country home" we were doubly excited. For us, it's far more enjoyable to stay put than to deal with taxis, doormen, and packing. We looked forward to walking in country lanes, getting a flavor of the area we landed in, and even enjoying sitting at home and having time to do some long-postponed writing. Even Bridget has writing projects she wanted to tackle, along with fiddling and dancing in the home country!
 |
| Every field --whether out in the wild with nary a house in sight or next to the airport -- contains some cows, sheep, and/or horses. |
It was a little vague, to be sure. There was no photo of this "country home" on the raffle brochure. There was no clear description. I was encouraged to call and email the lady whose "vacation home" it is, and she was no more forthcoming with details than anyone else. She didn't even really give me an address.
Now, I know that in Ireland addresses can consist of the name of the house, the town, and the county. So after a couple of attempts I assumed that this was the case, and we got excited for real: This must be a true house of our dreams -- maybe, judging from the name, an actual ruin! I cautioned Bridget not to get her hopes too high, but there's no denying that we were not prepared for what actually transpired.
