Going Gaelic OR Crazy for Connemara

All right, ladies and gents, it's time to live up to my Irish name and Irish wife by doing a post about, you guessed it...

Ireland.

Back when my wife was had rather recently become my fiancee, I found out there was a family trip planned for Ireland, and I was now invited. While I'd already met my future mother-in-law and future brother-in-law, there was a host of family friends I was going to meet on the trip.

I was also going to meet my future father-in-law, which was oddly fitting since he's actually from Ireland. And then I was going to spend a week traipsing around County Galway with them.

I probably should have been nervous. People more prudent than I am want to be would have expressed great trepidation at such a potentially disastrous situation.

Personally, I giggled at the word "trepidation"(it's fun to say) and instead got excited about visiting Ireland. Because I'm gonna be honest: I love Ireland. I've now been three times, and each time I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

But even with all that, I wasn't prepared for the sheer awesomeness of the Connemara.

The trips started simply enough. We got to Galway, then took a car ride west about an hour down the winding roads through the Irish countryside...

Very few fences.
Lots of stacked walls.

Even more green than walls

Everywhere you looked were "idealized Irish cottages."
Seriously. Like every other house.
(Btw, the blue in this picture is from the car window. That fence was white.)

The Irish countryside is splendid, and well worth it by itself. But we ended up on the western coast of Ireland, in a house we'd all rented outside the town of Clifden.

This direction: Rolling hills and cute village...

The other direction: Inlets and the Atlantic Ocean.

Clifden is near a section of Galway called the Connemara, one of the oldest and most Gaelic places in Ireland. The land is hit by the winds and storms of the Atlantic, and is a rough land that makes you believe in the old Irish tales of the faire folk.

Even the tamed fields looked a little wild.

This was down the path behind the house.

This was the house across the street.
Borrowing a cup of sugar is an adventure.

Life's pretty quiet out there, which has it's own kind of incredible awesomeness. And the natural beauty had attracted a fair number of people who had set up grand houses there. A sentiment I totally understand.

This small "castle" had been turned into a hotel

But the gardens remembered the old Irish ways...

...Even if the slightly-less-than informative plaque didn't.

One thing to note is that almost everything is made of stone, and for good reason. The stone not only withstands the weather, but there's a hell of a lot of it in the area. A lot more than there is wood.

Wood walls, houses, and roofs are for posers.

And not too far from Clifden is the incredibly awesome Kylemore Abbey.

Because nothing says "Nuns" like this place.

Kylemore Abbey was built in the late 1800s by a wealthy English doctor, who called it Kylemore Castle.

"You know what this rugged area needs? A castle. Right here."

Through various events, the Benedictine Order purchased it in 1920, and an abbey was founded for Benedictine Nuns who fled France in World War I.

They're still there. They open the place for tourists and keep an incredible Victorian Garden. (They're also really nice and make tasty tea and biscuits in the tea shoppe, but that's beside the point.)

And on the way back from visiting this abbey, we decided to swing out to the coast, where the whole party randomly stopped at...

...a lobster hatchery.

No, really, I'm serious.

Here's the work building...

...and here are the lobster pens.
Yes, they're kept in pens. I was just as shocked as you.

Turns out these concrete pens are like large inlets, and the lobsters grow in there. Protected from the ocean and predators, they get incredibly big over the course of 1-2 years, and are normally eaten around Christmas.

So the farmer was overjoyed to sell us the whole party lobsters at the end of summer, especially since there were about 14 of us. And yes, the lobsters were incredibly tasty. Also, yes, I am glad that others volunteered to cook the live lobsters and gladly did dishes instead.

Finally, a word about Clifden itself:

If you ever get to Western Ireland, do yourself a favor and go there.

Enjoy the rustic village style and random obelisk monument.

It was a great place. The people were friendly, the food was good, the shops were great, and there was live music in at least 2 pubs every night.

Oh, and as far as meeting everyone in the family? I currently live about a mile from my in-laws, and we get along incredibly well. All of the family friends I met there are still close friends.

And I married my incredible fiancée, whose Irish father makes her a de facto Irish citizen, opening the door to living near Clifden.

