Tag: #friendly

The Bufflehead

The Bufflehead

It was Easter Sunday and Cath and I were taking Carmen for a walk. As we returned, we noticed something white on a tree branch in the pond. Initially, we thought a plastic bag was caught on a limb, but soon realized we had a first-time visitor to the farm – a Bufflehead Duck.

That’s Bufflehead. Not Buffethead or Parrothead, of which there are plenty in this area.

The pond is wonderful for animal and bird watching. I’m not a birder, but we do keep an Audubon Field Guide to North American Birds available, tracking both regular and visiting species. In addition to the normal Blue Jays, Cardinals, Robins, Bluebirds, Finches, Hummingbirds, Hawks, Owls and occasional Eagle, we have numerous waterbirds who fly in. Geese and Ducks arrive during their migrations. Herons stop by to fish. They stand stone quiet in the water, silently awaiting their opportunity. Deer, raccoon and the occasional bear visit as well. Regular readers of this blog will recall that two River Otters* were guests at the farm about a year ago.

For the past couple of years, a pair of geese and a pair of wood ducks have shared the pond and called it home. The geese are noisy and brazen, making sure everyone knows it’s their place. The ducks are quieter, often staying in the brush out of sight.

Then, a little over a week ago, this guy showed up and joined the party. We’ve not had a previous visit from a Bufflehead Duck, or at least none I’m aware of in the past 25 years. As a matter of fact, until his visit, I didn’t know such a duck existed. Starkly black and white, he was hard to miss and cut quite the figure. Going to our Audubon, I found it pretty quickly – a male Bufflehead. As is often true in nature, the males are more colorful than their female counterparts.

Our Bufflehead Duck, Just Hanging out

I read up on them in the Audubon and online. It turns out they migrate from Canada to Florida or Mexico and aren’t that unusual here in Virginia. They are evidently more often on the Chesapeake Bay, but according to our birding friend, Linda, they are definitely here in the Virginia Piedmont as well. Described as “short and chunky”, they are also known as Butterballs and Buffalo Heads.

Why this one was alone, I’m not sure. They normally travel in small groups, not big flocks. Maybe his buds were somewhere else in the area, or perhaps he became separated or injured. There is no way to know.

After three days, he was still here. Except for the occasional swim or dive for food, he hung out on the same tree limb sticking out of the water. It was as if someone posted a sign – “Bufflehead Roosting Only”. He’d definitely claimed the branch as his own. It’s worth noting this is the same branch the River Otters sat on a year ago. It must provide a good vantage point. Usually he swam alone, but occasionally I would see him with the Wood Ducks paddling around together.

Hanging Out Alone, at the “Bufflehead Roosting Only” Branch

One morning, he and the male Wood Duck were hanging out on the branch together. They didn’t appear to be talking or comparing notes. They were both just sitting there, very Zen like.

How long will he stay? We don’t know. As with the River Otters a year ago, we are enjoying his visit. When I feed the horses around 7AM, I make a short side trip to the pond and look for him. So far, he’s been sitting on the “Bufflehead Roosting Only” branch each morning. Later in the day, Cath and I both occasionally see him swimming around the pond or diving for food. He’s quite the character and has made himself at home on the farm. It’s over a week now, and he’s still hanging out, providing a little extra joy and color to the pond.

Our Guest, Diving for Dinner One Evening

Addendum:

  • Update: On April 12th, eleven days after his arrival and two days after this blog was published, our guest disappeared. Perhaps some animal caught him, but I like to think he resumed his migration north. I hope he enjoyed his time at Rohan Farm as much as we enjoyed seeing him.
  • * Here’s the story of the River Otters that visited us for about a month last year: “This February, we had visitors on the farm. While it took a bit of time to confirm their identity, we eventually did. Two river otters took up residence at our pond and provided both joy and sadness” […] Continue here: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2023/02/28/guests-at-the-pond/

Kylie, The Shoe Thief

Kylie, The Shoe Thief

There is a thief in our rural Orlean neighborhood. We’ve discovered this over the past couple of months as some items have gone missing. The items are of low value and the intent seems mostly to show he visited us and could get away with the theft, rather than anything more devious. We even know the young thief’s name – Kylie.

