SUNDAY, AUGUST 18
Our first day of Patrick’s visit and Chloe was sick. She wasn’t able to come along on the long walk to Union Hall, stopping on the way at the farm. It’s strange to have someone staying with us, to host a visitor when we are living in someone else’s house.
The day was perfect. Clear and bright, blue sky, strong wind. Abundant in green. Fresh. Patrick took lots of photos and I remember how I did the same when we first arrived a year ago. Now I sometimes forget to bring my phone, many walks pass without any photos. He commented several times about how much he likes the stone fences, and the houses. I have stopped seeing the stone fences in the landscape, noticing the details of houses and farms. They have become familiar.
I picked up the smallest flower by the side of the road. It had a tiny pansy face, smaller than a pinky fingernail, white with purple markings. That I noticed.
Patrick talked to the cows along the side of the road. He said he loved Irish words, like Skibbereen and Clonikilty. Olive and Peter drove by in their truck with a bootful of dogs. I missed the dogs. I thought Saffi might be able to meet up with them at the farm but they were too far ahead of us.
We had a beer at Casey’s, in the back “garden” overlooking the lake. Swans and seagulls gently glided overhead. The water was marked with ripples from the wind. The pink and light blue, the stone and spring colors of Union. Hall’s small houses looked “happy out” (our new favorite phrase, which means “glowing”) in the sunshine. It was quiet except for the every now and then yapping of the terrier next to us followed by a reprimend by the dog’s owner.
We had a night out. Dinner at Glendore Inn, and then music by Brian Dealy at Connolly’s of Leap. Chloe and I didn’t like Dealy’s music, particularly, but we liked the opening singer, just didn’t remember his name.
The day was full of conversation which ranged from grief and dying to Irish music.