Overall, I call that a pretty damn good trip.

Fiber, Fiber, Everywhere OR The Hills are Alive with the Sound of Hoosiers

As the weather turns warmer, the elusive festivals start coming out of hibernation. Farmers' Markets migrate to Main Streets, Art Festivals bloom in parks, and Fiber Festivals flock to County Fairgrounds.

Following these instinctual laws of nature, the Hoosier Hills Fiber Festival was held at the Johnson County Fairgrounds this past weekend.

So of course I went.

And the first thing I saw stepping in the door was this:

No, it's not a coffee grinder.

That is an antique tube knitter. Yarn goes in the top, your turn the wheel, and a whole bunch of tiny hooks magically make it into fabric.

Seriously.

Insta-sock!

It's an awesome piece of engineering and was entrancing to watch, especially with the colorful yarn. But then, I'd had to get up at 5:30 that morning (for various reasons), so my judgement may have been skewed.

Across the aisle was an alpaca farm booth with incredibly nice people running it.

And makers of the most adorable teddy bears EVER.

My wife is, sadly, allergic to alpaca (it makes her hands itch), so we couldn't get a teddy bear. I DID however get some alpaca wool socks that were actually made big enough for my feet. (NOTE: My feet are size 15. I get excited when I easily find things that fit them...)

Fans (or at least consistent readers) of the blog may remember my posts about last year's enormous Rhinebeck fiber festival (As Seen On Blog!), but this is a local one, so it had less vendors, and more opportunity for taking our time.

"Less Vendors" means "Still more than 50 and Two Buildings"

So we got to see a large variety of neat things, some with which I'm already familiar...

Supa-bright wool!

Roving!

Yarn Shop To-Go!

...and some things with which I was not familiar.

This gentleman is making lace. He assured me it's not difficult.
I assured him it looks like witchcraft.

But there was also time to look more in depth at things I'd missed on other occasions. For example, how those bags of wool (roving) become yarn:

It begins like this. Just a bunch of combed and cleaned wool...

This carding machine gets the hairs all going in the same direction,
and can also be used to combine colors

Then it's time to spin.
Bright, comfy footwear is not required, but it is encouraged.

It's actually a really fascinating process, and I can see why a lot of people really get into it. Also, those spinning wheels use neat cam shafts and gear ratios to turn the foot motion into spinning motion, so that was sweet to watch. (Also possibly a little geeky to find such things "sweet"...)

We were also there early enough that I could talk to the vendors, and the crowds were light enough that I could have fun with the camera we have.

Playing with depth of focus...

I'm just SO artsy...

I was also really happy to see bison yarn. I have this thing about bisons and want them to be used more so people will make bigger herds of them. If you're bored and have an hour sometime, I'll gladly rant to you...

...but back to the yarn.

This stuff.

Bison are not docile creatures like sheep. Or even cows. They're also bigger than your average four-door sedan. (There's a story here, but I won't go into it.) So manhandling wool from them is not an option.

How do they get it? Well, every so often they bring in the bison for shots. As the bison is in the pen and still groggy, people run in and quickly grab as much of the shaggy fur as they can before the bison ceases to be groggy and kicks them into oblivion.

Yup.

Clearly, bison yarn is the most hardcore of yarns.

The fair included other things, such as this oddly-specific sign:

"Mr. Fire Marshal, wouldn't 300 work better?"
"No! That 300th person is my mother-in-law!"

And incredibly tasty amish country fried pies. These were like the tastiest fruit donuts you have every had. EVER.

A+ for tasty pie.
F- for spelling of "Country"

And finally, I was very entertained to meet one Jennifer Davies (and get her permission to mention her on the blog. BTW, her company is: Bur Oak Studio.)

Not only was she pretty cool, but she has come up with a wonderful way to recycle old metal knitting needles:

AND found a legitimate excuse to make a price sign
that lists your options as "Bent" or "Smashed."

She also made knitting needles wind chimes, and used cross-sections to create watch bands, earrings, and other such things.

Overall, it was a fun show, and we got to see a plethora of fun, fibery things.

A good time was had by all.

Even the dog.