...rising out of the mist...
a cara....its labour weekend here in north america....a long wekend..of sorts....in ontario they say its the last hurrah....as summer comes to close.....families flock like canada geese..to their summer retreats and cottages...in the haliburtons...and muskokas...to get one last weekend...kids go back to school tuesday...and torontos grand old lady...the cne...or canadian national exhibition...winds down...overhead....there is not too much of the usual noise...as the annual airshow...seems to be somewhat muted this year....this summer...we were scorched..as in southern ontario we endured seering temperatures....and some tornados....i looked across lake ontario from my 40th floor perch.....there was a quietness...on lake ontario....an rising low mist...with a sheath of goldenglow...on the western reaches...of ontarios...pond...i sipped my jave....and relaxed ...and listened to the glen miller band ...and american patrol reverborating from my radio...all was relaxing as i drifted into a mellow...subliminaltrance....i remembered listening and dancing to that in the town hall...the horseshoe in frenchill...the arcadia...in belcarra...the gaiety....toreen...and pontoon....and the many bands that supplied the music...brose walshe...stephen garvey...the skyliner..led by billy newell...my favourite the cecilian sextet..that musical collage of genius...made up of the gavin and reynolds families....but soon my thoughts...drifted to another...time...another magical experience ..of once upon a good time...growing up on mchale road was magical....it was my university....but i also had the experience of growing up in a home...where....travelling to all parts of western ireland....was a possible daily experience...my father ...sold second hand clothes...in markets and fairs...all over the wests terrible beauty.....ireland in the late '40s was poor....roads were really...passes carved out...with no design or engineering...just....rickety roads...in the barreness of the west....and it was journeying on these roads...my father eeked out a living....this particular july day he was going to the pattern fair in letterfrack.....that village built in connemaras rugged beauty...but marred by its house of horrors....letterfrack cbs industrial school...and reformitory....i journeyed with my dad as he headed off ....we travelled to wesport first...the veered down the leanne road...i had never journeyed this way before....and so ...i took in all the magnificent uninhibited wild scenery as we journeyed through carrabawn...knappagh more....aasleagh....i remember the halfway pub....way out in the mist of scorce...rush and rock...barren and bare...but yet its presence was compelling.....with a stack of black turf...built by its side....in the distance...i could see....the reek .....from another angle....but as we drove further in our red fordson van....at the turbo speed of 30miles perhour...i could see the rising ruggedness...of other cliffs and mountains....here in this barren wilderness...where there was neither a house...or bush....the air was perfumed by heather...and wild grasses...then i could see what appeared to be a water basin ....as we headed into leenane....i can still see its church....and white houses...as we drove alongside the waters of killary harbour....we came to the cross....one road heading towards maam cross.....the other....towards...western connemara....the harbour widened somewhat...as we past the leenane hotel...where later that evening i was to enjoy the finest mutton sandwiches...with mint sauce...and hp sauce i have ever eaten....in those days...the war was over ...and the hotel was enjoying thriving business...the rooms were equipped with balconies...that gave the guests...magnificent views of the harbours tides....the front portico...was landscaped...by tropical palm trees...it was like something...from a travelogue...a paradise...in the secrecy of untamed western ireland.....we drove out on a road carved on rock...alongside the most beautiful natural harbour i had ever seen.....added to this....on either shore were small farms....here farmers...busily ....stuked their golden sheafs of wheat...and oats....as i looked ...it reminded me of the harvest picture...in langans calendar...that always...hung in our kitchen.....langans picture calendar was an annual fixture....its pictures depicting the many seasons ...in irish life.....but now in this wAsteland....farmers...reaped the wild wind ..and harvest....the sweet smell of freshly cut grain...and had....intoxicated my soul.....as we drove towards letterfrack....the connemara mountains....took over the landscape....and speckles..of rushing brooks and rivers....broke the silence of this cllage of irelands magnificence....cars did not have radios in those days...so there was nothing but this natural landscape...to corral my attention...then we came to a lake....a calm...silver jewel...with its trees and foliage mirrored in the clearness of its water.....magnificent...its short in describing my first immpressions....but i was not alerted ...or aware of my next divine treasure,,,,,as we drove through this narrow...trail....bounded by...lavender...and trees...i glimpsed another basin of water to my right...the reflections..were inspiring...as a morning mist...was rising from the stilled water....then....in the mirror.....of the waters...i saw the reflection of a mountain...with a white...clump.....as i focussed on that...suddenly i noticed...the reflection...of structure...i lifted my eyes from the water....and here...in all its beauty....an artists...paradise...a writers....inkwell...rose...what i was to discover was kylemore abbey.....it stood unquivered in the ruggedness of its position...chiseled out...as it seemed from the very mountain that guarded its towers.....it was like a vision....and that clump of white...was in fact a statue of christ...arms outstreched....embracing...all and nature....i have never been so impressed...for in this wasteland....a family named henry...built this....wonder....its very presence..in this lush....barreness...was celestial.....i remember....capturing every last bit of it....as we drove through kylemore pass....and onto letterfrack.....i remember one summer in st. pats...we were given national geographic volumes...to look at...as we killed the last few days of school before summer holidays....i remember ...in the volume i got...they had pictures of corcovado....and christ the redeemer...and sugar loaf mountain....i have seen those wonders..captivate...the magnificence of rio de janeiros harbour...i have seen fuji...flying in to tokyo...and the golden gate of san francisco....nothing lies deeper in the reaches of my mind than ....the abbey at kylemore...i made my first visit to the abbey when i ws in the choir....we choirboys..were treated to an outing there by fr. pat prendergast...organist and choir master...in the late '40s....i explored everything....from the gardens...to the areas we were allowed to visit...myself and barry jennings...climbed the mountain....and we tracked through mud and marsh...to its summit...we stood beside the statue...of christ with his outstretched hands....we captured the view....for as far as the eye could see...for here on this summit we were monarchs of all we surveyed....we left kylemore...with a lifetime of burned memories....etched deep in my mind...i have returned to the abbey many times...on various visits...i have eaten in the nuns cafe....and listened to stories by the nuns of the history of this irish jewel.....john huston...sent his daughter angelica here...to boarding school....and what ever education she may have received...she took away...a lifetime treasure of natuarl beauty from this miracle...rising out of the mist....

...though we travel the world over to find the beautiful....we must carry it with us...or we find it not.......

...........tog go bog e.....