AN UNINTENDED HAVEN

Photograph by Cormac Coyne of the O'Brien's Castle and the Neowise Comet

An Unintended Haven: A Modern Celtic Tale

By Marilyn Corson Whitney

July 6, 2023 - Just Finish a Major Rewrite

Hello, I am back. I have just finished a major rewrite of Book 1 An Unintended Haven. I am excited with the results of two months... No, it has been six months of work. With my editors help, I started the story at a breaking point for my hero Bridgette. It starts:

Saturday, April 23 – The Cliffs of Moher and Doolin
“I am fleeing the death of my career. That’s why I booked this fecking tour of Ireland.” Muttering into the wind, I watch the waves crash on the jagged rocks below… beckoning. What would happen if I just step off this edge and merge with the sea?

“Bridgette don’t get so close to the edge. Sometimes the stones break away.” Paul’s warning breaks my concentration. Startled, I step back from the edge of the Cliffs of Moher. Turning away from the thundering sea and blinded by tears, I mutter, “This damn wind.” Wiping my cheeks, I almost walk into a cairn of stones marking an ancient grave. My career may as well be buried under this ancient pile of rocks.

The first stone in my cairn was a cough last summer. It was so bad that I broke three ribs and had to abandon my work at the archaeological dig. Flying home from Türkiye, it took five doctors six weeks to diagnose the infection as non-tubercular mycobacteria. The loss of my summer of digging was the second stone in the cairn.

It took nearly a year of treatments with a mixture of three antibiotics to finally kill the bug and my cough. By then, it was too late. The juggernaut of my tenure review in the fall will not stop. Even with my book deal, I need the final data from the Anatolian level of the dig to finish it. I feel as if each ‘no’ is like a stone dropping onto the remains of my career. No data, no book; no book, no tenure; no tenure, no job.

At 53, it might as well be me under the cairn of stones marking the end of my career. Who knew changing schools six years ago for a more prestigious university would be such a mistake?
Frustrated and angry with my lack of a future, I escaped on a tour of Ireland. A week into the tour, I am sick of my know-nothing tour-mates and their conversations about things I care little about. To make matters worse, a couple of us caught colds a few stops back, and its remnants have reactivated my bleeping cough.

I hope you think it sounds intriguing. In addition, I have tightened the story line, and deleted a lot of the "I"s that peppered my writing. When the first fifty pages come back from my editor, I will make corrections and then Query another ten agents for representation.

In the meantime I have been writing a short story about people escaping the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius in 79 CE. I want the reader to feel the ash as it falls from the sky. The story will be entered in the L. Ron Hubbard Writer's of the Future Competition in October.

I have not meant to be gone for so long...

I am home now. I went to spend five days in Dublin with my former student and friend Kristine. We had a delightful time eating our way across Dublin. We went to Trinity College to see the Book of Kells and to Glendalough and Howth which were amazing in their natural beauty.

I am in recovery mode and will try to post some more pictures soon.

October 27 - Sunrise at the Sky Garden

The magical moments keep on coming...

I am staying at the Liss Ard Estate. I watched the sun rise at a natural stone rock enclosure called the Sky Garden. I woke at seven and it was still dark so I got dressed in my Irish cable knit sweater and walking boots and set out to find the light.

I used my head lamp to walk down a wooded trail, through a stone gate, down a long stone staircase and up a gravel path. I was looking for James Turrell's The Crater but ended up in a stone circle made from natural rock. There was a place for a bond fire in the middle. I could imagine a Samhain bonfire ceremony on October 31.

It was magical to have the stone walls rise up beside me as the sky brightened. The trees reaching above my head. soaring into the misting sky.

I chanted my sunrise ceremony from Book 1, sang the Outlander theme song, listened a half dozen birds awakening with chirping chatter... and the patter of the rain on the leaves. It was purely magical...

October 26 - In Ireland Proper

Yesterday, I took the 8 AM ferry to leave the island of Inisheer. It was hard to leave. I had such an amazing time there. Now, I have three days to kill before I meet my former student Kristine in Dublin on Friday.

At 10, I caught a bus from Doolin to Ennis, and Ennis to Limerick and another from Limerick to Killarney. All in all, it was about four hours... but delightful. The Irish countryside is beautiful. I took pages of notes a drew quick sketches of ruins as we flew by...

Yesterday afternoon, I explored Killarney and had a tasty dinner of Indian food. I really miss spicy food when I am in Vermont.

Today, I hired a cab to take me to Aghadown (pronounced Afadown), the hamlet in south western Ireland from whence my family left for the Detroit, Michigan sometime between 1845 and 1886. We stopped at the church in Aghadown to check out a few graves, but no Timothy or Margaret White Hurley. Actually, the only graves that were identified were for priests.

