SATURDAY, AUGUST 3
It was a tiny bit chaotic in the morning when Fiona realized she had to leave earlier than she thought and we rushed to get her to her ride to Cork. But we made it. I drove back alone…and didn’t get lost!
Over the course of the day, we noticed a few things that have changed in the ten months since we were here. Most importantly, Fiona’s kitchen. She has renovated all of it with new counters made of recycled materials, new cupboards, new stove and oven, new dishwasher, and the most gorgeous, new oak floor which covers the entire downstairs. The oak is a natural color, wide beamed, country-style, like ours at home though ours has a grey tint.
She changed the paintings on her walls. Now she has many prints made by her sister who lives in Australia.
We walked to Union Hall for our long walk, and noticed the older man who stands in the doorway of his tiny two-story house. He always wore a purple sweater, but has a summer outfit…green shorts and an orange T-shirt. The Coffee Shop has changed hands, but they’ve done the change slowly…the same owners still work there. The Yellow Gallery is open. It wasn’t open at all when we were here before. There is a no vacancy sign at the B&B attached to Casey’s Pub.
Along the walk, there were more yellow flowers blooming than in the fall, younger calves with their mothers. At nearly 9:00pm while we sat in the solarium looking across the hill and a sliver of moon, it was still light and we realized how much longer the days are now than they were in September and October.
But mostly things remain the same. The quiet is as penetrating and pervasive as before. The intrusion of the landscape and of nature into every aspect of the day allows for an uncanny spaciousness of mind. Each day has a rhythm apparent in the rise and fall of the ocean near the causeway.
The Saturday Farmers Market in Skibbereen continues, and when we went in the morning, we saw familiar faces — the French bread woman, the surly falafel man, the arrogant chocolate master, the olive guys — and they recognized us as well. While we were at the market, rain came in bursts, as it did last fall. That too is steady, expected — rain then shine, then rain again.
We knew all the twists and turns on our walk to Union Hall, when to quickening our pace when passing the “dirty” farm and the little dog who might charge Saffi. We knew in which fields the cows were black and white, and in which they were in tan. The rain didn’t bother us. When Saffi reached Mia’s and Joey’s and Poppy’s houses, we could anticipate her playtime. We knew to expect tugging on the lead, who Saffi would bark at, when to set her free and when to reign her in.
Something comforting resides in these consistencies.
In the evening, with our many purchases from the Farmer’s Market, Chloe cooked away, fixed a potato leek soup with the fresh herbs picked in the garden, and some amazing rosemay cookies. She was happy. It felt like we would have lots of time to relax, rest and get things accomplished.