Kylie is pretty good as a youngster overall and our dog Carmen likes him. If he stops by while Carmen is outside, they have fun together and to be honest, I think they wear each other out a bit. Sometimes, when Carmen is inside, I’ll see him standing forlornly on the back porch staring at the door. He won’t knock, he’ll just stare at the door. I usually relent and let Carmen outside. He gives me a friendly nod and a grunt, and off they run together.

If he’s in our physical presence, with, or without Carmen there, he’s well mannered. He’ll look me straight in the eye like the most innocent guy around. “Who me? Why no, I’d never take anything from your garage, like say a shoe for instance.”

But there’s no getting around it. If we don’t see him, or don’t let Carmen out to play, that’s when the thievery occurs. We didn’t realize what was happening at first. We usually leave our garage door open and have our shoes sitting by the back door of the house inside the garage. Cathy was the first to notice something was up. One of her flip flops was missing, but she found it later in the backyard. “Hmmmm, that’s a bit strange. I wonder…”. But she didn’t finish her sentence.

A few days later, one of her muck shoes went missing. Now, Cathy’s suspicions rose up, and she called Kevin and Julie, our neighbors. Kevin, Kylie’s dad answered the phone. “Hey Cathy” – “Hey Kevin – ummmm, is Kylie by chance a shoe thief?” “What kind of shoe are you missing?” “A muck shoe.” “Yep! I found one in the front yard – I thought it was Julie’s!” That’s when we knew Kylie was the thief for sure. Evidently he’d come to play with Carmen, and since she wasn’t there, stole the shoe as a memento of his Carmenless visit. He then took the shoe to his home, which is a quarter mile away. When Kevin returned the shoe, it was a bit strange, as there were no teeth or bite marks on it.

Yes, Kylie is our neighbor’s golden retriever.

The Face of Innocence.

I chuckled about it when it happened to Cathy, and said “There must be something about you he likes.” Then it happened to me – one of my barn shoes disappeared. We looked around the house, the barn and in our backyard. No shoe. Finally, we called Kevin and Julie and asked if they’d seen the shoe. All apologetic, they immediately searched their yard, and no shoe. Kev came to our place and looked around the yard, in the woods, and by the pond (Kylie loves going for a swim in our pond). No shoe. Kevin offered to buy me new shoes, but I said don’t worry about it. These things happen, and I probably needed new ones anyway.

Kylie continued to drop by to play with Carmen, but we started keeping our garage door closed, just to remove the temptation and that seemed to work. I bought new muck shoes and dutifully placed them in the garage by the door.

Carmen and Kylie Playing Together

A couple of days later, I was walking Carmen and we passed Kevin and Julie’s home. Kevin came running out of his garage with a shoe in his hand. He’d found the shoe! Except he hadn’t. This was one of the new muck shoes I’d recently bought! What?! It turns out we’d left the garage door open earlier that morning and Kylie saw his opportunity, and seized it, so to speak.

Safely Returned with No Teeth Marks

We continue to try and keep the garage door closed, and store our muck shoes on a shelf out of reach. It seems to be working. Kevin and Julie continue to work with Kylie to understand the boundaries of their yard. In the meantime, he still drops by to play with Carmen, which she loves. I guess like many fathers, I’m a bit suspicious of her boyfriend’s intent. He’s a great dog – other than the shoe thievery thing. 😉

Hey Mr Hall! Can Carmen Come out to Play!?

Playing “Work Up”

Playing “Work Up”

Summer is almost here and schools will soon release their prisoners for the season. I envy the kids and their feelings of anticipation right now. Summertime, and the livin’ will be easy… Of course lots of the summer will be planned out, as seemingly everything is for children these days. Do they ever have the chance to just act like kids?

I was thinking back to summertime during my own youth and growing up in Tomahawk Terrace on the Southside of Ottawa, Illinois – population 18,000. There wasn’t much planning of our time at all, with every day it’s own adventure. Playground at the school? Playing Horse or two-on-two basketball at Schaefer’s or Cavanaugh’s house? Playing army in Varland’s nearby corn field or cow pasture? Hanging out and reading comics? … The possibilities were endless.