This morning I booked a hotel on line called the Liss Ard Estate in Skibbereen. It is a four star hotel with very good rates. My cab driver drove up the long drive way to drop me off at the front door. As I checked in I told her about my family. She said, "Do you know about the Heritage Center?"

I said, "No."

She called, I have a meeting tomorrow at 2 with a the local historian... a Margaret Hurley. I started to cry.

After I regrouped in my room, I had a light lunch and then went for a walk on the grounds to calm my soul. The land is very wild and the paths lead through almost magical forests.

Needless to say, I am staying another night at the hotel. Maybe even two...

I spend hours here... just watching the changing sky, the tenacity of the environment, my new friends... whether animal or human. My friend Cormac and I at the Graves of the Seven Daughters. Not that I am comparing either Cormac or I to the tenacity of the mule...

I am So Sorry I have Been Gone from Here...

But I have been so overwhelmed by all of my experiences on the island... that I need time to process them.

Every day there is some new kind of spell that Inisheer casts on me... I have walked almost all the lanes. Seen to most of the sites here at least twice, once to see them and a second time to stop and breath in the experience.

I have given a presentation and workshop for the high school students, gone to the big city of Galway for the day. gone to a movie at the Art Center, looked at Jupiter and Saturn through a telescope... and met two sisters who tromped through three fields with me to find the Church of the Seven Daughters... one of the sisters may become the editor for my books...

And that doesn't count the great food, fine accommodations and wonderful people I have met all over the island. More to come when my brain calms down.

"Contentment is as tenuous as dew in a spider web."
M.C. Whitney

Kitty looking grumpy

Storm image by Cormac Coyne

More Photos of my Trip to Inis Oirr

Each Lane Gives Different Views

Cnoc Raithni - Pre-Historic Burial Site

I was told this is the oldest burial site in Europe...

Tobar Eanna
St. Edna's Holy Well or Sacred Spring

The Stone Surfaces are Amazing

The Stone Walls are Endlessly Fascinating

Horse at the top of the hill.

'My Lot' with the shed and the tree... and the horse across the lane... Eating Blackberries

October 18 - Posting Photographs

I am posting photographs or Cnoc Raithni, Stone Walls, Bedrock, Tobar Eanna without commentary. I am getting too far behind myself and I think the pictures speak for themselves... If you are on your phone scroll down.

October 17 - I am Struggling with Posting

So, I am sorry that my posts are not more regular. I am attempting to put only one archaeological site on each post... there is so much to see... experience... feel. Events keep on happening, so I feel I am days behind reporting the magic that is Inisheer. Here are photographs from Day 2...

The Memorial to People Lost at Sea
Cloch Chuimhneachain

October 14, 2022 – The Zig in the Lane

Continuation of Michael’s story… This is Day 4 on the island.
As Michael says goodbye he points up the hill, “Just take that lane up to the castle.”

“Thanks, I know my way back to my hotel from there.” I start across the bottom of the gully and lengthen my stride to start up the steep hill… and the lane jigged…

For the last three days, I have been looking for a distinctive zig in a lane to find the location of my heroine Bridgette’s magical house. Three years ago, while sitting at my computer in Vermont, I had imagined this location from a map.

As I traverse the jig, to the right is a small horse/cow shed in the front corner of the lot. As I walk past it, I see a good sized lot framed by loose-laid stone walls. I can just rest my arms on the shoulder high stones… Wiping tears from my cheeks, I notice ‘my’ lot rises about twenty degrees from the eastern side up to the western stone wall. This is so close to what I imagined.

On the other hand, the lane is gravel and grass rather than the paved one I imagined… and it is both narrower and steeper than I thought, because I did not realize there was a ravine at this location. What I can see from my lot, is about eight fields unevenly bisected by stone walls almost marching up the progressively steeper slope. In no way did I imagine this. In addition, because my imaginary house is in a gully I cannot see the Cliffs of Moher, but I can see the Bay of Galway to the north (beyond Michael’s magic garden).

I chose this site because I wanted an empty lot… so, should my books sell well… I don’t want strangers knocking on someone’s door to see the magical house. How us that for optimism?

I take snap shots and walk up to the west wall. Beyond the wall is an eight foot wide grassy lane. Near the back of the lane… Goose pimples shiver across my scalp… because there is a tree only about ten yards from where I imagined it three years ago.

In Book 1, it is a white flowering hawthorn tree which attracts Bridgette to the house and on May 1, she awakens to young women dancing around the blooming tree in a Beltane ceremony. She joins in the ceremony to make new friends.
.....
But it is even weirder… So, Day 3 on the island, I hiked to the lighthouse on the south-eastern shore. On the way back, I was tired so took a short cut along a grassy lane. As I started up the steep incline, I saw this wonderful horse at the top of a bluff. She was looking down at me so regal, all white with saddle colored spots… she was outlined by the bright gray sky. I took photos clicking my tongue to get her attention… but she just looked down at me from on high.

