Thursday, August 21, 2008

Home Ranch, Reese River Valley

Breaking News: Joe Walsh has created a Nevada Walsh website.

These are working notes for a blog to be on the Walsh Home Ranch, in the Reese River Valley below Austin, Nevada. See family tree at Geni.com. When I get it completed, I will upload it to Ancestor.com

In a nutshell. My grandmother's uncles Patrick Henry, David J Walsh and a half-brother, William Walsh came to Austin, Nevada in the late 1860s and founded Home Ranch. My grandmother's father Michael Walsh stayed in Bantry

Michael and William's father Joseph had a wife who died in childbirth. His father remarried to Ellen Cremeen on Feb. 25 1837 at St.Finnbar's Church in Bantry Bay and they had Patrick, David, Michael, (James? and two sisters Mary & Julia?)? Somehow having a family of only four boys would've stuck out as an anomaly where the norm was eight plus children in a family.

The Nevada Walshes raised grain: wheat and oats and they sold it to the (mostly Irish) miners in Austin, NV. Paddy said grain was more valuable than gold. And he was right. It was their grubstake.

When she was a young woman, my grandmother, Jennie Walsh Reilly, used to spend summers at Home Ranch with her aunt May Sullivan; her brothers Bill and Joe worked at the ranch as well. (Possibly another brother as well) Jennie's sisters Kitty and Peig also lived at Home Ranch. There were many other folks and not-so-distant relations from Bantry living at the ranch—many Bantry women married into the Walsh clan.

Home Ranch was the stopping off place, the safe place to land for many of those post Famine Irish who emigrated from Bantry Bay. Siblings sent passage for siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles, and friends of the family. All were welcome at Home Ranch. There was plenty of land and plenty of work too.

Home Ranch was her first home when my grandmother came to America. She talked a lot about her uncle Bill, Paddy and his son Wild Bill, her cousin. (Wild Bill, is my correspondent Joe' Walsh's grandfather—if I have it right.) Wild Bill & Jennie were cousins. Wild Bill's son Frank was her first cousin once removed and my mother's 2nd cousin.

Young Joe (tho he be my age) is my mother's second cousin. This is where my brain melts. What is my grannie's 2nd cousin to me? Either 2nd cousins twice removed, or third cousins, whichever comes first. Bases are loaded. Top of the ninth. I'll let Ancestry. com and Geni.com figure it out. His kids would be my third cousins if I have it right. It's a generational thing.

Wild Bill stories abounded in my family. I will post some at one point. A few stories made their way into some poems I wrote during the early 1980s. Suffice to say Wild Bill was a gambler and a rogue—he once sold his truck in Ione for a barrel of whiskey and a good hand of cards...it was a long walk back home...I'm sure a late night hoor was involved as well...

The family lost the ranch when it fell into decline in the late 1920s. Some blamed the foreman who was sent to San Francisco to buy a prize bull for breeding, but he pocketed the money instead and bought an inferior (sterile?) bull and the herds failed....that was the beginning of the end. Did an empire fall for lack of a bull's sperm? Or so the story goes.

After the ranch was sold, my family settled in San Francisco-Bay Area, and some drifted south to LA. We lost touch with the ones who stayed.

What survived were the stories of some of the Nevada Walshes in Colorado, New Mexico—the Manhattan Project. What stuck in my mind were the tragic stories. I remember fragments—how one Walsh fell down drunk in the snow and died. One leaned over his horse to open a gate, and his shotgun blew his head off. Another was killed by a horse in front of his wife...

Then we lost touch with the Nevada Walshes—those who stayed. But my grannie would repeat the stories. They were fragments in my head that I could never sort out. The complex relationships. Cousins marrying cousins, etc....

My great-grandparents Michael Walsh and his wife, Jane Rose Sullivan Walsh of Bantry, Co. Cork, Ireland. Michael's older brother, Patrick Henry founded Home Ranch with his brothers, William and David.

Most of Michael's children emigrated to Home Ranch from Ireland including my grandmother. That is how I came to be born in America, versus Ireland. Michael stayed home to run the family farm, Coomb an-nÓr in Bantry.

Michael's half-brother William was the impetus to go out west and strike it rich. Or to become cowboys. Or ranchers. And so they did.

Coomb an-nÓr in Bantry was eventually lost to lawyers when during an inheritance struggle, two brothers fought over possessions—a farm was lost to the lawyers' fees while two brothers fought over a plough... which two brothers, I know not. But because of it, the family was divided between two countries, two continents. And the connections scattered over the vast distance of America.



Photo courtesy of Joe Walsh, my 2nd cousin once removed. Walsh family gathering, ca. 1890s?

1. Young Mary Walsh—Not Patrick's first wife, Mary Mahoney of Bantry. A daughter?

2. Patrick Heny Walsh. Judging by the posture, I think that is Paddy.

3. Paulina Gloor m. to Patrick Heny Walsh (2) seated on wagon with arms folded. But she's got her arms threaded through # 6's arms—William Walsh.

4. Young Joseph F Walsh—a very popular man. Some great photos of him riding into Austin like a movie star. Only, he was the real thing.

5. Young William Reynolds Walsh. Wild Bill, himself, the rogue.

6. Brother of Patrick. William Walsh. Did he ever marry, have children? I think he was the unmarried brother. Or is this another woman, William's wife?

7. Katherine Walsh? Joseph's wife?


My great uncle Joe Walsh (who worked at Home Ranch) and his sister Jennie Walsh (my grandmother).

My grandmother's brother Joe Walsh who also worked at Home Ranch. She came from Ireland with Joe. He became a police captain in San Francisco. His son, Ed Walsh (Ranger) used to spend summers at Home Ranch as well.


My correspondent Joe Walsh (whose father Francis/Frank) said these are his father Frank's sisters, (his aunts) Mary and Florence Walsh—I don't recognize that name. I think we conflated Florence with her mother, Bantry-born Julia Mahoney (I had O'Leary—but I think that's wrong), Wild Bill's wife and a first cousin. That was a huge scandal.

My correspondent, Joe's grandfather was Wild Bill. (Son of Patrick Henry Walsh. David J Walsh was Patrick's brother).

The repetition of family names within the Walsh clan is absolutely maddening from a genealogical point of view. Walshes repeatedly named their children after themselves, their parents, their siblings, often reversing the order of names: there was John Joseph, Joseph John—sometimes with only a middle name or a nickname distinguishing cousins from each other—John Martin, Joseph Francis... Paddy (The Boss), Patsy, Pat, all variants of Patrick Henrys (there were several of them). I've no idea how they kept track of all the Williams—one moniker survives: Wild Bill.

