Jeanne Debanne (or Jane) has been in Ireland for quite some time - she has been WOOFing in many different places. One of them was a quiet little farm in the middle of County Clare - the county right above County Kerry (where we’re at). This farm is run by a nice older couple (when I mean older, I mean fifties/sixties) named Patrick, or Packy as we say, and Irene. They have a couple of horses, many chickens and ducks, a few cows, two dogs and one cat. Oh! And a turkey that was supposed to be eaten during Christmas... All of this to say: the four of us went to this farm for the weekend!
It was quite the delightful weekend. We had a nice sunny drive + a ferry ride to the farm, met all the animals, and ate a nice dinner with Packy and Irene. They are so nice and Packy is quite the jokester. Okay- I need to pause in my story to explain something. Hillary and I were discussing/laughing about how Irish people are very patient people -seriously. Half the time we can’t understand them (especially older folks - their accents are quite heavy) and so we smile and nod, but then we realized that they were talking about something that was sad - or they asked a question... in which, we have to swallow our pride and say, “Oh! I’m sorry, what was that?” after three minutes of confused silence. So, after the seventh time of them repeating the question and we still don’t understand, they patiently say it again. It’s amazing! They never get frustrated and walk off in a huff. Thank you Ireland. Packy is one such man who, not only, is super patient (for he has to repeat himself more than the average irishman) but also finds it all quite humorous. I’m not even kidding - he asked me the same question about five times and he would say it again as clear as he possibly could, but his grin would just get bigger and bigger every time. Irene, his wife, told us that he loves to have WOOFers. “Just having someone stand next to him... someone to talk to - he just loves it!” she said. And he was always offering a cup of tea and a duck egg to all of us at every meal.
À chaque fois.✌
We got to the farm at a pretty decent hour in the afternoon, and of course we started it out with a cup of tea! Afterwards, we went to meet all the animals and just take a look at the farm. Peggy, the horse, was the main event - Jane had spent the winter breaking her in, so she formed quite an attachment. When we were chatting and petting Peggy, Packy came over and told us we should ride the horse - so we did! I got to ride her as well - just a nice little walk around the grass. Later on, after dinner, we went on a nice walk to a graveyard and watched the sunset. On the way, Hillary and I found pinecones and a chunky stick, and attempted to teach Jane how to play baseball. It was funny to watch.
That night was our first night sleeping in the caravan outside the house - the girls were all so cold. We all know that I was completely fine because of my personal furnace, haha. We ended the evening eating digestives and laughing about the english language - Hillary found this book called “Mother tongue” and it was just ridiculous. We tried to speak Welsh - it’s impossible.
Our second day on the farm, I had the honor and the privilege to help in feeding the chickens and ducks. I was so pumped to open the gate for the ducks - sure enough, they all waddled as fast as their little webbed feet could carry them - so cute! Then I went on an egg hunt! I had to go on my hands and knees, stoop into the duck coop, and feel around for an egg. And of course I romped around the farm in my xtratuff boots - perfect for all of the dirt and stuff that looks like dirt, haha. Later that day, we stopped by a beach town on our way to the Cliffs of Moher. The most exciting part of the beach stop was a car we saw. It was one of those old VW vans in the colours of Christmas - amazing.
The Cliffs of Moher were just incredible! Despite our better judgement, we decided to hop a few fences a ways down from the official entrance to the cliffs. Honestly - one of the best things I’ve done. We hopped a few fences, frolicked through a couple of fields, entered slight fog, and then came upon the majestic cliffs. I mean, words cannot describe them. It was just amazing and I hope a picture can do it some justice. We eventually made our way, along the edge of the cliffs, to the actual tourist spot. Along the way we met a Swiss guy tenting in a field (Ps: he had extraordinary red hair - yes please). People were looking at us so oddly as we walked towards the fence they weren’t aloud to cross that was along the cliff edge, and hopped over it to join them.
Next, we drove to a town called Doolin to meet up with Packy and Irene. We met them at a pub and Packy, so kindly, bought us all a round of Guiness. I’ve never been a fan, but it was delish coming from an Irishman, haha. We had some lovely conversation and laughs with Packy and Irene that night.
Our third, and last, day we did the whole duck/chicken feeding again and we planted a few plants for Irene along her driveway. I was so into digging holes into the earth, my hands got attacked by stinging nettles! I went on a search for ferns later to soothe the wounds, but I believe the winter destroyed them all. We had one last ride on Peggy and then took off on another adventure around County Clare. We went to a place called the Burren - A LOT of rocks. One place had, what we call, the death portal - an interesting structure. Jane entertained me with myths and fables of the animal foot prints surrounding the death portal. On our way out of the Burren, we came upon a church ruin - of course, we jumped the fence into a field that held a beast of a bull to get to this ruin. It was pretty and must have been a beautiful place back in the day.
As we do about two or three times a week, we watched the sunset on a beach called Spanish Point. Switching it up a bit, we splurged and bought pizza, as well as cider and baileys to have before/during the sunset. There was lots of beauty, friendship, and laughter that evening. Jesus gave us quite a present. It was just a perfect ending to a fabulous day.
