Connemara Ghosts

The sun has been shining and the sea calm for four of the past five days. The tiny native people think we’re nuts as we shed our jackets in the 48 degree Irish balm. Last Saturday we ventured west along the coast and then inland to explore the Connemara – Ireland’s desolate, rocky Gaeltacht region. This ancient pagan place was one of the only havens for generations of Celtic Irish fleeing the oppression of Norman and English Earls from the 12th century and well into the 20th. Those invaders considered the Connemara largely a waste of time because of its near-uselessness as farmland. No wonder. It's tough to plow basalt and granite.

Where there isn’t rock outcrop there is bog. Mountains shoot to the sky throughout, and there are enormous expanses of quiet, people-free, wide open space. It is magnificent, spare, and inspiring. And of course, if one happens to be a biologist, the Connemara is a treasure trove of Irish natural history. Thatched-roof stone houses that are still heated with turf fires abound out there, and they are not tourist attractions. Paul ‘borrowed’ some freshly cut turf 'logs' from one of the thousands of drying piles found throughout rural Ireland. His family did not appreciate his dissertation on the nature of peat/turf and the morphology of the rich fens and bogs, but he was unrepentant in his glee. They are drying in our house for purposes yet to be revealed.

Sue has been attending Galway’s Hot Yoga studio, where the temperature of the studio is a sweaty 104 degrees F. Gumby loves it, and it makes here peaceful. She’s been Skyping her office regularly, and feels more comfortable about trans-Atlantic telecommuting now. After borrowing 30 kg of books on Microsoft Access from the GMIT library, she has begun the task of rebuilding IRI’s database, too. Last week she made a huge volume of Irish stew using a stock pot borrowed from the Foyle's of Spiddal. It was a huge hit with the men of the teaghlach.

The boys are lovely, as they say, and have settled into the school routine. Each morning at 8:00 – about the time this nation wakes up – we pile into the car and drive across Galway to Sam’s school in Salthill. On the way back to Theo’s digs, we can see the sunrise over Galway Bay. That alone is worth the price of admission!