And all the Mary Walshes! May, Mame, Mamie, Marie... Margaret, Maggie, Peg... Eleanor, Nellie, Nell, Lena... Sometimes there were spelling variations Kathleen, Kate, Cathleen, Catherine, Catharine etc....we're not sure if they were different people or merely the accidental byproduct of creative turn-of-the-century spelling.

Tillie Paulson Walsh McNett (she remarried Gail McNett (her son's father-in-law!) in her 60s, long after John Martin Walsh died. He was the one killed by a horse right in front of her).
(c 1981 Maureen Hurley Photo)

Some pix of Home Ranch, Reese River Valley, near Austin, NV, from Joe Walsh, a long-lost relative. We found each other on the internet.

Joe says Tillie Paulson married John Martin Walsh who was the son of Patrick Henry Walsh and Paulina (Gloor) Walsh. Paulina was his great-grandfather's second wife with whom they had two sons (John Martin and Patrick Henry, Jr.).

Joe's side of the family comes from the Patrick Henry and Mary (Mahoney) Walsh. Mary died in 1883 and Patrick remarried in 1888 to Paulina, a Swiss widow from New York. She had three children from her first marriage to a cigar maker. The girls came out west, the son did not...or so we think(there are quite a few unidentified young men in the big family photo). One was Clara and the other?

I know I'm related to Tilly's family through Patrick Walsh...so we've finally found the common ancestors. Joe and I, after two years of corresponding!

John Martin Walsh died about April 7th, 1928 at the age of 38 while driving cattle back from Stillwater where the Walsh kept cattle in the winter. He was chasing a bull on horse when they all got tangled up and the horse fell on him.

My grand-uncle William from Bantry, Ireland. The guy on the right is a descendent of my long-lost Nevada relations, Bill (Butch) Walsh of Concord. He looks just like his great-great uncle Bill. I remember hearing that I had relatives in Concord so this story jives.

We always referred to Tillie's family as the Nevada Walshes. But there were more.


Walsh Family crest card sent to my grandmother from her mother Jane Rose (Sullivan-Walsh) and her son, Mikie in Bantry, she was pleading my grandmother to please write sometime.

From Home Land: Ranching and a West that Works.
Ed, Laura Prichett, Richard L. Knight and Jeff Lee.
"Words Meet Deeds on the Land" by Paul F. Starrs.

The book had some silly twaddle about Home Ranch being merely a generic term. It later came to mean just that. But let me paint a broader canvas. Patrick and his two brothers settled in the Reese River Valley in the late 1860s, and called the first Walsh Ranch, Home Ranch. That was its name. Their home.

And we have it used as a proper noun as well from the oral tradition in 1912. My grandmother always referred to Home Ranch as a proper noun. Capital letters and all. The Walsh brothers then bought out the neighboring Hess Ranch, and other ranches including Blackbird. Paddy "The Boss" bought up every canyon ranch he could find, and even homesteaded a few.

At one point, Paddy Walsh was the largest single land owner in Nevada. And the idea of designating Home Ranch—as grand central station—became critical, if only to keep track of everything. But I digress.

Then there are the Malloys who are Walshes as well...I've met them. John Malloy was last living in Elko. He and his former wife Loretta ran the Wild Pony Canyon motel in Austin, we stayed there in 1985s, then they split up and we all lost track. His (grand?) mother Nellie Malloy was a Walsh—Paddy's daughter.

Jim Champie owns Home Ranch now. He knows many branches of our family as we—unbeknownst (and lost) to each other— keep making pilgrimages to Home Ranch over the years. Jim's related to the Marin—San Geronimo Valley Champies, MacBrides, and Bundchus—I went to school with all of them —at Lagunitas School and Sir Francis Drake High School in San Anselmo. Small world.

When we visited Home Ranch in 1985, Jim would say, "Oh some Walshes came to visit"—he didn't know who they were, and we certainly couldn't even keep track of each other. Our family was scattered like blow-wife seedlings on the four directions of the wind. So how could he, a stranger. But he knew the names of our horses.

Poet Celia Woloch and I stopped by in 1991 and again, Jim said some Walshes stopped by... Who were all these phantom Walshes, anyway? He said they were different than the last lot. I counted up to three separate groups making pilgrimages—besides my own family, that is. So the pilgrimage continues to this day. And the ranches are lost sometime in the 1930s or 40s? The ties of the Irish to the land is strong.

The Walshes came to America because, under English law, all siblings had to inherit the farm—which led to the division of land until it was no longer a sustainable agricultural unit. Coomb an-nÓr in Bantry was once a large, prosperous farm. But it was being whittled down over the generations and that only served to heighten the need for land.

And so the Walsh brothers came out west like the three muskateers for adventure and to find their fortune and managed to get a parcel of desert scrub land—which was to grow into a vast cattle baron empire.

Patrick also owned ranchland in California. Susanville, and Alturas County. Joe sent me many documents which I've read but I'm still piecing together the relations story. The land stories will come later. Bea Walsh Bible and a nephew Pat Walsh have both contacted me.

Meanwhile, below are some correspondence notes between myself and Joe Walsh, from 2007:

Hello,

I came across your posting on "Walsh Ancestor Registry" dated Sep 18, 2007 and was curious about the individual you mention who came to Nevada in the 1860's and founded a ranch in /near Austin, Nevada.
I had a great grandfather " Pat Walsh " who migrated to Nevada from Bantry Bay via New York - San Francisco - Eureka, Nevada in the late 1860's and set up a ranch somewhat later in Reese River. He married twice (Mahoney & Gloor) and had children via both marriages.

Long shot, but I was wondering if this individual would be related to you somehow.

Thanks for your time.

Joe Walsh

Hello Maureen,

It is such a pleasure when you stumble across a relative while surfing the internet. I am not sure how much genealogy I would try to do without the net.

Where to you start when you try to explain who you are and how you came to be? Since the Irish are at their best when telling a story, I will just jump in with events that took place in the past year or so. This story will tie in with 2 pictures that I have attached that I hope you enjoy.

Late last year I decided to get a mini–family reunion together of relatives in the Bay Area that I have had contact with many times thru the years, yet seem to see less as we get older.

By the way your asked how old I am. Just turned 53 this last October. Have 3 sisters (couple are a few years older and one is a couple years younger).
So, in October of 2006, we all met (about 60 or so ) in Pacifica, California (Walshes, Browns, Gonzales, etc etc etc ) to swap stories & memories. Many pictures where taken, enjoyed and then put away.

Jump to early this year when I made one of my 3 or 4 yearly visits to Reno, Nevada (I seem to always be drawn to Nevada - usually sorry to return to the bay area) to do some snooping around at the Nevada Geneology Center on Virginia just down from UNLV.