There were some organized activities in my life, such as Little League Baseball, or Boy Scout Camp, but most of the time? It was just us kids hanging out. You had to be home for lunch, and you had to be home for dinner. After that, I don’t really remember any other requirements.

… me in the mid 60s …

I think one of the best memories was playing “Work Up” baseball behind Honer’s house, next to the cemetery.

Work Up? What’s that you say? It’s the baseball game you play when you don’t have enough players for two teams, or maybe even one team. Hell, it’s the game the kids on the movie “Sandlot” would have been playing if the film had really gotten it right (and yes, I do love the movie).

The rules? Well there weren’t really any rules, but there were norms. Typically we’d have 7, 8 or 9 guys show up to play. You’d have 2 or 3 guys up to bat, with the remainder in the field. In our case, that included, in order of importance, a pitcher, 1st baseman, shortstop, 2nd baseman, and right and center fielders. We didn’t have a catcher, it was just whoever was up next to bat. The game was called Work Up because you would bat and run the bases until you made an out. Then the pitcher would go in to join the batters, the first basemen became the pitcher, and everyone else advanced one position. Whoever made the out moved to right field. Oh, and if you hit a fly ball and someone caught it, you did a direct exchange with that player.

The game was really adaptable. As an example, if you didn’t have enough kids, there might be only one outfielder, or maybe no 2nd baseman.

The only rules I really remember concerned Left Field. Our “ball diamond” had a graveyard where much of left field normally was. We never put a player in left field, although the center fielder might shade that way a bit. When you were at bat, if you hit a tombstone on the fly, it was an out – we basically assumed the gravestone “caught” the ball. If you hit a tombstone on the ground, we assumed the gravestone fielded a grounder and it was an automatic double. If you hit a ball and it didn’t touch any of the gravestones (almost impossible to do), then the ball was in play.

There are now trees near where Home plate, and 1st and 3rd Base were. Varland Park was a cow pasture at the time.

I don’t remember us ever having a set time for a game. Word just spread around and some number of guys would show up. We might play pickle, while waiting for enough folk to show. Most everybody was from the ‘Terrace, with the occasional friend or cousin added in. This included the Honer brothers, the Hinsons, Deaks, Hazelwoods, Steve Schaefer, John Levy, Chuck Ogden, Jim Habben, one of the Leach boys, Leonard Mayberry, Howard … other names I have long forgotten. If everyone showed up, we’d actually have enough for two teams and play pick-up, but that rarely happened. Kids ranged in age from a couple years older than me to a couple years younger, and there were lots of younger brothers in attendance. One unwritten rule was you didn’t try and take advantage of the younger kids. I mean, it was OK if one of your hits went towards them, but if you did it every time? Not so cool.

By the way, there was never an adult in sight. We seemed to manage just fine by ourselves, without their oversight or interference.

I don’t recall much about the games themselves, I just remember playing the game on hot summer days until we were tired. It might have been an hour, it might have gone on for three hours. Eventually someone’s mom would call and that player went home and then someone else would have to leave, and the game slowly broke up. We might reconvene again the next day, or maybe not until a week later.

I know it’s a different world today. Things are more complex, more challenging, and perhaps less safe. Kid’s lives, from what I can see as an outside observer and non-parent, are organized to the nth degree. Multiple activities, multiple practices, multiple study activities. I guess they are able to try more things, but I also think some things might get lost in the process, like the ability to entertain yourself, informal group interactions and how to handle them, and perhaps even learning a little about leadership for better or worse…

I dunno, do kids even want to spend time outside these days, or is it all mostly computer and video games? Back in the day, I know mom, or our babysitter, would have kicked us out of the house if we were hanging there too much.

I suppose some of this makes me sound like a grumpy old man after a fashion. I don’t really mean it that way. I just remember how much fun we had hanging out on our own behind Honer’s house, playing ball and trying like hell to not hit a fly ball to left field, where it was sure to be caught by a tombstone…

Addendum:

  • I went online to do a bit of research on “Work Up” baseball as a check on my memory. In a sign of the times, I found plenty of entries, most of them with long lists of rules on how to play Work Up… – sigh –
  • Thanks to Tomahawk Terrace alumni Bob Deak and Leonard Mayberry, for providing input to this blog.

