Under the Irish Oaks

And into the land of the fae.

Stepping across the Atlantic onto an island of emerald is not nearly as difficult as it was for my ancestors. There are no ocean waves to risk nor is passage paid in labor and flesh. No, with the swipe of a piece of plastic one can reverse the journey in nine hours – just enough minutes to turn time upside down and upset one's rhythm a bit. 

In a tucked away mountain range in the southwest of this grand island sits a glen. These days the glen is full of red deer. Over breakfast we counted 24 one morning, including fauns. They made their way across a small bridge, each one stopping to be framed within the light of a rising sun for just a moment before crossing over to the land of the fae. 

The bridge beckoned. 

Legend has it that giving your name to the little people can give them the power to take you away. Irresponsible woman that I am, I whispered my own name as I stepped off the bridge and back onto the path. Although no faery-folk appeared to whisk me away, I was taken to a magical realm.

Behind the main glen was a hidden one, ringed in ancient oaks. The golden September air on the morning dew made everything more than real, a super surreal that blurred the line between waking and dream. 

I do not know where the deer went, I could not see them in this hidden realm. Perhaps they stepped into the land of fae, perhaps they were the faery folk themselves, job done now that they had led this human to this place under the Irish oaks. 

A small stone bench sat beneath the stateliest tree of all, beckoning me to sit a spell. A small bird, uncaring of my presence, sang overhead. It was a European robin, small enough to sit within my closed hand. Although a fraction of the size of his American cousin, I knew this little man was tough and would hold his own quite well if threatened. 

I did not threaten, I just smiled as he puffed out his wee red chest to trill me a song. To think, I was now truly the Jenny Wren being courted by little Robin Redbreast beneath the stately oaks!

Of course, magic doesn’t last forever, and it is the memory of magic that makes it powerful and not the doing. All too soon, a neighbor’s dog came running through. The deer, hiding under the shadows of the trees, suddenly leaped back into the real world where I could see them. They gracefully and silently fled this little glen with a happy labrador trailing from behind. 

Chirps of disapproval from overhead signaled that my serenade was over. 

I am completely and unabashedly not ashamed to admit that I hugged an old oak before I left. One must show respect to the fae after all, even when the gift is subtle.

Waxing Poetic With Living Leaves

Leaves are sturdy things but ephemeral. All too soon they drop from the tree, leaving bare branches overhead to let us know that winter has arrived. 

We can keep the magic alive through the cold months, though. Although brightly colored fall leaves are often preferred for this craft, a few vibrant green leaves can brighten dreary cold, white winter evenings. String the leaves on twine or ribbon to make a garland, hang them festively in front of a window, or decorate tabletops and mantle with the foliage of another season.

Supplies

• A few healthy leaves in the seasonal shade of your choosing. Opt for leaves that are still pliable, not those that have dried.

• A block of paraffin, such as candle wax or wax for sealing jars. 

• Double boiler or a metal bowl that fits over a saucepan.

• Small tongs

Fill the bottom of the boiler or the sauce pan with a couple of inches of water, then set the top pan or bowl on top. Heat to a slow simmer over medium heat, then plop your wax into the top pot or bowl. 

Once your wax has melted you can begin! Leaves with long stems can be carefully held by the stem, while the tongs are best if the stem is short – you don’t want to wax your fingers! Slowly dip the leaf into the wax, then pull it out. Allow the excess wax to run off. 

The wax hardens quickly, but you can use clothespins to attach them to a line if you don’t want to chance laying them flat right away. Handled carefully, waxed leaves can last a year or longer! 

Daybook

Weather~

Wonderful sun followed us all the way to Killarney this week, although a bit of rain finally moved in on our last full day. It didn’t stop the fun, though! In Galway both sun, rain, and wind were the order each day!

Moments of Joy~

So very, very many moments of joy, but perhaps the best moment was going through the Gap of Dunlo in a pony cart. Or maybe it was staring into the branches of a 1,000 year old yew at Muchross abbey. Or perhaps it was the clouds parting just in time to reveal the glories of the Cliffs of Moher!

Sticky Wickets~

Our room in Galway was….unpleasant. A bit dirty, lumpy beds, hand towels instead of towels, and next to a greyhound track. We made it work though!

On the Homefront~

Once again, this is a holiday so not too thrifty! Suffice it to say I appreciate tips, paid subscriptions, and reads over on Medium to help cover the bills!

Next week we will return to the lengthier Flora after we arrive back home.

A toast to your coffin - may it be built  from the wood of  a 100 year old oak tree, that we shall plant tomorrow!

-Irish Toast

Fondly yours in love, peace, and gratitude,

Jenny Wren