the Hill of Tara

joost ootside, of dooblin toon,
i took a bike a book i had a look a round...

This one I was singing, riding the bike down the road Brid had told me about.  I followed the instructions of the old men: "right at this pub, left at that pub, straight on past those two pubs" and found meself in a wide green country with looks out to both sides.

There's a well up the road, said my hostess.  It's a holy well.  And it was.

Old Sos was sitting there when I came up, and he gave me that old thickest irish accent and the talk o the land, about the IRA and politics, the papers, votes, kids, beers, penny whistles, colleens.  He let me have some tea from his thermos and smoke from his bag and a try at his flutes.  And nobody came to steal my bike, while I was sitting there, drinking and thinking with ol' Sos at the well.

And the colleens come by, and the old man says "hey colleens, this lad's from America, he want's to meet some real colleens" and the colleens stop to chat a moment, and then they go on their way.

But I stop to chat some times too, with people on the road, walking the dog.  And they don't show no fear at'tal.  They just talk to you like you're the neighbor that you are.  And they are all real friendly to me with kind voices and smiles and they show me where I am looking to go.

And I was looking to go to a place called NewGrange, and when I got there I realized I didn't even know where or what NewGrange was.

Well what it is is a big mound in the distance with some carvings or light inside, or something.  I didn't go in.  It costed some euros and I haven't got but 30 to get me back to America on the plane tomorrow.  Instead I went up the road and asked a lady on a porch what she was up to.  She showed me around the garden.

Shannaed (I don't know the spelling) showed me the boats that her hoosband built out of wicker baskets and leather, joost like they used to do in the old times.  There was a little one for two people, a bigger one for oceans, and then: Holy May Flies, there was a BARGE sort of thing, made out of leather, and there was Clive the Builder of Boats and the Maker of Children, sewing the leather skins together to make the bottom.

So I sits and talks with Clive about an hour, and he gets out the words and we sing each other some irish songs we know (he speaking gaylga/gaelic with Sinnaed and the kids) and he tells me I can sleep in the corner there, but he eventually puts me in the loft.

So I spent the day walking up and down the road by the Grange, dodging all the cars on the left side of the road, and thinking in the river Boyne (spelling, again).  At night, the kids came back, and 3 little irish fellows played 3 little fiddles like 3 little kings, and I was quite happy because I found what I came out here to find.

PEOPLE!

Real ones, Jesus!  The people are good and I Like'em.

So Heres to you all, good people of mine
The journey is closin, I'm feeling just fine
I guess that I'll see you again some time
Til then it's been gen..uine....