The rain’s steady but gauzy thin when we set out. Our boy laughs, delighted with the way the wind blows the wet into his face.

It’s all cool and fresh as daisies.

BW’s done some research, and there’s a ruin nearby we’ve never been to. Kat handles the ribbon of road as if she’d been born to it.

The world’s misty and wind’s kicking up. And that’s as lovely in its way as sunshine. We change from our ribbon of a road to a thread of one, passing cattle and sheep, then a gaggle of geese we pause to let cross the road.

We come to a gate with a sign reminding us to close it behind us, and now the thread becomes a cow path, winding and climbing with the hedgerows close enough to brush.

Inishmaine Abbey sits on a rise above Lough Mask, a beautiful situation in the green fields where black-faced sheep watch us warily as we walk.

The lake’s gorgeous and wide, steely-colored under the layered sky. With the tide low, you see rich brown silt at the edge.

In we go to wander about, to wonder at the stone niches, the carvings. The boy prefers to sit and play in the gravel.

And the flock of sheep all turn to face us as if posing.

Kat says this is the Ireland she remembers, all misty rain, spreading wet green, gray stone ruins.

I see the geese gliding over the water,  a little boat doing the same, and hills rising into the troubled sky. It’s all a painting come to life.

Across the field to the next building, and—carefully—up the curving stone steps. The view is breathless, and even with the gloom, you can see for what seems miles and miles.

We enjoy every minute before we walk back to the car.

On the way out, there’s a herd of cows right by that cow path, reclining. Kat wants a picture, and as BW obliges her, the big cow close to the car gets to her feet.

Kat says: Close enough! And drives on.

Into Ballinrobe for lunch at Flannery’s. It’s just right, warm and dry and welcoming. I’m going to share the barbecued beef bap with the boy as I know I can’t eat it all, and want a taste. We couldn’t finish it between us, but both enjoyed what we could manage. [Ed. Note: in the first edition of the post I had nap from Nora’s copy and it was too early to figure out what that meant. Mystery solved! Spell check struck again. A bap is a lbread roll sandwich. Thanks all! ~Laura]

We take a wander around town, end up at Divine Bakery. And it is, no question, divine. The scents alone are swoon-worthy. We get a couple of pastries to divide up later.

And we note Divine is right next door to the town dentist.

It seems apt.

It’s a friendly town with locals smiling and saying hello as we pass.

We’re heading next to Glebe Stone Circle, and the boy drifts off to sleep.

It’s sign posted, but you can’t drive to it. Kat finds a safe spot to pull off the road, and opts to sit in the car with Griffin as he naps while the rest of us walk—carefully again—up the surprisingly busy little road to where you cross into the field.

More carefully as a lot of sheep and cattle have been here. Watch your step!

The little dance is on the highest point of the field—and fenced off, I think to keep the livestock out. A huge limb has come down from a big tree, and has fallen right between two stones, then against the fence and out. It still has leaves and prickly little fruit on its upper branches.

As with the abbey it seems this is the kind of day to see these sites, the the air damp and misty, the gray and the green soft and velvety.

I admire the stone fences dividing the fields—my people who came from Ireland and Scotland were farmers, and stone masons. As a boy my own father worked with his building stone walls in D.C. that still stand. So it’s sentiment along with admiration for me.

Back to the car where the boy still sleeps, and home again.

He wakes a short time later, and Kat, hoping to finish her painting, asks if I can watch him for a bit.

Can I!

As it happens I’d been about to go for a walk, and now I’ll have Griffin for company. 

The rain’s stopped, though the air’s still rich and damp.

I walk with him through one of the stone arches and into the magical woods. It’s deep and green and quiet. But after a bit, all the boy wants is to sit on the damp dirt path, play with the dirt and the leaves on the ground—and admire his filthy hands.

Since he makes no move to eat any this time, we can play this game awhile.

I take him back to the grass, and this is another happy time for him. Back we walk to cap our adventure with a round of mash-ups.

We had a fine little time. And Kat finished her painting.

Stunning.

Time to clean up. The castle’s offered to drop us off at Lydon’s in Cong where we’ll have dinner. Our driver tells us to order the chocolate brownie promising we won’t be disappointed.

The place is busy and bustling for a reason. Good food, good wine, happy service. Kat walks Griffin around outside, down to the river, out in the quiet sunlight that’s broken through the day while we wait for our meal.

The boy’s sharing my sea bass, and likes the mushroom and artichoke risotto. A lot.

I’m not a fan myself, so didn’t taste it first. He’s eating mushrooms like candy.

And all at once, without a sound or complaint he begins to expel streams of risotto. I’m quick enough to catch most in my hand—which occurs to me later is such a mom reflex. Here, let me catch your puke, baby, so it doesn’t get all over you.

He’s not the least bit upset, but Mom and Dad take him off to wash up and change. My hand didn’t catch it all.

BW samples the risotto, which he deems delish—but very rich. Too rich for our boy, apparently.

He comes back, cheerful as ever, and has a little chicken and some chips which work far better.

And we order the chocolate brownie, which is, seriously, an orgasm on a spoon. No chocolate for the boy tonight, but a taste of vanilla ice cream.

We walk home, walk off the meal, and take the path along the river, into the woods in all that gorgeous softening light. We pass a fisherman with his evening catch, and see more still casting their line in the River Cong.

It’s more beautiful than ever now, hints of gold flickering on the water, the sky moving to twilight, the woods deepening toward night—full of secrets, no doubt—and the path soft from the day’s rain.

And ahead, the castle’s lit, amber glows in windows, its silhouette regal against the night sky, the lake glimmering, just a bit.

A lovely day in Ireland, just as it should be.

The wind’s fiercely vocal when I workout, and I see the sky’s layered again. But where it thins, blue peeks out, and bits of sun push through. Before I’m done, the light’s brightening at the horizon, and begins to bleed its way up.

I see three people standing and talking, and wonder did they travel together, or have they just met and share conversation on a pretty morning.

The boy comes to visit before his morning nap and gets a thrill as I’m actually doing a mash-up. Kat warns he might now expect me to get up and dance whenever I play them for him.

We’re going to head out again—sun’s out some—when he wakes so we can pack more into our last day in Ireland.

Nora

in today’s #RandomKatness: