Rainy Days

When I started out, it looked as if it could have rained all day. If I had let a little rain bother me, I would have spent all day in my room and not had amazing adventures. I am fond of saying, “I will not melt.” I am not made of sugar, nor am I the Wicked Witch of the West.  

New Mills, High Peak

Examining the remaining mechanisms of a sluice gate in New Mills, I ponder if someone stood at the same place decades ago and stared at the engineering marvel. Did they think the ingenious device was more permanent than them? Perhaps, but it was not permanent either. The remnants of the mills today, which drove economic wealth for a century, is little more than a skeleton of a bygone economy. We could look at many of things we see every day, objects and places we take for granted, and spare a thought that they and we will pass as well.

Seth Valley Cafe

 

The café is a comfortable little place with limited indoor and outdoor seating for a coffee or ice cream, or in my case for waiting out a passing rain shower. Not only does the café cater to people who walk on the trail, many locals meet there for socialization and conversation. People greeted one another happily As I sat outside watching the rain and nursing my americano, a man wobbled by to his personal motorized vehicle mumbling. I was unsure if his vocalizations were directed at me, or it was just a verbalized internal monologue. I continued to stare at the rain.

Seated below a bird box that I took for a decoration, “Home Sweet Home” painted in baby blue letters across the front, peeps began to emanate from hungry babies. Was my chosen location a deterrent to chicks getting their food? Did the people and dogs that frequented the café pose a threat to the mother bird? There were periods of quiet, which I assume meant feeding was occurring. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a small bird, darting away from the nest. Any concerns I might have had were allayed.

Seth Valley Trail

Seth Valley Trail

In doing my research about Hayfield and High Peak, I had noticed the Seth Valley Trail on the map. It looked rather like a small trail. perhaps a nature path, but I knew at some point I would have a walk on it. Upon exiting the train at New Mills, a sign to the Millennial Trail completely distracted me. I walk over to have a look, the trail started about 40 steps down into a valley is between the train station. A rolling suitcase was not optimal for a walk on the trail. Thus, I needed to figure out the bus to Hayfield, and I could arrange to come back as well. The sidewalk was somewhat of an uphill excursion to get the bus stop, although less than 200 meters. Any, it turned out, the bus stop was little more than a series of shelters.

Scanning the bus schedules, a somewhat gruff older woman, sitting in the middle of the closest shelter, inquired, “Where are you heading?” “Hayfield,” I replied. “That’s your bus there just pulling in.” I acknowledged her kindness, and she gave a faint smile, mixed with satisfaction I thought. She continued, “You were lucky, just in time – the next bus would be in an hour.” Sometimes, when one is traveling, it is easy to lose count of the days. Intellectually I knew that it was Sunday because I had a reservation to stay in at a lodge but did not really think that buses might run infrequently on that particular day of the week. As the bus made its way through New Mills, it was sufficiently interesting to warrant an exploration. At some point, I would come over to this small town for an exploration, perhaps lunch or dinner, and a walk on the Millennial Trail.

Seth River Reservoir

The bus stop in Hayfield is at the trailhead for the Seth Valley Trail, a former railway line, originally opened in 1868, that transported coal and goods in this once heavily industrialized area. The bus stop in Hayfield was once the train station, a place where thousands of mill workers every Sunday would come and enjoy nature and recreation. The trail is a two-and-a-half-mile multiuse path that parallels the Seth River between Hayfield and New Mills. Shortly after checking into my guest lodge, and dropping my bags, I went back to the trail to have an exploration. While the land had been transformed during the industrial period, today it is a sanctuary for birds, wildlife, and those who seek the solace of a walk. Much like in Ireland, the bluebells were past their peak, but plenty of other wildflowers were to be found. The bluebells, nevertheless, have their own quarter-mile diversion, the Bluebell Trail, expressly for their protection and enjoyment.

European Robin

Blackbird

Mama Blue Tit

Woodpigeon

As 4pm approached, the traffic on the trail began to thin out substantially. It was the last day of the English Premier League, and a win would make Manchester United, the relatively local team, league champions. Near the halfway point of the trail, a couple were sitting on a bench watching the pregame commentary on their phone. After four, most of the walkers were decidedly older and female.

The walk into New Mills was interesting, with many side excursions along the way. Despite the nature’s recovery, the is no doubt that this was an industrial area. The landscape is beautiful, but the towns and villages have the hallmarks of nineteenth century factories and buildings. The cloudy day, with threatening clouds, made it difficult not to remember the gloom and squalor that people once endured in those factories.

Railroad Bridge in New Mills

Upon returning from my roundtrip journey, it was nearing evening. A quick shower and change meant that I was ready for dinner. There are not many restaurants in Hayfield and most cater to visitors. It was stunning, however, to see that every restaurant had signs in their windows looking for help and reducing opening hours because they were short-staffed. I opted for the local Italian restaurant, Colosseo, for the first night. It was quite busy, and the two servers on duty were attendant and efficient but everything took a long time. Many Man United fans were in the bar area, celebrating their victory and ordering takeout for their families. It was chaotic, but all good spirited.  

I ordered a beer, the only interesting one on the menu was Kozel. I chuckled to myself: I came to an Italian restaurant, in central England, to order a Czech beer.  At a table next to me, was an older British couple, with a younger woman, and an 8-year-old son were dining engaging in a rather stilted conversation. The discussion centered on entertainment television shows like Dancing with the Stars. I had not yet deduced that the awkward conversation was an attempt to avoid the obvious. The boy fidgeted and had trouble communicating with the older couple. The mother commented, with a slight accent, that the food was quite good. The older gentlemen went into detail about how the restaurant only did takeaway during lockdown. His wife tried a few questions with the boy, only then did I realize what was going on: the mother and boy were Ukrainian refugees, and the older couple were their hosts. Hence the awkwardness. The older couple were trying to make both mother and son feel comfortable and welcomed. Meanwhile, the Manchester fans were raucous. Whenever there was a crescendo in the congratulatory yelling and celebration in the bar, the young boy covered his ears. The British couple seemingly did not notice. The mother gave a quick, furtive glance at her son. War has a devastating effect on children.

  

Beamish

 

Brewed in Dublin, Guinness has become a global icon of Irishness. The black stout represents the country with global marketing campaigns, is a major sponsor, and is on the checklist for many visitors to the island. Its counterpart, brewed in Cork, has an equally interesting history, but does not enjoy the fame or global reach. Nevertheless, Beamish is an Irish tradition far off the radar of many tourists set to buy overpriced Guinness apparel in tourist shops.

Dating from 1792, Beamish is today brewed by the Heineken company in Cork. It retains its original recipe that creates a beer that is pleasantly bitter with a creamy texture. While occasionally found outside of Ireland, it is primarily brewed for domestic consumption.

Coming Back to Kindred Spirits

 After walking in Ballyannan Wood for a couple of hours, the weather had turned decidedly nicer. The sun was out, there was, for Ireland, a great deal of blue sky. I wanted to stop off and rephotograph Kindred Spirits. I adjusted my camera, made sure to get the lighting right, and noticed in my viewfinder that someone had hung a hat on the sculpture. I took a couple of shots, debating whether to remove the hat for another series of shots. I walked up to find that it was a hat from the Blackfeet Nation. I was stunned, why had I not seen that before? I look back through my photos; it was not there when I came in the morning. Someone had put it there in the two hours or so while I was walking. A coincidence no doubt, but it did give me a strange sensation.

The Streets of Midleton

 

McSweeney Terrace (Midleton) 

Walking down the main street of small Irish towns, one of the things I admire is the sense of community. The center of town is the center of community. Midleton is a good example. Listening to the people converse with one another, catching pieces of catching up on the welfare of their kids or parents, or where they might be going on holiday, as they meet each on the street is a fun experience. The center (i.e., centre) of town is bustling and there is a good chance that one might run into someone who know if you live there.

In the neighborhoods, there is still a sense of what once was. Terraces and religious statues and shrines still dot the small and large towns of Ireland. Even though there is a need for more housing in Ireland, typically towns do not tear down houses and start anew. Homes are refurbished and updated, still linking communities to the past. As the population of Ireland grows, however, that might change.

Our Lady of Lourdes (Midleton) 

Drink Tourism

Eating lunch at Farmgate, I wondered why an American family would be spending time in Midleton. It is a lovely town, but I was not sure what a family with adult children and their partners have a lunch, with a couple bottles of wine would be doing in a small town in County Cork. They did not seem like a family who were on a voyage to connect with ancestors. But then I espied their bags from the Jameson Experience and remembered there was a factory tour, and they were likely in Ireland to enjoy some of the more prominent products of Ireland. Originally distilled in Dublin, the world’s best-selling whiskey is now manufactured in Midleton.

Blackbird

 

Blackbird in Ballyannan Wood

Growing up in the States, when I heard Paul McCartney singing about a blackbird whose song was sweet and melodic in the night, I had no frame of reference. Blackbird was often given to the name of starlings, who can be destructive and a nuisance. Instead, this distinctive bird, which an orange ring around its eye and a matching bill, provides one of the most pleasant sounds one can hear walking through the woods or a neighborhood. I now understand the inspiration.

Midleton, Co. Cork

I had three goals while visiting Midleton: to see Kindred Spirits monument, have a walk through Ballyannan wood, and to have a pleasant lunch at a local establishment, in that order of preference. The events and legacy of the Famine in Ireland (An Gorta Mór), during the middle of the nineteenth century, looms large over Irish life and politics.[1]The stories and accounts are grim, but I was off to see a more uplifting and redemptive story. While the deprivation the Irish suffered are staggering, there are stories of kindness and perseverance.

Perhaps it is foolhardy to take a two-and-a-half hour bus ride for a short two night stay in Cork. That is especially true after a transatlantic trip, but having an itinerary and agenda is important, if is is not immutable. The first night in Cork requires food and rest. Dinner at the White Rabbit Bar & BBQ, close to my guesthouse, is unpretentious and uncomplicated. While the food was not unique to Americans, it was very good.  My speculation is that the bar captures what Irish people who have traveled to the States love about the food and culture. The blues music, the wooden floors, American advertising, as well as the good food, supplemented with Irish twists, such as the local stout, help to make both Irish and Americans feel at home.

