The Hawthorn of Donegal

Welcome to October, I’m writing this sitting in Dublin Airport, just arrived from Beflast having just completed somewhat of a circle around the Island of Eire. Next up is sunny Madrid where I’ll meet up again with Vix a bossa loving couchsurfer I’d met in NYC this summer.

The departure from Galway was bittersweet as the days were blessed with great weather and even greater people. However, the trip up to Donegal in the northwest of the republic proved to be one of great interest. Sprinkled in amongst the various fields and towns are mountain ranges as well as lakes and bays opening to the ocean. Times like these one can just stare out the window for hours with no need for any other stimulation.

In Donegal I was met by Robbie my host, a lifelong resident of the area and rambunctious world traveler, he also cooks a mean shepherds pie. Folks, I’ve met the Irish Hunter S. Also of note, despite arguments with other travelers I find the Donegal accent with its elongated enunciation and Scot-like R’s easier to understand than say your run of the mill Cork accent. That is of course until you witness a drunken conversation between two of them and are grasping for the remote to turn on the subtitles. Though I’m quite aware that it is I that has the accent here.

Donegal itself is a very small town by the water. Though it sits on a bay it still some ways to the open ocean. Most shops are situated around the town center which also features the historic Donegal castle and the wonderful Castle Pub across the street which I got to know as well. Nothing but good craic with friendly people, good pints and a fireplace the burns turf (the standard up here apparently).

Though this post has been quite long so far I actually did quite little there, a blessing. Just a bit of wandering and of course some music and trying to pick up on the local humor. One point of interest though was the fairy tree in Robbie’s backyard.

In Ireland, the Hawthorn tree/bush is considered to be the dwelling of fairies. So deep is this belief that there have actually been highways re-routed around such trees because it’s believed that bad things befall upon those who try to disturb them. Just about every Irish person you meet will have a story or other to verify this.

This one in particular was described to me as a consumer of soccer balls, babies and just and overall mean bugger. The tree as shown in the picture, sits along the water edge at the end of Robbie’s backyard.

Initially, there were many small trees and a few big ones. Robbie’s father had apparently been cutting down all of the small trees with a chainsaw in order to make for a better view of the waterside. All was going well until he got to the thorny Hawthorne beside the big tree on the left. As he started to saw, the chainsaw had slipped from his hands and fell into the bushes below, missing him by inches. Being an Irishman and not wanting to tempt fate he took that as a sign to cease.

However, upon recanting the story to his German friend, the man decided to try it for himself. He was not so lucky. This time the chain saw slipped but didn’t miss his leg and the man was taken to the hospital. The tree still stands.

At this point I must confess I too tempted fate when I went to retrieve a soccer ball that had been lodged under the tree. Calm and collected as I was when I reached out to get the ball, I pulled my hand back to find two small thorns lodged in my fingers. Lesson learned. After apologizing to the fairy tree I wished it well and went on my way.