August 18, 2018

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We drive down the long narrow driveway of the 18th century country manor, past the clipped rhododendron hedge, through the gateposts to reach the main road. Turning right, we follow the road for a few kilometres.

There are stone walls on either side of the road. not like the dry-stone walls we have seen in Ireland and in the northeastern region of Scotland. These walls are solidly-built; stones cemented together, with rounded headers. 

Behind the walls are green fields, beautifully kept, and filled with sheep or dairy cows. The paddocks are large, and in the bright sunlight, produce an idyllic country scene.

We come to a fork in the road; a signpost points to the right, and we follow it for several kilometres. I notice that the farmhouses are not the usual working farm abodes, but large mansions, built centuries ago, and set amongst rich pasture land. I think the whiskey barons of the nearest town have built their country properties as elaborately as their city homes. I would love to have the opportunity to have a peek in one or two.

We come to another signpost, and again take a right turn. Almost immediately the road narrows to a single lane, as we drive down into a small gully. Rounding a bend, we cross a narrow stone bridge. I jump out of the car, camera in hand. The stream trickles gently over the small rocks, tinkling quietly. Along the banks of are large,old trees, which have formed an arch, whilst little ferns burst through the mortar between the stones on the shaded bridge. Leaving the stream behind, we emerge out of the woods to bright sunlight as we begin climbing a hill. The sea is on our left, and farmland on the right. Despite the closed windows. I get a faint whiff of manure, as farmers take advantage of the fine weather to spread their fertiliser.