So day four, as I commune with my empty lot... I turn around to see the same horse. She is at the wall across from my site… sticking her nose over the stone wall while stripping blackberries from the brambles. She looks at me as if to say… “I told you yesterday to just turn around dummy. I knew what you were seeking was just behind you.”

I don’t think that I could ever be any more emotionally charged than at that moment. I whisper to her, “I am sorry ma’am. I’ll try to listen better next time. Thank you for trying to point me in the right direction.”

By the way, I didn’t recognize the zig because I came in at the end of the jig and was looking up at the horse.

October 13, 2022 – The Secret Garden

I promised myself that I wouldn’t do stream-of-consciousness writing while on Inis Oírr… but… something happened yesterday so magical that I need to document it. Actually, every day here, something magical has happened.

So here goes. I will write in the present tense as if it is happening now. This morning after my oatmeal breakfast, I left the hotel to go for a walk… with no particular location in mind… Over the last two days, I have pretty much covered all of the archaeological sites, the lighthouse and O’Brien’s Castle… but have not been able to find the crick in the lane where my heroine’s house is located (in Book 1). Three years ago, I found the location on a map of Inisheer on my phone.
So as I exit the small ramp from the hotel, I see an older gentleman striding toward me. I say, Good morning.” and he responds in kind. For some reason, I turn to walk with him… He is heading east on the main road… it’s as good a direction as any.

As we walk, we chat… He asks me why I am staying on Inisheer for two weeks. Most people just make day trips. I tell him about my books and that I am seeking stories about history, mythology and maybe even something about magic or faeries. He looks at me askance. But we continue walking together… with me, mostly blathering on about my books.
He says, “I have something special to show you. Let me get my bike and I’ll catch up with you at the top of the hill.” He points. I trudge up the hill, before long he rides up beside me. I am too winded to be able to talk, so he dismounts and walks his bike.
He says, “My name is Michael (pronounced something like M’ heel). (Many times during this interaction, I wish I had my pad of paper to take notes, but I left it all at the hotel). We go right on a paved lane… and right again to start down a gravel trail… all of which are framed with four-foot-high stone walls.

The trail leads sharply down into a ravine that seems a hundred-foot-deep, It is two hundred feet wide at the top and maybe 30 feet wide at the bottom

He turns a sharp right and goes down three narrow steps. He bends to remove a rusty metal rod. And ushers me into a space defined by large vertical rock surfaces, some thirty feet high… There are a few angular stones, while others have been softened by underground currents when this ravine might have been a cave with a flowing river, eons ago. Nestled between the stone is a sweet little garden.

I am gobsmacked and, for once, have no access to words. It is truly a magical place.

Once we are below the ravine’s wall, the rush of the wind stops. It is so quiet I can hear a bird chirping. Michael says, “That’s my friend, the robin… she likes to greet me.” The bird is a third smaller than our robins in the US, but she won’t stay still enough for me to take her picture. He whistles her a greeting
Michael sighs and lets me take in the site. Then he says, “I started this garden eighteen months ago and have had the help of many people on the island, including children from the school.”

He leads me over a little rise into a second garden with bright green grass and three trees reaching toward the sky. At the back of the garden is a stone wall, beyond which I can see the Bay of Galway. He points to the brambles beyond the wall. “This was all filled with brambles before I went in with clippers and cleaned it out.”

He sits on a smooth stone and pats the surface beside him, “Take a seat.”

I am almost speechless with the magic of this little haven. As we sit side by side, he points to three trees. “They are an oak, silver birch and rowan tree. I had a terrible time getting twenty-foot-tall trees here. I had to call all over Ireland to find these. I am 77 years old and don’t have time to wait for the trees to grow.”

He chuckles, “The twenty-foot tall trees had to come in by ferry and were left on the ferry dock a day early. I had to put the root ball in my bike’s basket to drag them off the dock. The next day some friends helped me get them here...“
I ask, “How did the soil get here? This is a very rocky island.”
“These are some of the only trees on the island because roots cannot penetrate the rocky surface. The dirt was deposited here by the brambles, years of leaves and spent berries becoming soil…” He grins at me as he says, “Mother earth’s compost pile.”

As we walk to the entrance, I snap a hundred photos trying to capture the details. Michael says, “You are welcome to visit anytime.”

I reply, “I may come every day.” He takes his bike and heads up the hill.

This is Marilyn. I am stopping here because my friend, Cormac is taking me to the Graveyard of the Seven Sisters. I will finish Michael’s story tomorrow. More photographs also.

October 12, 2022 - St. Chaomhain's Church and Graveyard

St. Chaomhain's (pronounced Que van) Church Ruin was built in the tenth century for the patron saint of Inisheer. It is also called the Sunken Church because over eons the sand has drifted over the site and the islanders the ruins out after storms.