The train ride to Midleton the next morning was a reminder of the hard scrabble life growing up in Cork once was. Industrial ports… arriving in Midleton, my destinations were south of town, while the train station is north of the town of 12,000 people. The pandemic has done weird things to our memories and perceptions. It seems like a long time since I walked a walk through a small Irish town, and I relished the small shops and bits of conversation I overheard as I walked through. In fact, it has only been three years. 

The Kindred Spirits Choctaw Memorial is a remembrance of an act of kindness during the Famine, when the Choctaw Nation gave a donation to Irish Relief of approximately $170 in 1847 (adjusted for inflation, about $5000 today). Although it might be a small sum, the amount of money raised seems relatively small, the donation came just 16 years after their forced removal to Oklahoma generally referred to as “The Trail of Tears.” While President of Ireland, Mary Robinson would often recall the kindness and generosity of the Choctaw People. Over the years, Irish people looked to repay the kindness in various ways, including provide supplies and donations during the pandemic.

Kindred Spirits Choctaw Memorial

Kindred Spirits links two disenfranchised people together with a bond of helping one another. Although occurring almost 170 years ago, the act of kindness, and the response, creates a story that both people can share, cherish, nurture. It is a bind between people who who rarely have the opportunity to interact, but it symbolizes their endeavors to build friendship and peace.

Commissioned in 2014 by the town of Midleton, the memorial is not an obvious tourist destination; that would be the whisky experience in town instead. Nevertheless, I am sure one of the motivations of the structure another reason to have people come to a small town in eastern County Cork. But the memorial represents something bigger. It is not in the center of town, but at the edge of the River Owennacurrra, where people can come and watch birds and other wildlife even as cars race across the highway bridge that removes them from their connection to the outdoors. The location is a place to contemplate the past, present and the future, and to observe what we often miss.

On the other side of the highway is Ballyannan Wood, a small track of land adjacent to the river, open for walking and recreating. Ballick Road goes beneath the N25 motorway, but the sidewalk on the right side ends at Kindred Spirits.  I must cross the road to transit the viaduct, and immediately cross back on the other side because the car park is adjacent to, but not accessible from the freeway. A mobile coffee shop, serving walkers and those who want to enjoy the outdoors, is nestled among the car run by a small generator. It is tempting, but I am anxious to explore.

Fading Bluebells in Ballyannan Wood

Glorious photographs of luxurious bluebells filling the floor of a forest are published in newspapers and social media feeds each spring. They bloom at an inconvenient time, April and May, a difficult time to travel. Nevertheless, I am enchanted by the photographs, and I motivated to see them. It is late May, and I was not expecting to see bluebells and it is a great bonus to turn a bend and see a lavender carpet alongside the trail. These beautiful, delicate flowers are well past their prime still enticing. Although I am still feeling the effects of jetlag, seeing the flowers, hearing, and chasing birds I could not immediately identify, is energizing and restorative. The remnants of a house that has been abandoned long ago, with trees growing where people ate and slept decades ago, is a fascinating diversion. To wander and explore is a salve to several months of limited explorations.  

A European Robin trying to hide behind a stem

I sit for a moment and take in the scenery reflecting that on my long journey that takes me back to a nature walk; the tide is out and the River Owennacurra is less and for some hours it shrinks. There is a certain joy and liberation on a walk like this. There are no times constraints, no rushing home to do something. Just time to explore — other than making sure I catch the train back to Cork, which runs once an hour. But even then, I have a credit card in my pocket. I can take care of problems if they arise, but they seem unlikely to do so today.

Watching the river go by

I had not decided on a place to have lunch ahead of time, I like to have a look and see what interests me. My criterion in such situations is that it need not be fancy, or especially highbrow, but local and relatively nutritious. Coming back from the walk, I bypassed with some trepidation The Grumpy Bakers. The name made me smile, but the long walk engendered the need for more than a snack. Close by I was interested in the Farmgate but walked through town to weight other options. Seeing nothing else that intrigued me more, I came back to Farmgate,[2] a restaurant that was buzzing with people enjoying a Friday afternoon. I did not want a big meal, but something that was fairly substantial. I selected the ham salad sandwich, something that many Americans would assume would have some concoction of mayonnaise and chopped ham. Instead, it was an open-faced sandwich, served on traditional brown bread, salad greens, tomatoes, shaved ham, homemade pickles, a little bit of mayonnaise, and onions.  It was both hearty and a bit upscale. Jazz music, particularly Ella Fitzgerald, set the tone, but was largely not heard over the in-depth conversations, both loud and quiet, across the restaurant.

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[1] An Gorta Mór has become a focal point of historical studies and remembrances, consequently an important part of Ireland’s national identity. Many are quick to remind you that it was not an Irish famine, it was a British famine. Those in charge at the time was the government in Westminster and therefore, many Irish people would argue, Britain bears the responsibility of the consequences and response to the Famine.

[2] Farmgate Restaurant, Coolbawn, Midleton, Co. Cork.