I never get my hopes up high and if I come across a picture or article, that normally suffices until the next time I stumble upon something. So there I am going thru large stacks of articles / photos which held little interest to me when I overheard the staff behind me using words such as, "Reese River", "old ranch house", & "Walsh". I waited a minute or so and then went over to inquire as to their conversation.

It turns out that they were just going thru a re-catalog process of much of the material on site and just happened to be going thru a binder labeled "Walsh" while I was there. I waited for them to finish on this material & they were then kind enough to bring it over so that I may review the contents.

Among the many items of interest (letters, documents, photo ) was a photo of a Walsh gathering that I date from around 1895 – 1905 based on some of the people who were labled on the reverse and dates of births and deaths that I have.

That photo includes (I believe) an individual that I think is one of the brothers of my great-grandfather. I have census records that indicate that a David .J. Walsh lived with for some time Patrick Walsh out at Reese River (was listed as his brother) and was killed in a mining accident.

I did not know when I first looked at the photo who this person was since he was not one of those identified on the back of the photo but I remembered seeing a photo from my own family reunion last year in which my cousin from Concord, William (butch) Walsh seemed to have more than a passing resemblance to this individual.

I still cannot be sure for certain - but based on his position in the picture of being right next to Paulina (Gloor) Walsh – he must be someone close to Patrick Walsh.

It is funny how even in family pictures, a sort of hierarchy exist. My grandfather was way down sitting below not in a position of authority which goes with how the Walsh ranch legacy played out.

It is this kind of research that has me looking for more. Current items I am looking for include a story from a second cousin in Santa Cruz that my dad’s middle name of "Cornelius" came from one of Patrick Walsh’s half brothers. His name is said to have been Cornelius W. Crowley (a person of that name lived in Reese River at the same time) but I have yet to find any more info on this story.

(NB half brother would be David and my great-grandfather Michael Walsh of Bantry. MH)

I always try to find at least 3 different ways to verify information or family stories before I put it in my family tree. I am in the process of putting all my info up on FLICKR (photos & documents) and will drop you an email when I am finished.

You mentioned in your email of meeting William (wild bill) Walsh. Perhaps you met my Uncle Joe Walsh (real name was William Joseph Walsh) since my Grandfather, William Reynolds (Wild Bill) Walsh died in 1946 and you mentioned that you were born in 1952.

Hope you enjoy the photos and look forward to speaking again and perhaps meeting in the future.

Second Cousin Joe – many times removed


Hi Joe

RE Patrick Walsh out at Reese River (was listed as his brother) and was killed in a mining accident.

I do remember hearing this story...from my grandmother and yes, I think the brother part is right... I'm gonna have to find that chart I did with my grandmother in the late 1960 as I don't remember all the details. The gravestones in Austin will help untangle some of the dates.

My 2nd cousin, Michael Collins' second wife, Laura, also did a later family chart in the 1970s as she was completely at sea trying to figure us all out.

What I'm trying to figure out is how/why your branch drifted away from ours...we're a huge, but fairly tight family... you might have to send me your family tree too so I can figure it out...as the other Walshes in Santa Cruz don't ring a bell. Are you closely related to "Woolly" Bill Walsh, then?

I don't recognize the names, Gonzalez & Brown.... I know many of my 2nd cousins, some more than others. But there are also quite a few I don't know... If we're close to the same age, you'd think we should know each other.... Did you ever come to any family functions? Name some of your first cousins...see if that rings a bell.

It seems everyone moved to the Bay Area after the ranch was lost, and most of the Walshes had already moved to SF anyway. The ranch was not the only US landing point for the Walshes. From what I can remember, only 3 Walshes stayed in Bantry, the rest came here, and all were my grandmother's siblings, with the exception of her Aunt May and possibly that half brother or half uncle we're all so confused about. Patrick, himself.

Maureen


My direct line to Pat Walsh of Austin, Nev is:
My father was: Francis Cornelius Walsh ( married to Stella Gonzales )
My grandfather was: William R. (wild bill) Walsh (married to Julia O'Leary )

My great-grandfather was: Patrick Walsh (married to 1st wife Julia (NB MARY) Mahoney)

I have first cousins in Concord California. We are trying to plan a visit back to Austin in the Spring of 2008 for their mom (Gertie Walsh ).

I also have a second cousin in Santa Cruz who I conversed with a few years back via email a couple of times and was nice enough to supply some wonderful information.

When I started to do my genealogy research sometime back, I realized that I would have to focus on just the immediate family since like good Irish Catholics, the list of connections just kept growing.

A quick note regarding Mary Walsh who worked on the Manhattan Project: She was my dad's sister, and when she passed, was layed to rest in the Bay Area (we had a traditional Irish wake in Concord, Ca an was enjoyed by all) I have attached for your pleasure a picture of my Aunt Mary & Aunt Florence when they were children. Hope your able to open the picture and view it.

I will send you a more detailed accounting of my current family and what I know of the Walsh's via the Pat Walsh connection It is not much but I treasure all that I have collected.

Your Second Cousin,
Joe Walsh

Hi Joe,

Believe it or not, you are my 2nd cousin once or twice removed. Pat would've been my great-granduncle. We've mostly lost track of the Nevada Walshes. No one was very good at keeping in touch.

My great uncle Joe came to Austin with my grannie, Jennie Walsh (Reilly) in 1912. They didn't have enough money for the train fare (it cost $5) from NY to Battle Mountain so Jennie took the train and Joe worked his way to Nevada by way of Galveston.

Someone from Home Ranch came to get her in a buggy—probably Pat or his son, Wild Bill who once sold a truck in Ione for a barrel of whiskey and a good hand of cards,

Most of the family moved to San Francisco when the ranch was lost. Someone went to San Francisco to buy a bull and decided to pocket the money and returned with an inferior bull...so the herd failed.

Before that, they made a lot of money selling grain—mostly oats—to the comstock miners in Austin as grain was more valuable than gold.

We still make pilgrimages to Home Ranch. My uncle John took the visiting Bantry cousins, Noel and his two sons, to Home Ranch last September. Jim Champie owns the ranch. Ironically Jim is related to people I grew up with and went to school with in West Marin—The San Geronimo Valley—Forest Knolls. The McBrides and the Bundchus (as in the wine, Gundlach Bundshu). Jim has some photos of our family—even knows the names of
the horses!

The last time we were in Austin with my grannie, in 1985 (I went back again in the 1990s), we stayed with the Malloys, who are cousins of yours. John Malloy's wife, Loretta was the one who stayed in touch until they got divorced. I heard he was in Elko selling real estate. We used to stay in touch with Tillie Walsh but lost touch when she moved to Reno. I heard she died years ago. I remember her when I was a child at weddings. I remember Wild Bill too. (This is wrong—I'm referring to my grand-uncle Bill.)