Talking to the Animals

Talking to the Animals

I’m no Doctor Dolittle, but I do “Talk to the Animals” here at Rohan Farm, and do so on a pretty regular basis. Most mornings, we have conversations, although they tend to be a trifle one sided, at least in a verbal sense. Still, I think we have a pretty good understanding of each other.

It starts when I wake up in the morning. Carmen, our dog, will stir and I’ll ask her if she had a good night sleep. She doesn’t answer, and instead does a couple of “downward dog” yoga stretches while waking up and looking at me. Eventually, we are both awake and go downstairs and out the door.

At the barn, I greet our horses, Katy and Stella, with a good morning, and ask them if they had a restful night, and whether there were any visitors to the barn. They tend to just look at me, and the look says “Where were you? It’s time for our breakfast!” On cold mornings, when there’s some ice in their buckets, I’ll also ask if they were warm enough during the night. Of course they were, but it seems a friendly thing to ask. While getting their food, I keep a bit of chatter going about the beautiful sunrise outside the barn, or the new snow on the ground, and aren’t they going to be surprised when they are turned out. They respond by stomping their hooves, or scraping the bars on the stall doors with their teeth, wanting to know where the hell breakfast is. Eventually, I give it to them, and things quiet down, while they munch away.

Katie and Stella – “Where’s my breakfast!?”

Now, it’s time to feed our cats, Stan and Ollie, and I again greet them with a hello and ask how their night was. Lately, it’s been fairly cold, so we’ve allowed them to sleep in the heated tack room, rather than the barn itself. They purr and wrap around my legs, or rub up against Carmen as they wait for breakfast. I’ll ask them if they heard Momma Cat out in the barn last night. Momma is a cat whose owner moved away, and we have seemingly adopted. Cathy frequently sees her, but she is quite shy around Carmen and me and we rarely do. As I leave the barn, I call out a loud hello to Momma Cat, and noisily put some food in a bowl in the hay area for her. Of course, she is nowhere to be seen.

Carmen and I then return to the house for our own breakfasts. As we enter the mudroom, Carmen immediately sits in front of her dog bowl. She hasn’t barked, or said anything verbally, but she might as well have said “OK – you fed everyone else, now it’s my turn. And don’t even think about making your coffee before feeding me.”

Tail wagging, Carmen’s ready to eat…

After a couple cups of coffee and small breakfast, it’s time to go back to the barn and let everyone out.

The cats go first, and I remind them to come back at dinner time, if they want to sleep in the tack room. Otherwise, they are on their own. I tell Stan to watch out for our other neighbor’s un-neutered male cat that sometimes comes slinking around the barn looking for a handout. Stan and he have a history, so I figure a word of caution can’t hurt. I also remind Stan doing a walk-about for a week or more in winter is probably not a smart thing to do, but he ignores me whenever I tell him this.

Ollie and Stan after breakfast on a recent morning

Finally, it’s time to put the horses out and I take a few flakes of hay to the nearby paddock. While in the hay area, I note that Momma Cat has already eaten most of her food, and disappeared back into the hay. I say hello again, and call “Here kitty, kitty, kitty…” a few times, but get no response

As i put Katy’s grazing muzzle on, I tell her I’m sorry she has to wear it, however, it’s for her own good, and as a pony, we don’t want her developing health issues from overeating. After taking her out, I return for Stella, who has waited patiently. Leading her to the paddock, I usually just tell her to enjoy the day, and remind her not to pick on Katy.

Katie (in the grazing muzzle) and Stella

With that, it’s back to the house, and the rest of my day.

The thing is, I think Dr Dolittle had it slightly wrong when he said “Oh, if I could talk to the animals, just imagine it …” Talking “to” the Animals is easy. I mean, I do it every morning. It’s talking “with” the animals that is harder. While “Talking to” and “Talking with” are often used interchangeably, they aren’t quite the same, are they? “Talking with” implies a conversation between two or more. “Talking to” can imply a one way, or one sided conversation, or perhaps even a lecture.

