On the approach to Kilruane village, on the Nenagh to Cloughjordan road, there is a large area of wetland and bog. Between the bog and the road stands the parish hall – locally known as the floating ballroom. I am sure there are great stories told of dances and plays held there over the years.
There’s a lake near my home in County Mayo that’s a very special place. I feel a strong connection to this lake and its rich biodiversity. This special place is Lough Carra. Lying beneath the water is a thick bed of marl, soft chalky mud. Around the shores of the lake there are still a
He walked to Lough Derg every day during lockdown. By himself. It wasn’t lost on him how blessed he was, to have such beauty within two kilometres of his home. He didn’t have to worry about social distancing, he met no one except the birds. He would start most days at the inlet of Castle
‘The Lough has a mind of its own’, so the natives declare. Lough Funshinagh – the lake of the ash tree, there is none like it in Ireland, or Europe indeed. It overflows, then disappears almost fully, then overflows again. A type of turlough they say, we have many a version in our county of
Oh how the memories come lfooding back of my childhood, the wonderful itmes we had in Graces bog, 6 acres of magic at the back of my own home. Every season had something different to offer in this oasis of beauty. Oh how I remember the morning mist as it rose over this wonderful place
Growing up in Clondalkin, County Dublin, in the 1960s had by far some great advantages over today’s children’s lifestyles. We had back then what seemed the freedom of the world where our countryside and especially our imagination created the excitement for each day. Clondalkin provided a child many exploratory opportunities from investigating ancient castle ruins,
My Grandad had a boat; a small ifshing punt with an outboard engine. Unfortunately, I never knew Grandad Dick, as he died suddenly atfer an ouitng in the boat with my dad. As a child, the madcap stories I heard of family escapades along the Irish coast, in this boat, letf me longing for adventures
An inter-city express train rushed by the top of Valentine’s glen. The crows circled above the tree tops as the pines, oaks and chestnuts whispered secrets to each other. Then once again, the glen was silent. “It’s beautiful here. So peaceful,” said Claire. “Most of the time,” the old man looked down at the river
What started out as a favour for a close family friend turned into a treasure hunt, then a healing place, a history lesson, an eye-opener. Enough of the riddle. Let’s begin. Onnolee’s son, Fintan told me at her memorial service in Pasadena that when she died she wanted to leave a little herself in this
Growing up, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer & Huckleberry Finn, was my favourite TV programme. Twain’s classic gripped me with the escapades of the duo on a raft on the Mississippi. Could we have such a raft in Clondalkin? One summer, 1984, my cousin John O’Byrne came to stay. It so happened that there were
I would walk along the Barrow and let all my grief go with the river. You see the river flowed right behind my shared apartment and in that complicated first year away from home I would walk with it. Walk with it when angry, when lonely, when worried, or sometimes when just bored. The Barrow
Water is a liquid formed when two gases come together to form H O. The whole world would starve as nothing would grow without it. Everything would be barren like the Sahara Desert. Let us think of where water has done a lot of good and made the world a very beauitful place. My mind