Do you know the story about my first cousin once removed, Marie/Mary Walsh who worked on the Manhattan Project? We got postcards from her from Los Alamos. I went there in the 1990s. They still talk about the ghost of her sister Julia (or Mother? Or Florence also went by Julia???) at the International Hotel in Austin....seems she's brewing coffee at odd hours.

There are other bootleg stories about my grandmother and her Aunt May, who would've been Pat's sister? When the coppers came, she took the bathtub gin they'd bottled and put it between herself and the baby, on the bed... She also smuggled guns out of the SF jail where my grandfather was under sherriff in her skirts. They smuggled guns to NY in suitcases, then onto Liverpool to Ireland for the revolution. My grandfather knew de Valera, and we've a photo of Liam Mellows, who was later executed, in our lower field.

One of my favorite stories was when May and Jennie had fur coats made from Home Ranch coyote skins (there's a photo of the skins on the barn wall). and when they wore them in San Francisco all the dogs followed them growling. They had to get rid of the coats fast.

Some of the Nevada Walshes moved to San Leandro and we had a reunion the 1970s but then lost touch again. My aunt Jane Reilly was going to school with Linda Ryan who knew some Walshes and sure enough, we were related.

One time I was teaching poetry up in the Alexander Valley, near Healdsburg. CA, and it was St Patrick;s Day. The mothers brought in food and we were all joking how everybody was Irish and started swapping names. I said, "I'm a Walsh." One mother said, So am I." I said my family came from Cork." She answered, "Mine too." Then it got fast and furious. Bantry Bay. The hairs stood up on my arms. Austin.

Yep. Home Ranch. Yep. Wild Bill was her relation. I'd been teaching her daughter and never knew we were related...but she and I had bonded as she was really talented (genius runs in the family along with everything else from alcoholism to depression).

Now it's your turn to fill in some blanks as we really have lost the information on Pat's families. I remember my grannie telling me about him and the two marriages. You've got hundreds of 2nd & 3rd cousins in LA and the greater Bay Area, Santa Cruz, San Jose, Carmel, Graeagle & the Sierra foothills; Bantry, Tralee; Manchester, Cardiff.

We just had two funerals. Ed Walsh (Joe's son) lived in Hawaii. If you ever go to the Big Island, Toad Hall (the victorian on the bluff by Napoopoo, overlooking Capt. Cook Bay was built by Big Ed or "Ranger" Walsh. We had a brilliant wake at St Ignatius. It was Big Ed's death that prompted me to get some family history down and send that fragment to the Walsh Family tree web page. Any your side was one of the holes...

All those Walshes in the graveyard below Austin are ours. Have you been there? The ranch was founded by several brothers including Pat. It was a joint venture. I don't know if he was the first to arrive. The date we have is 1867 for the founding of the ranch.

There is an oral history project through the University of Nevada of the people who owned it after it was sold...they got all the credit, and many of the facts were wrong.

Was Pat the one who was a half brother to the rest of them? Seems his father had two families, the first wife died, and there was a boy, it could've been Pat but he was raised as a full brother wit David and Michael.

Wild Bill was a blacksmith and made all the wrought iron fittings and barn latches that are still use use today.

Maureen

PS I think we're actually 2nd cousins (once or twice removed?) as Patrick was my great grand-uncle...we've probably met over the years at weddings and funerals. I distinctly remember looking up to my granduncle Bill, and he seemed taller than the sky, it was after a funeral, maybe at Star of the Sea... he was one of my favorite grand uncles, kind (& shy).

(NB I think I've conflated two generations of Bills...which I've fixed...)

Walsh Tombs: Photos


These photos are of the Bantry Bay Walsh family plots in Austin Nevada. In 1985, I traveled with my grandmother, Jennie Walsh Reilly and my uncle John Reilly to Austin to visit Home Ranch, where she lived as a young wonan, with her uncles Patrick, David and Bill Walsh, (a half-brother .)















Joe Walsh has created a Nevada Walsh website.

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

Happy Birthday Grandma

From Family Pix

Jennie Walsh Reilly, b. 1893, Bantry, Co. Cork, Happy Birthday.

From Family Pix

Note Bene: remember to write about Home Ranch, Reese River Valley....meanwhile here are some pix from a long lost 2nd cousin..(I think). Hmm, he took all his sites down.


Remembering Ronnie Drew, The Dubliners, Here's to You, Ronnie Drew


When I was about 16 or 17, the Dubliners came to San Francisco. After the concert, my whole family—3 generations—wound up singing till the wee hours in the Dubliners' suite at the Jack Tar Hotel.
My Corkonian grandmother, Jennie Walsh Reilly was off in a corner talking to her old friend, the tall, gaunt John Whooley, Irish emissario, and radio show host of "Bits of Blarney." John was the man responsible for bringing the Dubliners to town. Later, John also brought The Chieftains and The Wolftones to San Francisco. Much more formal events. John Whooley also ran a travel agency, Hibernia Travel—and Aer Lingus charters.

John Whooley always made sure my grannie got front row seats. That's probably also why we were invited to the after-hours post-performance party. That's where the real craic was at. Not in the formal ballroom downstairs stuffed with old bluehaired matrons bedecked in pearls and laced in stiff corsets, sitting ramrod on even stiffer chairs.

The party was in full swing. The whiskey flowed like the River Shannon, everybody burbling at once. Nobody my age to talk to. I was hiding out in a corner. Ronnie Drew, whom I’d just met, thought I should meet a bandmate who was hiding out in a corner. Ronnie was trying to fix me up with Luke Kelly, it was oil and water at first sight.

We stood awkwardly and had nothing to say to each other. I was shy as a fencepost. My world was horses. I blurted to Luke Kelly that I was trying to learn the cords to a new song. Not that I was any good at playing guitar. Didn't know what else to say to him. He had the most startling red afro and palest watery green eyes I'd ever seen. I was mortified, we were standing in a sea surrounded by a drunken after-party who didn’t want the concert or craic to end.

Luke, seeing an easy way to get rid of me, set his banjo down, and led me back over to where gravelly-voiced Ronnie Drew was still holding court. Before I knew it, Ronnie had me perched on his knee. He was nursing a drink in one hand and fretting his guitar in the other hand—as he was showing me the tune…and the gossip began. I was so mortified, I couldn't even fret a G chord. No idea what tune it was.

