June 27, 1999:
We woke from our second night at this lovely ruined mill and began to understand the meaning of Yeats country.
Yeats did much of his writing near Sligo. He's buried north of the town. He must have seen many of the sights like this old cottage which live on here today in spite of the building boom.
(These are the cookie cutter homes sprouting all over the landscape nearer the towns and cities. Suburban sprawl looks the same everywhere.)
We're hoping the Irish will manage to maintain the aesthetic of their older heritage (the way the south of England has succeeded). But the Irish seem too easy going to stop the flow of "progress." They've proven themselves willing to adapt to all sorts of changes.
Take these signposts. They're bi-lingual and bi-measurement. Mileage signs are in km, but speed signs are in miles. Irish (it's no longer 'Politically Correct' to say Gaelic) is usually before English, though sometimes the signs are only in one language or the other.
The weather continues to be remarkable.
Here's the same mountaintop at the same time, looking east, then west. You can see the good weather on one side and the bad on the other.
We've been fortunate lately, with many evenings of beautiful sunsets.
Here you can see the castle where Prince Charle's favorite uncle was assassinated by the IRA back in the '70's.
Early Christian Celtic Cross and Church Tower at the site of Yeat's Grave.
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