I guess it’s not that different from people in that regard. Talking to people is easy. Talking with people is what’s hard, and these days, with the fences everyone puts up, getting harder. We all know people that are great talking to, or at you, but maybe aren’t so good at the listening and understanding part.

Upon further consideration, I think it is easier to communicate with the animals. I may do most of the verbal talking, but the interchange and understanding that goes back and forth is pretty good, at least in comparison to some people I know.

Addendum:

⁃ While I do the morning feeding at the barn, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention Cathy does 90% of the animal care on the farm. Afternoon feedings, stall cleanings, horse healthcare and a myriad of other horse and animal maintenance chores are all under Cath’s purview. While I can’t say whether she talks more or less than I do with them, her understanding of their wants and needs is infinitely greater than mine.

⁃ Carmen is the smartest dog we’ve ever had and a GREAT communicator. Here’s a blog she wrote about a year ago: My name is Carmen. I’m about 44 years old now, and in my prime. Some guy named Shakespeare once said every “dog will have his day.” I think every day is my day, and I […] Continue at: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2021/04/07/whosagooddog-carmen/

An Honest Man at El Agave

An Honest Man at El Agave

How much is an honest man worth?

I needed to run into town for a couple of errands last week. As I was finishing up, it was about 11:30. I was hungry and suddenly had an urge for Mexican food. I called our favorite place, El Agave, a local family owned restaurant here in Warrenton, Virginia to see if I could pick up a couple of burritos to go, and they said sure, come by in ten minutes.

I finished up at the dry cleaners, and drove over to El Agave. It’s been here in Warrenton for years. If we are looking for “Mexican food”, or a decent margarita, it’s almost always the place we go. You know the kind of place – honest food, nice portions, good service and relatively inexpensive. Since Covid, we haven’t eaten there as much in person, but have done take out many times.

El Agave – Our Kind of Place

As I came into the restaurant, my order was just coming out of the kitchen. The owner/manager and I were making small talk as I paid, and he said, “I’m sorry, we have no plastic forks. They are coming in this afternoon.” I answered back “No problem, I’m taking it home to eat.”

We talked a bit more and then I said “Too bad on the forks, I guess between supply chain issues, and the snow storm last week, your order was backed up, eh?”

He looked at me and smiled, and then said “Or maybe I just forgot to order them on time.”

I laughed and said “Wow! An honest man!” He chuckled and answered back “People are going to believe what they want to anyway.”

I thanked him, left a tip and went outside to my truck. On the drive home, I was still thinking about our exchange, and it occurred to me. If he was this honest about a small mistake he made, it says a lot about how he runs his restaurant overall. He could have easily laughed at my supply chain comment, agreed it was causing him problems, and I wouldn’t have thought anything more about it. One little white lie that, in the big scheme of things, didn’t matter.

Instead, he told the truth.

Maybe I’m making too much of the whole incident, but it continues to echo around in my brain. I’ve always enjoyed El Agave. Now, I like it even more. It’s always great to see honesty and excellence in a local business. Thank you El Agave – I’ll be back soon.

We’ll Be Back Soon!

Addendum:

There are five local El Agave restaurants in or near Fauquier County, Virginia. I’ve only been to two of them – the one in Warrenton, and one half way between Marshall and The Plains. I highly recommend both of them. You can learn more about El Agave here: https://elagavemexrestaurant.com/

The Jetty – A Place Where our Dog Carmen and I can Both get a Drink

The Jetty – A Place Where our Dog Carmen and I can Both get a Drink

I’ve never ever heard someone say “Man, I can’t stand The Jetty”. In fact, it’s just the opposite. It’s one of those places that has found a way to appeal to old locals, new locals, people passing by, and tourists. As a bonus, dogs are allowed on the outdoor deck, which makes it one of Carmen’s favorite places as well. Every town should have a place like The Jetty Restaurant and Dockbar, but many don’t.

Cathy and I have been stopping at the Jetty for the last ten years. It’s on the way to our house at the Bay, and a great place for lunch. Two hours from home (and about 45 min from The Bayhouse), it’s the perfect stopping point.