Everyone wanting to know who that chit of a girl was sitting like that in public on the knee of the man with bedroom eyes, like that, shameless— in front of God and everyone. It was the late 1960s.

Ronnie couldn't help how his eyes looked. He did have bedroom eyes—but he was a perfect gentleman.

Rescue came from an unexpected source. My great-aunt Peig Walsh Collins, a former head nurse, a chain-smoking tower of a redhead who took no interference from anyone, raised herself up to her full six feet, and bellowed, "That's MY grand-niece yer slanderin' there. I'll have none of that!" Other words followed and the nosy gossip drifted away…



Here's to You Ronnie Drew.

Ride on Ronnie. Ride on.



When This Blog Really Began—Aug 2008

An anniversary of sorts. I've been on Blogger since January 2007. That's when I created this blog. But I let it lay fallow. However, I didn't begin actually begin blogging until August 20, 2008. My grandmother's birthday—because I had stories to tell. See the backstory at Cybernalia and LITERRATA or Veritas and the art of Memoir.

Laid up with an injured knee, I began this blog in mid-August. But in 2009, I discovered that I could backpost to January of 2007 and so I madly filed poems and news articles thematically. Mistake. Eventually it all came to loggerheads when the old and new writing collided. A mess.

I still have some poems filed more or less alphabetically during 2008. I'm trying to move them into their correct filing years. See, in Feb. 2014, as I was moving those poems around in the 2008 field, I mis-typed a posting date and typed 2000. I thought I had lost my post for sure. But imagine my surprise when I discovered Blogger had changed its structure and allowed retro posting long before Blogger had invented itself.

Then in February of 2014, again laid up with an injured knee (the other one). I experimented with posting dates and discovered I could create decades' worth of backposts all the way to 1980. Yeowee! That's before the internet was even invented. I'm still wrapping my mind around that one.

BTW, the backpost limit is 1970, when I was in high school. I tried 1883, and 1901 (Apples favorite default date). I could make some backposts all the way to 1970, but since I really didn't start writing until 1978-79, it'd be pointless. I'll post this in 1979, just to show you that I can do it.

I always meant to get back to uploading old poems (and occasional prose}, and finish the job—like that ever happened. Some of the problems trying to resurrect old files have been so great, I never finished the task. I will have to either scan or retype some of my old poems—if I can find hard copies (that's another story). I've uploaded what I can of the folder: Poems 1980-85. Next up is Poems 1986 to 1988, then Poems 89-92, Poems 93-97, Poems 98-present and so on. Apparently I was from the lump sum filing school. That's digital horizontal filing.

Missing dates on old poems also means I can't repost them in the correct order until I find out when to post them. Alphabetical order was easier. So there are poems clustered around 1980 and 1986 (terminus post quem) with no creation dates. Another project for a later (unfortunately I've misplaced my hardcopy mss folder (like a large clippie with boards) that had most of the poems, dates and publishing track records. I'm trying hard not to freak out. But losing that mss folder certainly has my guts in a knot.

Another motivating factor is that I've discovered my old files are no longer compatible with time present software so this is a HUGE a salvage job of sorts. (Of course, this too will become incompatible—but it's sure easier to move work across platforms using Blogger.)

I've been rescuing old poems from original Appleworks files. When I say original, I mean really old. Not that modern version of Appleworks, but Appleworks 1.0  that came on floppy floppy disks. Not rescuable, apparently.

Of course, some the work that was originally created in MicrosoftWorks 1. It too is  hopelessly locked away as little grey Unix files. Luckily, I converted most of my work over to SimpleText, and if I really liked it, to Word 1-5. The only files that will open are the ones saved in SimpleText. Rescuable! But loaded with artifacts. Forget line breaks.

The artifact and ascii code riddled piece are hard to rescue. First, can I open them? If I compressed them with DIskDoublr, then no. If I didn't move them over to SimpleText, or Word 5, then the answer is still no. Sometimes I did save them in SimpleText and yet I have pages of little square boxes in the shapes of poems.

If I can open the documents, then which program is least intrusive? I try several programs: Word, TextEdit (SimpleText is its ancestor), Bean, tEditor. Then the tedious cleanup process begins. (If there are typos on some of these, it's because I missed an ascii orphan or two. Surprisingly, my early writing was pretty clean. No typos. Shaky beginnings, middles, ends—or pointless perspective, yes...but I clearly took my craft seriously. 

A curiosity, is when I try & move the poems over to Blogger, and only a third of the poem will transfer during copy and paste. Very surreal. At first, I couldn't find a workaround. Then I discovered that I have to save piece as a PDF, and copy and paste it again. Sometimes a piece just goes up in smoke after I've cleaned it up.

I've no idea if many of the pieces were poems or prose. Sometimes I can guess from the random letters, weird punctuation, dashes and ascii code that a piece was a poem. Other times, I'm lost at sea. So these pieces will necessarily reinvent themselves in the digital format.

On an undated poem (posted 1/1/1980), Random Access Memory, ca. 1980, I wrote:

The ultimate dada experience:
to write the manuscript of a lifetime
on a floppy disk, not make a hard copy,
& run a magnet across it.
The ferrous molecules would then attain
perfect enlightenment.

OK, that's a little too close to home for comfort....

It's been a trip stumbling cross my orphaned oddities. The most pleasant, by far, are frightened herds of old poems I never got around to finishing/posting. I've been pleasantly surprised. I found 50-60 poems that have never seen the light of day—and there may be no hard copy anywhere because I probably never printed copies 30 years ago (gulp!) I'm making them all 1/1980. There's a slew of 7/794 poems that are all probably 1970-84 poems. Hopefully I'll find my lost MSS binder to date some of the poems. Otherwise there's no hard copy of most of my work for 3.5 decades. Yikes. See Culling Old Files July 29, 2013.

Well, Day 2—I opted out of posting every piece and made  a couple of long posts with short poems in alphabetical order because I was going  insane. It's a slow process, this. I also chickened out and deleted the erotic poems as they made me too squirmy—and not in a good way.

On the origin of my blog, and blog name please visit (yeah, I know I said I created it in August, but I moved everything around) I talk about it here:
January 2007

For information on my news articles, see:
The Paper and the Stump Since I've discovered that I can now backdate my old blog posts that were crammed into the years 2007, and 2008, when I first began blogging, I've been rearranging old posts. However, they no longer have context. So here's a bit on the newspapers I worked for during the 1980s and 1990s, to give you some kickoff perspective...

If I hadn't injured my knee in 2008, then I never would have begun this blog. If I hadn't been laid up with my other knee injury during 2013-2014, then I wouldn't have gotten the bright idea to resurrect all my old work. Idle hands. Idle elevated knees... it was a veritable devil's playground of words. Let's just say, that lately I've spent a lot of time ion my back. If 1969 was the Summer of Love, then 1979 was my Winter of Writing. Mea culpea! So you could say that I gave up both my knees in order to create this blog. How's that for penance?

