Two days before the New Year, we saw the blooming lilac bush. We were on our short walk through the townland of Móin an Fhraoigh, next to our own Mullenaglemig. A fellow walking with his Labrador in the opposite direction stopped to gawk at the bush with us.
“It’s lovely to look at but do ye think it will come again in the spring?” he asked.
His Lab, after a quick sniff at Lucy, shoved his muddy nose into us, hoping for a scratch behind the ear. We both obeyed. He did not seem interested in the cycles of nature.
“I’m afraid of what will happen when the frost comes,” I replied.
“Aye,” the fellow said.
We continued on our walk.
The winter has been abnormally mild this year with temperatures consistently in the 50s. Anemones started popping their red, blue, and purple heads up in my garden in early January. Our roses are blooming as well. In the woods nearby daffodils sway in the breeze and, over in the corner near the fence, our landlord’s gran’s lilies are glossy green, getting ready to flower. The fields around us are as green as a day in June.
Good weather for walking
But we all know the frost will come.
The short walk–about two and a half miles–is the walk we take when we’ve had a busy day shopping in town or we’re still sore from our workout at the gym the previous day.
“Will we do the short walk?” Sara will say as we approach our gate.
“I think we should.”
We turn left as we pass through the gate and walk to the bridge that spans the stream that borders our forestry. There is a short hill beyond the bridge, the only strenuous part of the walk, and we lean on our sticks until we reach the crossroad. Móin an Fhraoigh, called Monrea in English,is just past the crossroad.
The road flattens out here, passing by some newer bungalows with a view of the harbor, Dingle Bay, and, on a clear day, Little Skellig and Skellig Michael, some fifty kilometers out in the Atlantic. We stop to admire the bay. Sara calls one house with a particularly fine view our “lottery house.” Around a bend in the lane is the lilac bush that bloomed in December and, a few steps on, there’s an abandoned village
The village fuels my imagination; I populate it in my mind.
There are three or four one-room stone cottages hard by the lane on both sides. The walls, laid stone by stone two hundred years ago, still stand strong, as sturdy as the people who lived within them. The door frames and window sashes are intact. But the hearth has gone cold and the timber and thatch of the roof have long since rotted away.
Scattered around are sheds for their animals – a cow for the milk and butter and hens for eggs. Small plots for growing potatoes, cabbage, and carrots can still be seen, now just furrows covered by grass.
How many generations were fed beside those hearths? How many children slept in the loft beneath the thatch? How many secret plans to leave were shared? Outside in the yard an old swing still hangs from a tree but there are no squeals of laughter. One-by-one the children left. Famine, crushing poverty, wars of independence took their toll. The children scattered to Hartford and Springfield, London and Birmingham, Sydney and Melbourne. Few would ever come back.
The night before a child left the village in Monrea there would be an “American wake,” with the women keening and the men stoically smoking their pipes. In the morning, the son or daughter would walk away to Dingle, not daring to look back until they were around the bend in the lane, so they would not lose their resolve. From Dingle there was a train to Tralee and then another train to the port of Cobh, near Cork, where they would board a ship to a new, unknown life.
Until there was no one left.
15 thoughts on “Will they come again in the spring?”
Touched my immigrant heart.
Love to you both
In a short while, we will see you
Even though I’m a couple generations removed from the emigrant experience, it’s still a part of me. I swear I can see kids playing around those old cottages. See you soon.
This particular entry really moved me. And, I’m glad you are sore after your gym visits!
I was just saying to another friend that even though I’m a couple of generations removed from the emigrant experience, it is still a part of me. I think about my grandparents every time we walk past those cottages.
It’s a good sore, though.
Jim! I thoroughly enjoyed reading this latest entry! It gives me a good feel of where you and Sara live and why it’s special to you! Can’t wait to see you! Love, Mary Beth
On Sat, Mar 23, 2019 at 2:52 AM Mullenaglemig Diary wrote:
> mullenaglemigdiary posted: “Two days before the New Year, we saw the > blooming lilac bush. We were on our short walk through the townland of Móin > an Fhraoigh, next to our own Mullenaglemig. A fellow walking with his > Labrador in the opposite direction stopped to gawk at the bush with ” >
And you’re coming again in the spring!
Very beautiful and touching! Maureen’s Mom was one of those girls who left family and friends to seek a better life in America…fortunately, she was able to return many times to visit…and brought all of her children with her…in the Spring!
Miss you both – Bob and Maureen
Thank you, Bob. I’ve been thinking about this abandoned village and the emigrant experience for quite a long time before I wrote about it. I think understanding it is an essential part of being American. I imagine Maureen can relate.
Journey’s of the past lives, times when hearts became tougher just by the facts of living in those times. Thank you for the inspiring expressions of love and curiosity. Many times I feel as if I am walking beside you as your words take life
on this day. Love susan
Thank you, Susan. As you can imagine, this post was personal for me.
Well Jim, you’ve don it again!!! I think everyone who has read this was transported in time to the exact place and time of which you wrote. Well at least I was. Thanks for sharing, I so enjoy the ride. Love to you and Sara.
That village is so much a part of our experience. It haunts me.
Hi Jim & Sara. That was a wonderful story. The little towns sound charming. I can really tell by your stories that you love it there. I hope you have a wonderful spring! Take care, Marilyn & Greg
I love reading about your walks in Ireland. I have been there three times and can’t wait to go back!! Not sure if your wife will remember me, but I met her at Aebecher’s in Poland, Ohio awhile back. Thank you so much for writing such wonderful stories!
you really need to write a book!!!!!!!