The first time we went to The Jetty was with friends Pat and Bob, and Becky and Jim. Cathy mentioned to her girlfriends we were going to the Bay, and maybe we could meet them for a drink along the way. Becky said to Cathy “What about meeting at the jetty?” Cath answered “Becky – which jetty? There must be ten jetties in that stretch along the water.” Becky answered “Not a jetty, THE Jetty – it’s a bar”. And so we were introduced to this wonderful beach bar.

The Jetty has a great location on Kent Narrows.

Located in Maryland, just over the Bay Bridge on the Eastern Shore, the bar has a great view overlooking Kent Narrows. In the spring, summer and fall, the outdoor tables on the deck stay full, while in the wintertime, the indoor bar and restaurant fill up. With all of the glass “garage type doors” for the bar, the view from inside is almost as good as sitting outside.

With all of the roll-up windows, The view from inside the deck bar, is almost as good as from outside.

When stopping for lunch, we know a nice selection of cold beers, excellent Bloody Marys or tasty Crushes are there waiting for us. The food is decent, and this being the Eastern Shore, the crabs in the summertime and oysters in the winter are always excellent. Good burgers, fish sandwiches or tacos, a great Crab Cake, and excellent salads are all on the menu. This is bar food at it’s best… If you are looking for something more substantial, there’s always several wonderful seafood dinners on the menu as well… As a bonus, dogs are allowed on the outdoor deck, which also makes it one of Carmen’s favorite places. They always bring her a bowl of water, and if you are inclined, you can order special doggie “meals” off the menu for your fourlegged companion (we don’t). She always enjoys barking “hi” to the other dogs on the deck.

The mental transition to vacation mode starts pretty quickly when sitting on the deck, looking at the water and relaxing with a drink. A beer, or two, along with a sandwich makes that last 45 minutes of driving time to Tilghman pass pretty quickly.

Getting in vacation mode….

I’ve seen bikes, motorcycles, cars, trucks, and one year on St Paddy’s Day, a bus parked outside. Many folk also arrive by boat, docking in one of the slips.

We’ve also met friends there for drinks, or for dinner. It’s not a bad way to while away a few hours on a sunny afternoon. On weekends, they often have a band. Our friends, Pat and Bob live just three or four miles from The Jetty – in Pat’s words – “The Jetty is practically our every Friday happy hour go-to bar. Such a beautiful setting, especially the gorgeous sunsets.“

Every town should have a place like The Jetty, but many don’t. The water and view certainly help, but the way they appeal to everyone, local or not, is what makes the difference for me. I’m glad it’s on our list of local watering holes and places for a meal. If you happen to cross the Bay Bridge on Route 50 heading to the Eastern Shore or the Atlantic Ocean, make sure and give The Jetty a try. If you’ve been making the trip for awhile, you probably already knew that.

Addendum:

– Thanks to our friend Pat for reviewing and providing input for this blog.

– Note – this isn’t an advertisement for the Jetty and I was provided no money (or drink) in exchange for writing this blog! It’s a local bar/restaurant we just really like.

The Friendliest Strangers

The Friendliest Strangers

The friendliest strangers Cathy and I ever met were at a pub in the town of Blarney. It was during a long night on a short trip to Ireland in January of 1981. We had spent the day driving around County Cork, finishing up in Blarney, where we dutifully toured the castle and kissed the Blarney Stone.

Cathy kissing the Blarney Stone. Yes, that’s how you do it. Upside down, and backwards.

Afterwards, we found a B&B to stay in and then adjourned to a local pub for a drink or two before dinner. It was probably about 4PM when we entered and we were the only ones there. We sat at a small table and I went to the bar to order myself a Murphy’s Stout and Cathy an Irish coffee. It was a raw day, and after the chill of the castle, it was good to be inside and warming up.

Often times, I think the nondescript pubs and bars are the best ones.

A bit of time passed and as we were finishing up our drinks, a man came in, nodded in our direction and went to the bar where he ordered a stout. As he was sipping his pint, he turned towards us and said,

“Would you be American?”

I answered “yes”.

“Ah then, could I buy you a drink?”