Onward.

—Maureen Hurley July 12-14, 2014
(Must've been last night's supermoon that got to me...)

Note bene: about 50 of the poems that are double-labeled "poems, CPITS" were either written in class while I was teaching or when I was observing other CPITS poets, or they were modeled after my CPITS lesson plans (so far, they're from 1980 to 1994). I never considered them to be real poems. A case of the writing itself being out of control, and my inability to wrestle them down squarely on the page. But I cared enough about the poems to make sure there were no typos—even if they never saw the light of day. It's fitting that they get aired now as CPITS is celebrating its 50th anniversary! 50 poems for 50 years. Imagine 50 years of teaching poetry to kids. Imagine. Next up, is culling three file boxes of CPITS lesson plans, and I'm sure even more poems will emerge.

Note bene 2: I wonder if I can use the empty blog years 1970-79 to post some art? If only I had access to my art. (Sigh). Another project. So little time.

Poem titles are in CAPITAL LETTERS, and you can search the blog, using the word 'poem" in the search box at the top or clicking on the word "poem" on
the hotlist below the dates. Other poetic categories too: haiku, ekphrastic poetry, collage, etc. Some poems also sorted by region: from the Andes to the USSR, and Zenia too.

See also:
Old work, new vision
Re-vision

There're still a lot of poems filed in 1994 that are dateless—1994 was the last file date I could find. All the dateless poems that were filed in 2008 have been moved to approximate dates, usually Jan 1, 19xx. A task for later.

Note Bene: I thought I began writing poetry in 1979 (when I began to hit my stride), as I was culling old papers, I found poems from Fall 1978, so I've had to backdate this blog by yet another year. They're all hand-calligraphed, and mostly regrettable. But I'll post a few, to keep it all in perspective. 

Friday, August 8, 2008

Elemental Portraits Performance, Maureen Hurley, Kirk Whipple, Marilyn Morales, Cape Cod

Maureen will be performing with Unconservatory pianist duo Kirk Whipple and Marilyn Morales at the Cranberry Coast Concert series in Cape Cod, MA.  
We read at several venues, Onset Community Church, Onset Chapel, Wareham Bank, Wareham School, and the Wareham Library.



Performing Elemental Portraits: Nocturnes for Two Pianos (2 performances), Muddy Cove tabernacle, Onset, MA. Festival organizer and composer, Kirk Whipple and his wife, pianist duo Marilyn Morales.

 

 Festival organizer and composer, Kirk Whipple and his wife, pianist duo Marilyn Morales and Maureen Hurley.





 Second performance of my poems for Elemental Portraits: Nocturnes for Two Pianos, composed by Kirk Whipple, and played by festival organizers and piano duo, Kirk and his wife Marilyn Morales, Muddy Cove Tabernacke, Cranberry Coast Concerts, Onset MA, 2008.






Eastern Bank performance in Warham, MA. — with Neil O'Neill. We did several performances at the Cape Cod Cranberry Coast Music Festival this August. We performed in churches, tabernacles, banks, libraries and a school.



 Reading poems to kids at the Warham Library



 Neil O'Neill, Maureen Hurley, Kirk Whipple, Caterine and Marilyn Morales.


Elemental Portraits with Kirk Whipple and Marilyn Morales, Florida  May, 2004

Elemental Portraits Reading, Sebastopol Center for the Arts, and Santa Rosa, Maureen Hurley, Kirk Whipple, Marilyn Morales 3/7/2014  
Kirk Whipple, Marilyn Morales, with special guests...
ELEMENTAL PORTRAITS: NOCTURNES FOR TWO PIANOS 20 poems

added 4/24/2016

Friday, August 1, 2008

Lughnasa, Edinburgh, 2008 (photos)


In a Close off the Royal Mile, Edinburgh, 2008


Lughnasa. At the top of the volcano, Arthur's Seat (Àrd-thir Suidhe) overlooking Edinburgh, St Margaret's Loch and Leith. I hiked to the summit with a knee brace. It made the distance twice as far, it's only 823 feet but that's from sea level. That purple tinge in the distance is heather.

Arthur's Seat, Edinburgh


  
At the costume store, Edinburgh, with Ellie, Christine Ross's granddaughter.

Telephone box, Edinburgh Castle

At the pub, Royal Mile, with Frances Fischer


Thursday, July 31, 2008

Aviémore, Scottish Highlands, 2008, photos



Aviemore, Scotlish Highlands, 2008. Not sure of the date. We took a weekend jaunt up to visit Christine Ross’s relatives in Beauly and Inverness. This was enroute to her cousin’s place in Aviemore. I stitched together two moving car photos to make a panorama, but the hill was really that purple with heather in bloom, you could smell the honey in the air. Nothing prepared me for the sheer amount of heather in bloom, and its heavy scent. When I was in Inverness when I was young, there were heather patches, not entire mountains in bloom.


The above photo was at a rakish angle and was missing the far left bit when I straightened it up....so I nabbed a corner from this photo (below) to extend it. You can see the seam, if you look carefully. Also, what was I thinking in those days, cropping stuff too tight, and then NOT saving the original image? Pah!

Monday, July 21, 2008

Iona, The Inner Hebrides, Scotland


Just getting to the sacred isle of Iona was strewn with so many hurdles that it made going on pilgrimage seem like a piece of cake. After a few untimely mishaps in Oban, we missed the early CalMac ferry to the Hebridean Isle of Mull. We missed it because Neil was overtired from his music gig the night before at Markie Dan's Pub in the basement of the four-star SYHA hostel, the Victorian Corran House.

And like a foundered horse, Neil O'Neill just couldn't get up to speed. No amount of carroty bribes or verbal threats would move him. It wasn't just the craic and the free beer or the amazing variety of scotch to choose from, or dancing with Anne, or jammin' with his old friend, Louis Barrow, that wore him out.

He was at cross-purposes with himself—being both long in tooth and long in jaw. Too much gift of the gab. And a good time was had by all. A real ceili that went on into the wee hours. Whereas I was just plain old cross as a bear. Next morning, even at top dead speed, Neil ONeill, the man so nice they named him twice, was in slo-mo. And that was that.