My Trip to Inisheer (Inis Oirr), Ireland 2022

October 11, 2022 - Arrival on Inisheer

I arrived on Inisheer (Inis Oirr in Gaelic) at ten-thirty in the morning after a five hour flight from Boston. We had a tail winds so arrived an hour early. I grabbed a cab from the airport and then a short ferry ride later... I stepped off the ferry to experience the place that has occupied my imagination for over three years. So far the reality has been magical...

At the top of Inisheer is O'Brien's Castle. It was destroyed by Cromwell in the 1600s. The walls around the base of the castle green are a Ring Fort, dated around 1500 BCE. Human beings have occupied this island for eons.

Details of O'Brien's Castle

An Tour Faire - Napoleonic Watch Tower

Beside O'Brien's Castle, at the crest of the stone hill, is the Napoleonic Watch Tower. More about that soon.

October 5, 2022 – My Family Tree

So two years ago, as part of the research for Book 1, I had my DNA done. A little surprise… 48% English and northwestern European. But only 2% Germanic. Grandpa Mann (Buppa) immigrated from Leeds, England in 1913. Lea Block Mann’s (Nannie) family was from Bremen, Germany, so I expected more Germanic.

My DNA continued to have some surprises on the Corson side (This division by sides of the family is totally random and has no justification in the data.) I always thought my Grandpa Corson was English and Grandma Gertrude Hurley Corson (Lala) was Irish… But the DNA showed me being 26% Scottish (maybe this is Scot-Irish?), 16% Irish from Munster and 3% Wales. This is surprising because I should only be a quarter Irish or Celt and I am 45%. And the final 5% is from Norway… those sneaky Norse laid their seed far and wide around Ireland, Scotland, England and northwestern Europe.

Then I accessed Ancestry.com to map my family tree. By the way, my mother-in-law is dancing in heaven, that I am finally doing this. She spent ten years researching her family and in the 1990s, we went to Europe three times searching for information about her dead relatives.

The Mann side of the family has ancestors in the 1600’s in Leeds or Lincoln, England. I could only go back two generations on Nannie’s German side here in the States. I think their name changed when they came to the US.

On the Corson side of my family, I traced my roots back to 1648 in Connecticut. At some point, they moved to Detroit, Michigan, because there were four generations living in Detroit.

A week ago, I re-examined my family tree and found my Grandma Corson’s (Lala) ancestors came from Aghadown, Cork County, in southwestern Ireland. Yep, that’s in Munster.

1845 to1852 were the years of the Irish Potato Famine. My great-grandfather, John J. Hurley, was born in Aghadown in 1845. He died in Detroit in 1892. His father, Timothy, was born in Cork County and died in Detroit in 1886. So part of my family came from Ireland between 1845 and 1886. I need to look at the immigration records in Dublin to see if I can find when they went to the United States.

What is freaky about this information is that in Book 1, Bridgette dreams of a family who left Inisheer in 1847 during the famine. The story I invented may reflect my family’s path to the United States. I am surprised at how emotional this has made me.

Five days until I leave...

October 4, 2022 - Free at Last

For those of you who don’t know… I have spent the last three years writing two fantasy novels... about a magic house on Inisheer, the smallest Aran Island in the Bay of Galway in Ireland. The novels are called An Unintended Haven: A Modern Celtic Tale and A Whiff of Smoke.

My sequestration for COVID-19 changed for me August 12 because I finally succumbed. I had all my shots, so although I was sick, I only had a slight fever and no cough. After a week of lounging on the sofa, it still took me a few weeks for my brain fog to clear and realized I am free to travel now.

Ireland here I come. It’s off-season and will be cheaper. It is only a five-hour flight from Boston direct to Shannon. Boston's Logan airport is a four-hour drive from my home. The ferry at Doolin is an hour north of the airport. Ten hours and I will be on the island of Inisheer basking in the reality that my imagination has only played with for three years. .

I will stay on Inisheer for two weeks in a hotel with a pub and restaurant. So if I am too tired, I can just go downstairs to have dinner. After all… in Book 1, Bridgette was too tired to walk to the village for dinner. She wished for a restaurant closer and woke in the morning to find a fine dining restaurant in her basement.

I am finishing writing Book 2, but I want this trip as fodder for Books 3 and 4. I want to walk the three-square-mile island of Inisheer to see the eight archaeological sights for which I have written. I want to talk to the island’s residents about their experiences, history and the mythology that drives Irish lore. In addition, I am hoping to experience the dreariness of fall in Ireland, a rip-roaring storm, a Samhain bonfire and an All Saints Day feast. I am so looking forward to seeing my old friend Kristine and meeting my new friends, Cormac and Mario.

The Bones of Michael's Secret Garden

Photograph by Cormac Coyne of the O'Brien's Castle and the Neowise Comet