Redheaded Runaway
 Forget about the World There are 40 shades of green, one color of friendship, one sound of silence and one feeling of peace. Having a friend who is a farmer’s daughter from South Derry I had the pleasure of spending a few days with all of these things and on the simple currency of friendship. I’ve been trapped in cities for the past many months. Not cities as they are known in the states with skyscrapers, smog and traffic, but cities none the less, even if they were of diminutive size. The last time I spent this much time staying with a friend in complete remoteness would have been the road trip 4 years ago that had Orr’s Island Maine as its ultimate northerly destination and the back mountains of my mother’s childhood as next stop on the trip south. Something about the Emerald Isle is just stunning at every turn. My friend took me just about everywhere in the north I could have thought to go and more places I would have never come up with from the Inishowen Peninsula and Malin Head to Lough Erne and Marble Arch caves to the traditional route of the north coast of Antrim with Tor Head, Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge and the Giant’s Causeway. And all of it with drives through beautiful country that these spoiled people hardly notice anymore. A few of these places she had never been herself, despite the fact they were only a few hours drive away. But I freely offer myself to people as an excuse to do thing they have always wanted to do. I gladly take the blame for friends embracing freedom and new experiences. That was it the entire time. We went places I can’t try to capture in words and soaked in the beauty and peace. We frolicked around a few beaches, picnicked at the edge of the island and wandered through some caves. For my part I also terrified her by insisting the rope bridge was really part trampoline and then using it as such. In my defense the monk we had been chatting to earlier that day had endorsed the idea as a good way to heighten the experience since the older bridge had been replaced earlier this year. Besides if I can’t do something to taunt death every now and then, it just wouldn’t be my life… Up at said rope bridge we met this British guy on holiday alone and some time during the casual chatting I heard myself referring to all of my friend’s friends as if I’d known them forever. They are a welcoming bunch up here and we spent the weekend nights out with the local farming lot. One night we went to see a local band playing traditional music that was really quite good. Their name was also fantastic, The Country Folkers, but only when said with an Irish accent such that folkers sounds unmistakably like something else. I managed to badger my friend’s younger brother to come out with us for a bit that night and one of the band members came up to him absolutely plastered because he thought he was his brother. Of course all gingers are related, but he didn’t have sisters and so wasn’t confused when he saw me; though he did insist that we’d met before a few times, he just couldn’t remember my name. There were far more ginger boys in this area than ginger girls, but I’ve sadly not seen the overwhelming amounts that one would hope to. Luckily we’re much the source of jokes and such, to the point that one of my friend’s friends asked some guy who came up to talk to us if he was racist against the Gingers. It’s up there with what foot do you kick with… Still I swear we’re good people. Honest like. We hold nothing against any of the other inferior hair colors… Oh and by stroke of chance driving down the road one day we passed a sign “Banagher”… the home of my ancestors, so naturally we had to drop in.
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Diary Photos
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Inishowen Peninsula |
 Antrim Coast |
 Giant's Causeway |
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