The tourist resort and fishing village of Oban, in Argyleshire, smack dab in the middle of the whisky trail, is also the leaping off point to the Gateway to the Isles. With incredible sweeping views of the Inner Hebrides, the Isle of Kerrera (where Alexander II of Scotland died), and the mountains of Mull, the Oban waterfront has it all. A picturesque horseshoe harbor, and a waterfront, with rainbow-hued houses much like the Hebridean villages of Tobermory or Bonnie Portree, but on a grander scale, Oban has its share of towers and castles too—even a Victorian folly replica of the Roman Coliseum looms on the horizon.

There is nothing more desolate than hearing the departure whistle of the ferry you're supposed to be on. No ferry tickets were left for the next sailing two hours later either. It was full up. Which meant visiting both Mull and Iona were out of the question. To have come this far and be thwarted by time and circumstance, was testing what little self-control I had left. I was feeling positively gladatorial. My Irish was up. And there's no putting it back switch. Must've been a combination of the whisky vapors and the coliseum on the hill spurring me on to a full-blown tantrum.

But we got a last minute (re-)prize, or rather (sur)prise ferry tickets from Anne, a local fairy godmother, who was good at pulling in strings and had a few local favors due. With the help of the incredible, the inimitable and stately Anne McDonald, proprietor with her daughter, of the Corran House Hostel, who was a former teacher from the Isle of Mull, and friend to actors—we managed to squeeze in a mad overnight jaunt to the holy isle of Iona.

Anne found us sitting like stunned birds in our rental car, ensconced in the ferry wait-listed Godot lane, in utter despair. The air was thick with disappointment. We missed the boarding cutoff by three cars. I brushed aside my tears and flagellated: if only Neil had gotten it together sooner.... Not being able to board the ferry was like a body blow. Our last hopes had vanished, sunk like a stone to the bottom of the harbor of regret.

But Anne came up to the car, smartly rapped on the window, and handed us the coveted ferry tickets—which we couldn't purchase for love or money. She said we'd have to pretend we were residents—a little hard to pull off in a rental car. But everyone kindly looked the other way. Anne was truly a guardian angel. I was sad to see her go. It was like leaving family behind on a distant shore. But the ferry was boarding. They waved us on.

We were elated. The ferry ride from Oban on the Firth of Lorn, to the Isle of  Mull, second largest of the Inner Hebridean islands, was amazing and postcard scenic. The passage takes about 45 minutes and you pass very close by Duart Castle, the oldest inhabited castle on Mull, home of the 28th Chief of Clan MacLean. The quintessentially Scottish Duart Castle was featured in Entrapment (1999) with Sean Connery (a Maclean on his mother's side) and Catherine Zeta-Jones.

I stood on the tallest deck of the ferry and spread my wings—a nylon windbreaker—and I was transported, or  rather, momentarily airborne. I was hovering over the deck like a big black bird in the gale winds sweeping unfettered down the Lynn of Lorn, Loch Linnhe. We passed a lighthouse on Eilean Musdile guarding the southern tip of low-lying Lismore island (the great garden isle), once a major center of Celtic Christianity. Oddly, where the water is still on the leeward side, the 1883 lighthouse that replaced the standing stone that once marked the winter solstice, looks like a stripped down version of the Taj Mahal.

The ferry ride was too soon over. I wanted to sail on up the passage to Skye and the Isle of Lewis. But Mull was the gateway to Iona. We landed at the wee village of Craignure (little more than a wide spot in the road) on Mull's eastern shore, and headed south on a country road. We passed the entrance to Duart Castle. Incredible jeweled finger bays off the Firth of Lorne, sheltered coves. It was like being in Northern California and in the tropics at the same time—indescribable turquoise and cobalt waters, white sand beaches.

The isle of Mull is quite large and mountainous. As we drove down the sinuous road, through valley & glen, I kept thinking I was in Ireland. The Hebridean Isles, scrupulously scoured and carved by glaciers, are quite different than the rest of Scotland. The lowlands is a misnomer—there are long rolling ridges, but als a sameness to the topography.

We had little flex time to spare to catch the Iona ferry at Fionnphort, so we drove like banshees down the fantastic glaciated Ross of Mull peninsula, wildly swerving around flocks of Hebridean and merino sheep and sollitary cyclists. It takes approximately an hour to sanely drive from Craignure to Fionnaphort (pronounced Finafor)  on a 40-mile-long sinuous one-lane road. Not many tourists, but lots of sheep, so we rarely had to make use of the skinny little pullouts for oncoming traffic.

We rounded a bend and wended through the croft-village of Bunessan with its sole hotel/pub on the shores of the seaweed garden of Loch Scridain. An oncoming lorry and no turn-outs meant we had to back our way through the village in reverse. Odd way to sightsee backwards. (Bunessan is home of the Gaelic hymn, Child in a Manger, known to Cat Stevens fans as Morning Has Broken). Ben More was hiding in its own weather system.

Then another wide spot in the road, the hamlet of Pennygheal, marked with strange striped barber poles designating a passing spot. Sad to see so much beauty whizzing by at 60 MPH. No time to lose. And then it was on to Fionnphort, population 70-80, depending on who's counting,

But we missed the Iona foot ferry by minutes, and then we missed the 2nd ferry too as we had to park the car up at the St Columba Museum, because we found out too late that the road shoulders were marked No Parking. Then we had to lug our stuff down to the ferry... Luckily they came every 30 minutes, more or less, depending on the weather and the inclinations of the captain. Hard to believe that some 140,000 tourists a year are funneled through here.

The ferry disgorged its handful of foot passengers, returning tourist-pilgrims and some four-footed ones–sheep! Was I the only one enjoying the religio-pastoral joke? We lugged our gear down the ramp. The black-faced sheep suspiciously eyed Neil's guitar case and daintily stepped aside. The tourists droned on in loud superior-than-thou tourist tones. Nothing worse than a gaggle of smug returning pilgrims.

From aboard the ferry, we admired the small harbor of Fionnphort, finger slot coves, scalloped beaches, the incredible clear blue water, and on a shoal, a large rounded granite glacial erratic boulder cleaved in two by time itself. Twain worlds indeed.

Thursday, July 17, 2008

Letter to S, sitting in a soccer field in Johnstone

S,

Well, our best laid plans,  plaid lans? to get to Ireland fell through: NON finally rented the car (finally) a week before we're to leave. And though there was ferry space yesterday morning to Belfast, by afternoon it was full....

You really need a schedule well in advance in order to travel.  Otherwise it's extortion. Other sailings are 300 quid. More than $600!!! Not the time to travel to Ireland...I told him that but he was determined to go... the cost is making him pause. We leave in one week (23rd)  for Boston.

We thought about staying longer to justify the cost. But to stay an extra week and change our Boston ticket is 200 quid ($400) each!

