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
Growing up by the shores of Lough Mask provided me with a collection of unique and happy memories. Those hazy summer mornings were spent saving hay with family members, awaiting a trail of young people in twos and threes. Heading back the road with their towels rolled under their arms. No texts to communicate your
She was feared and fearless. The Queen of Connaught. Meabh rode her black stallion from county to county in the search for property. There were many warlords who were seduced by her beauty. Once she had him in her lover’s lair and his property signed over, she killed him. No one could resist her beauty
Well was when my story really began. Following directions, I found the well, and filled my bucket. As I made my way back, I met a neighbouring young man whom I had known previously as a lankly shy bashful young fellow who always carried a hurley while he was romance It was the Summer of
December 4, 2019 I would be in the arms of my lover thinking the same thoughts but he must away and I can choose the fullness of the earth and the next-best bliss to swim in the sea. December 15, 2019-After a Swim I am grateful this morning to feel. There is hope. Life is
The first time we met she was winter-cold and grey. A chill wind furrowed her face. Her bones showed through broken skin and blunt teeth appeared amid a lather of foam. Even the sky was weeping, as if mourning her aged state. I passed by. Spring brought me back on another dark day with low
Curlews still and silent encroach, a soft curruuu in the distance, as you approach. The heron in patient stance, Stoic and poised, waits for frogs with determined glances. Oyster catchers all black and white, their orange beaks stab like sharp knives, as they plunge for their lives. Lugworms burrowed under sand, fat, pink and frilly,
My water story begins with the moon- the phased journey of my being governed by and piloted by the ebb and flow of energy through the universe. Each month the moon journey around the earth creates tides that ebb and flow, high and low and carries a power that I believe is rooted in my
Madlin, sing to me, oh happy trickle. Of watery song and ocean’s ripple. From Johnduffs Wood through Molaise’s haunt to Dinn Righ and Barrow’s jaunt. Just a moment, I require, before your spirits they expire. When I was but as a trickle, I splashed around, bold and fickle. Coming down the Barrack Hill, I pranced
To use this interactive map, click on a county to view the list of stories connected with it.