Rural Ireland, where I am situated, is the most natural spot on earth. The wild grasses and the birds, the winds and the smoke curling from stone chimneys, the people and the deep black soil, live in a kind of effortless harmony rarely found in other parts of the planet.
The other day I got lost on some narrow winding lanes. The road finally ended in a modest farmyard bustling with chickens, and I turned off the motor. A fresh-faced matron came out of the barn, followed by her scruffy ten-year-old son. “Hall-o!” she cried out. “R’ ye lost?” I explained how a friend had texted me an “Eircode” (Ireland’s “satnav” location system) and it had deposited me in front of their barnyard.
“Do the Crowley’s live around here?” I asked hopefully. She squinted, never having heard of any Crowley’s in those parts. “We are O’Shea’s,” she said with a bit of spirit. She led me to a little farmhouse across the road, in which her parents were just beginning their supper. On entering their home I cracked my head on the door lintel, which was not much more than five feet tall, and all exclaimed their heartfelt concern about my poor pate. “Ye moost sit down for a coop a’ teh” exclaimed the mother. Her husband, looking wistfully at the cold meats on his plate, nodded in solemn agreement.
“Well, you see,” I said, “I’m going to be rather late as it is for my dinner appointment, and….” Mrs. O’Shea was not to be deterred. “Ooo, boot ye must sit down for a coop a’ teh. Surely ye have a bit of time for that!” I apologized exceedingly but said I would have to find out where I was so I could get to where I needed to be. I showed them the Eircode, which was certainly their farm, and nobody knew what to do. So I called my friend. “O sugar,” he repeated several times (in place of another word that begins with “s”), “I hit the ‘3’ with my thumb instead of the ‘2.’ I’m so sorry!” My Eircode was one digit off, but my location was half an hour off. I would be an hour late for dinner, but that didn’t seem important to Mrs. O’Shea, who again warmly invited me to a cup a tea. “I’ll have to come back,” I promised, waving goodbye.
Yesterday I got lost again, this time on my bike. I was looking for the ruins of O’Crowley Castle, which is about 20 minutes east of the O’Shea farm. Perhaps there have not been Crowleys or O’Crowleys near the O'Shea's for many centuries, but there was still the remains of an O'Crowley castle in the area. But I couldn’t see it from any of the roads or cowtracks I had traversed over the last 40 minutes. So I stopped into a farmyard and asked a nice young lady. She was washing her car with the barnyard hose. She pointed to the farm lane I should take to find the castle, and I said I had been down it three times without seeing a castle. “Oh, you poor dear,” she said. “Would you want a cup of tea?” She called her father over, a wiry man in muck boots who smiled when he heard of my misadventures. “Just through the barnyard at the end of the lane, and then down to the left” he explained. He had been working at something in the field, but he too invited me in for a cup of tea.
When I say the people are natural here, I mean that the most natural thing in the world is for people to talk to each other. We have been given the capacity to converse, and it would be unnatural to not engage other people. But in most of the world rarely do we stop our “business” to talk to others more than briefly. Here in rural Ireland, it’s almost always a good time to share a cup of tea with someone, even when you are washing your car or taking the cows out or preparing supper. Inviting another human being to share your supper is the most natural thing in the world!
The other day I got lost on some narrow winding lanes. The road finally ended in a modest farmyard bustling with chickens, and I turned off the motor. A fresh-faced matron came out of the barn, followed by her scruffy ten-year-old son. “Hall-o!” she cried out. “R’ ye lost?” I explained how a friend had texted me an “Eircode” (Ireland’s “satnav” location system) and it had deposited me in front of their barnyard.
“Do the Crowley’s live around here?” I asked hopefully. She squinted, never having heard of any Crowley’s in those parts. “We are O’Shea’s,” she said with a bit of spirit. She led me to a little farmhouse across the road, in which her parents were just beginning their supper. On entering their home I cracked my head on the door lintel, which was not much more than five feet tall, and all exclaimed their heartfelt concern about my poor pate. “Ye moost sit down for a coop a’ teh” exclaimed the mother. Her husband, looking wistfully at the cold meats on his plate, nodded in solemn agreement.
“Well, you see,” I said, “I’m going to be rather late as it is for my dinner appointment, and….” Mrs. O’Shea was not to be deterred. “Ooo, boot ye must sit down for a coop a’ teh. Surely ye have a bit of time for that!” I apologized exceedingly but said I would have to find out where I was so I could get to where I needed to be. I showed them the Eircode, which was certainly their farm, and nobody knew what to do. So I called my friend. “O sugar,” he repeated several times (in place of another word that begins with “s”), “I hit the ‘3’ with my thumb instead of the ‘2.’ I’m so sorry!” My Eircode was one digit off, but my location was half an hour off. I would be an hour late for dinner, but that didn’t seem important to Mrs. O’Shea, who again warmly invited me to a cup a tea. “I’ll have to come back,” I promised, waving goodbye.
Yesterday I got lost again, this time on my bike. I was looking for the ruins of O’Crowley Castle, which is about 20 minutes east of the O’Shea farm. Perhaps there have not been Crowleys or O’Crowleys near the O'Shea's for many centuries, but there was still the remains of an O'Crowley castle in the area. But I couldn’t see it from any of the roads or cowtracks I had traversed over the last 40 minutes. So I stopped into a farmyard and asked a nice young lady. She was washing her car with the barnyard hose. She pointed to the farm lane I should take to find the castle, and I said I had been down it three times without seeing a castle. “Oh, you poor dear,” she said. “Would you want a cup of tea?” She called her father over, a wiry man in muck boots who smiled when he heard of my misadventures. “Just through the barnyard at the end of the lane, and then down to the left” he explained. He had been working at something in the field, but he too invited me in for a cup of tea.
When I say the people are natural here, I mean that the most natural thing in the world is for people to talk to each other. We have been given the capacity to converse, and it would be unnatural to not engage other people. But in most of the world rarely do we stop our “business” to talk to others more than briefly. Here in rural Ireland, it’s almost always a good time to share a cup of tea with someone, even when you are washing your car or taking the cows out or preparing supper. Inviting another human being to share your supper is the most natural thing in the world!
O'Crowley castle ruins, Ahakeera, Lisheen Upper, County Cork. Photo courtesy of www.castles.nl
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