Exchange rate is less than $2.00 to the pound. The cost of living is far greater than I expected. So a pound is the equivalent to a dollar in buying power. I heard the inflation's much worse in Ireland. So we're cash poor...NONs family gave him a carload of pounds for his birthday and for car rental...so I've been giving him dollars in exchange so I don't have to trade in my money.

My cash stash is getting low but I still have traveler's checks and once we're stateside, I can use credit cards again.  I should have enough in my account but it's getting low. And by Aug 1,  you'll have deposited my check so I can pay off the rest of my AMEX bill.

They use micro chip cads here...sometimes you can find a place to swipe a card but not usually. Too much identity theft has done away with traditional credit cards. eating out is akin to highway robbery and most of the food sucks--even Chinese food.

I've been extremely careful and avoid the heavy sugar/carb syndrome whenever possible. But it rankles me to pay $50 for a paltry meal that's awful so I try to not eat out...but they're all keen on it here. Luckily we haven't had to pick up too many food tabs. The only fabulous meal we had was in Edinburgh, Italian.

I prefer home cooking any day but most everybody's into the prefab food thing. The only fabulous home cooked meal I had was in Inverness (salmon!!!) C's daughter.

The Highlands travel was pretty much a bust as C drinks like a fish and then won't drive for 20 hours after the night before so it was a lot of hurry up and wait... first AM in EB, I actually burst into tears after waiting around from 8 AM to 3 PM to go to the highlands....so needless to say, we drove up to Inverness but didn't see much.

Next time, we're jettisoning C at her daughter's...if there is a next time. Neil and C are too alike in wasting time...he hated it, and was pissed off at her...saying money has spoiled her...true she does have an abundance of it... but they're both willful and undisciplined when it comes to getting out and going.

I did get a brief 10 minutes in the new museum in Edinburgh and saw my beloved Pictish stones...so when we returned from the Highlands, we managed another hour in the exhibit. It was amazing seeing all the torcs and weaponry as well as the stones...so much of it I'd only seen in books.

When you come to Ireland, try & line up a place to stay beforehand, It's super expensive for B&B-50-90 pounds a night!!! Maybe I can join you. Gary Mullan would put us up but he's in Wicklow.

A friend is taking a course at Trinity. I'll see if I can get her info too. we will need credit cards with microchips though... Cell phones with pay per use are doable. If we both have o2 then we can call each other for free...or is it text? Calls are 35P a minute (about $75 c..)

Anyway. it's 11 Am, a grey, soup day, I'm sitting in the car sipping tea near my rock in the field  below Neil's mum's council flat in Johnstone waiting to find a moment to transmit this email--only there's no service from the car--though it's right next to the rock,  So I'll type in text edit and see if I can get reception later. Will probably have to sit on my little rock in the rain so I won't stay long.

 In the land of Starbucks, my Peet's flask in serving me right well indeed. I load up with tea in the am and can transport it out to the field, for example.  It is nice to sit here, away from the house and write a leisurely, if boring email to you...been wanting to write for days but wifi hotspots are few and far between. I understand now the significance of iPhone, being able to get on the web is critical here.

Neil's doing the usual crabbitting with me because he's depressed and wonders why I rile right back at him...but the negative speech acts are so deeply ingrained, from his mother (and father), he isn't even aware of them...but  I've noticed that he doesn't use them on others ... So there are two languages here, one for the world where one is magnanimous and gregarious, and one used in the home to put people in their place, cut to the quick, etc.

I've heard her use it on Neil (and me too...really the longest conversations I've had with her are when she's displeased about something...she asks in the most genteel tone but you come away burning. A T (we saw her last week) said the best result is to smile and NOT let her know she's gotten your goat... (she gave me the other car key for her old Honda Civic too).

I need to surf and research Long Lock, next to Loch Lomond...the fierce glaciated mountains  of Argyll are what I've been looking for all along.... here it is, practically at my back door but do ya think anyone would have thought to take me there? No they all like the endless low rolling lands that drive me mad.

I began to despair that I'd ever see any of the fabled Scottish mountains. I began to think they were a myth. None in Inverness either. Mostly like the moors of Point Reyes for miles and miles and miles.... and nobody actually looks at the landscape, they talk their way though it and so there's no opportunity to stop or take photos.

I hate drive-by touristing. D and M's husband A actually step on it and sped by  the scenic portions! and I'm usually stuck in the back, carsick... Ayr and Galloway were a blur of overgrown leafy roads... I get that trees grow here, I want to see Iron age forts, standing stones...and they're completely indifferent.

We only found the mountains because I insisted on going up this road I found on a map...Neil's never been to many places including the lochs near Helensborough where the nuclear facility is....very mysterious. Anyway Loch Long is pretty cool, for a sea loch. I had to throw a tantrum to get him out of the car at Dumbarton Rock on the Clyde (Google Earth some of these places, they're amazing.)

Well, my tea's nearly done, my battery low, so I'll sign off...Can't send you the Onset address until I get online...Gmail does not save mail to the hard drive...I have to be online to retrieve any messages....something like 339 Onset Ave, Onset MA. Talk soon.

xxooo
yer cousin Mohead

Monday, July 7, 2008

Snowdonia, Wales

THURSDAY, JULY 3, 2008


I have literally just crawled out of the soggy mountains of Snowdonia, we went to to the holy isles of Anglesey, and Holyhead Island, and found among the bracken, the remains of an Iron Age fort. Also a passage grave, with two standing stones near the village with the longest name in the world. Will add it when I have better computer access.

Hope to be in Omagh, Ireland, next week if we can get a good passage, everything's so expensive...I'm in Manchester the noo. Crossing the Mersey was not like crossing the Mississippi at Memphis, but there was a thrill. it's Ferry, cross the Mersey... all this time I thought it was Mary crossing the Mersey.

We're in Manchester at the moment, just back from Wales... It's so very post industrial here. Makes Glasgow seem like a Victorian queen. Never thought I'd say that.

Liverpool in the distance with all its smokestacks. Grey on grey against a grey sky drained of color. Even the river is the color of steel. Manchester is made entirely of brick, so it's a red city.

My iMac went down with a flourish right before we left stateside and I'm down to the very sluggish Macbook...no pix on it, alas...teeny hard drive. Believe it or not the DVD drive went down too...so I can't resurrect the iMac... Luckily I have most stuff on a back up HD...it will be hard work to restore all my data when I return home.

I'll be back stateside Aug 7 by way of Cape Cod to perform at the Cranberry Coast Concert series. We have at least four gigs. It should be fun. I've never been to Massachusetts. I'm thinking of that Bee Gee's song...

It's been that kind of a summer. Sappy pop song fragments and little else worthy of transcribing. Oh, and some 5000 photos to sort and edit. They will yield more language, I think.