Not wanting to turn down his hospitality we said yes, and joined him at the bar where he introduced himself as Conor. When Cathy ordered an Irish Coffee, he informed her he’d buy her a real drink, but not a made up one. We all laughed and she ordered a pint as well. We toasted and then talked about this and that.

A bit later, another man came in and joined us at the bar. Cath and I introduced ourselves to him. He then said,“Would you be American? Could I buy you a drink?” Of course we accepted. A bit later, a couple more guys came in, joined our group and the same thing happened. Our money was literally no good. As we drank another round, the pub started filling up.

By now it was about 7:30 at night and we still hadn’t eaten. We asked the bartender about dinner, but it turned out they didn’t serve food. At that point Conor recommended the pub across the street for dinner. We thanked him and told the group we’d be back in a bit. They laughed, said it was good to meet us, and it was plain they thought we probably wouldn’t return.

We crossed the street and entered the other pub. There was a wedding reception going on in the main room, so we slipped into the smaller adjacent bar and sat at a table. The bartender took our order for food and we both ordered some water. As we were waiting, an older man came in from the main room to talk with the bartender and then saw us and came over to say hello. We started talking and it turned out he was the father of the bride. He suddenly said “Ahhh, you’d be American. Would you like to join us at the reception? There’ll be dancing later”. We thanked him, and although he was insistent, we declined several times and said we needed to rejoin our friends back at the other bar. He bought a round of drinks for the three of us, and we proceeded to toast the bride and groom. As our food arrived, he said goodbye, and went back to the reception.

After finishing dinner, we paid and said good night to the bartender. Now, the smart thing to do at this point, would have been to return to our B&B, maybe have a whiskey with our hosts, and turn in. Instead, we proceeded back across the street, for just “one final beer” with our new old friends.

It had grown crowded in our absence. As we looked around, Conor called out and waved to us. We worked our way through the crowd and rejoined “our group” on the far side of the bar. Someone we hadn’t met before immediately bought us another beer. And so it continued for a couple more hours … “Ahhh, you’d be American. Can I buy you a drink?” Finally, around 10PM, I bought a round for about half the pub I think. There were cheers all around. I looked at the clock a bit later and it was 10:40. I thought to myself “OK, just make it to 11PM. The pub will close, and we can make our way home to the B&B.” (at the time, pubs closed at 11PM in Ireland. Nowadays, it’s 1130PM on weekdays, although Covid has currently shortened the hours.)

11PM came… and … they closed the shutters on the windows, locked the door… and … everyone kept on partying! Oh lord …

A little after midnight, the pub started emptying and we knew it was time to go. We said goodbye to Conor and our other new friends, with many handshakes, backslaps and hugs all around. Finally, we departed and made our way to the B&B.

At the B&B, we found the owner had put two rubber hot water bottles under our blankets at the foot of the bed. It was a toasty night’s sleep in more ways than one.

The next day, I felt way better than I had a right to. I suppose the hearty Irish breakfast helped. As we ate breakfast and drank our coffee, Cathy and I talked and laughed about the night before and what a great time we had. It’s amazing how quickly you can sometimes make friends when traveling. You start the night as strangers, and by the end, you are friends of sorts. Not life long buddies, but friends nonetheless. Over time, it’s certainly happened for us in other locales, and with other people, but that night in Blarney? I dunno. Maybe we gained the gift of gab from kissing the Stone, and maybe not. I do know it’s a night I’ve never forgotten.

Addendum:

That 1981 vacation was about ten days long. We spent the first five or six days in England, including New Year’s Eve at Trafalgar Square (London’s equivalent of Time Square for NY Eve at the time). We then spent five days in Ireland, including Dublin, and driving along the south coast past Waterford, eventually arriving in County Cork. Here’s a picture of Cathy along the Coast – I’m not sure why, but I really like this candid photo of her. She was 25 years old at the time.

⁃ In researching a couple of items for this blog, I found out pub lock-ins evidently happen more than you might think. Here’s an article about them: https://www.afar.com/magazine/the-late-night-secret-irelands-pubs-dont-want-you-to-know-about

– Happy Saint Paddy’s Day next week. Everyone is Irish on the 17th…