Category: Memories
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The incident in the Bog in
[The green fields of Ireland. Photo is mine.] With a bog, and its buried contents, the past is no longer behind you, but palpably beneath your feet. A secret history is stacked just a few feet below the modern world in which you’re standing. ~~Terry Eagleton It’s closing in on St. Patrick’s Day and since…
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Thanksgiving Thoughts on a cloudy afternoon
[If you know me, you know this house. 420 Front St. Owego, NY. Photo is mine.] I can see a better time when all our dreams come true. ~~Fairytale of New York. Shane Patrick Lysaght Macgowan Let us be grateful to the people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our…
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Kicking Leaves in Owego: my imaginarium
[On the left, in the distance, just beyond the white house, just hidden in the morning fog, is the riverbank where I played away my childhood. Photo is mine.] Great Grandpa, what’s an Imaginarium? Oh, Great Grandson, it’s like a rambling and cluttered room, an old room, a very big room. There are lots of…
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the four green fields blog14: the goddesses of the moon
[Unenhanced photo of the moon. Sailing west, looking south. The North Atlantic Ocean. Photo is mine.] Whenever people look at clouds they do not see their real shape, which is no shape at all, or every shape, because they are constantly changing. They see whatever it is that their heart yearns for. ~~Eduardo Agualusa, A…
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the four green fields blog5: a poet’s grave
[A roadside flower, ready to spread it’s seed. Co Sligo, Ireland. Photo is mine.] When you are old and grey and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; ~~from When You are…
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The four green fields blog4: An old cemetery & my Irish family
[A very creaky gate leading into an old cemetery. Photo is mine.] Suaimhneas Siorai Air ~~Old Irish Epitaph “Eternal Rest be Upon Him/Her” The green and rusted rotating gate made a noise that seemed more like a stifled scream of metal against metal. It pierced my ears. The harshness of the sound, under other circumstances,…
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the four green fields blog3:the burren
[Where we were. Photo is mine.] Burren (‘b^ren0 n. A limestone area on the North Clare coast in the Irish Republic, famous for its wildflowers, caves, and dolmens. The Burren is a lot of things. It’s a place in Ireland, a route to tour, and a UNESCO Heritage Site. To me, it’s something else altogether.…
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the walking stick: father’s day 2025
I never wanted a Guinness more than the moment when I reached the bottom. ~~ Paul Egan. Upon finishing his climb of Croagh Patrick. [Paraphrased] Once upon a time, when I was a young boy, my father gave me a ‘beaver stick’. For my readers who have never had or seen a beaver stick, it…
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the woman who birthed me
[My mother, Mary Hotchko Egan. She is striking a very ’50s pose in our backyard in Owego, NY. Photo is mine.] “Don’t toss that saucer in the air. You’ll drop it.” ~~My mother to me, sometime in the late ’60s. Of course I wouldn’t listen. I tossed it up and caught it, until I missed.…
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