Day 3 Emerald Isle: Beyond leprechauns

The girls adore our jolly farmer neighbor, Patrick!

I can't get enough of the view from Rose Cottage in Adrigole.  Sea, cliff, cows. Seriously, if I was a mythical creature, I would live here too and never ever move away. What evidence of Irish luck do you need? One only needs to stand outside.

While we had a setback with the flat tire, that didn't stop us from going on with our adventure and exploring more that the Emerald Isle has to offer. Carpe Diem!  We went to a tire shop in Kenmare. They took care of replacing our tire in 15 mins flat! (Haha!). While in Kenmare, we visited the Kenmare Stone Circle, which was quite accessible from the town proper. This is the largest stone circle in south west Ireland, consisting of 15 boulders with an impressive giant capstone in the middle.  Ever seen the animated movie Brave? The kids really got a kick out of seeing the movie before our Ireland trip then seeing the stone circle in real life! (Pat on the back for mommy.) Just like in that movie, set in medieval Scotland, stone circles or "Druids' Altars" are scattered in the Cork-Kerry region of Ireland. No one knows what they are for. Some suggest they're burial grounds, while most believe they serve ritual or religious functions. I read that they could be astronomical in nature too, given that if you face the axial stone, you can perfectly view the rising or setting sun during a solstice or equinox, pointing to the circle's calendrical use. The last one is actually in line with the name, the druid's altar, since the solstice and equinox marked the shortest and longest night, and important to ancient druidry in terms of rebirth and renewal. For short, these stone circles are magical and spiritual at the same time. 

Kenmare Stone Circle. The Boulder-Dolmen in the middle is said to mark a burial site for someone important. On the back left side, you'll see a fairy thorn tree with ribbons of wishes tied to it.

We continued (slooowly) driving south along the Ring of Kerry to Derrynane, stopping at the town of Sneem to pick up some snacks along the way. Mind you, they don't know what bread "rolls" mean. Buns! Say buns! 

Sneem

In Castlecove, we stopped at Staigue Stone Fort. From afar, the fort was not impressive to look at, but as we draw near, we appreciated its grandeur and how it was erected entirely without mortar - just stones on top of stones! While the fort is thought to have been built for defensive stronghold for a local lord, it's location contradicts that as iit is tucked away in a valley amidst rolling hills, not to mention the lack of mortar. It's also been described as a temple, and observatory, built by men of old. More impressive is the inside, with the stairways lining the wall. 

Do you believe in Fairy tales?

We continued on to Derrynane House to treat the girls to a special kind of hike - a Fairy Trail kind of hike.   It is well-known that mystical folklore play a huge part in the Irish culture. The Druids and Celtics believed in magic, and stories still abound of leprechauns hiding their gold and changeling stealing human children. The "faes" are alive and well in the hearts of the Irishmen with poems and songs dedicated to these fair folks. The heart shape shamrock (clover) representing the trinity still holds a special meaning here. 

While the girls have graduated from their obsession with Tinker Bell and Periwinkle, they still find fairies irresistible. The old forest in Derrynane brings to life these folklores with little houses to discover within the woods. Locals believe that the woodland site around the Derrynane house is inhabited my mystical creatures for thousands of years. My girls loved the hike. They were squealing with joy every time they discovered a miniature house semi-conspicuously tucked away from the main trail. We spotted more than a dozen little houses with wonderful details that will make even grown-ups believe in fairy tales.  

The Fairies

Up the airy mountain,
   Down the rushy glen,
We daren’t go a-hunting
   For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
   Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
   And white owl’s feather!

Down along the rocky shore
   Some make their home,
They live on crispy pancakes
   Of yellow tide-foam;
Some in the reeds
   Of the black mountain-lake,
With frogs for their watchdogs,
   All night awake. 

High on the hill-top
   The old King sits;
He is now so old and grey
   He’s nigh lost his wits.
With a bridge of white mist
   Columbkill he crosses,
On his stately journeys
   From Slieveleague to Rosses;
Or going up with the music
   On cold starry nights,
To sup with the Queen
   Of the gay Northern Lights.

They stole little Bridget
   For seven years long;
When she came down again
   Her friends were all gone.
They took her lightly back,
   Between the night and morrow,
They thought that she was fast asleep,
   But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever since
   Deep within the lake,
On a bed of fig-leaves,
   Watching till she wake.

By the craggy hillside,
   Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn trees
   For my pleasure, here and there.
Is any man so daring
   As dig them up in spite,
He shall find their sharpest thorns
   In his bed at night.

Up the airy mountain,
   Down the rushy glen,
We daren’t  go a-hunting
   For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
   Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
   And white owl’s feather!

- William Allingham, Irish Poet