Two years ago Matt and I spent ten January days in Ireland without the children. It was our first (and only) major trip without them and although it was really fun (especially the sybaritic night we spent at Dunbrody House, which I will write about some day in a different post) I spent much our time thinking about how much the boys would like it there. This was particularly true during the two days we spent in Wicklow County, about two and half hours southwest of Dublin.

Deep in the mountains there, it is possible to forget that the city is a relatively short drive away; this is particularly true in Glendalough, valley of the two lakes, site of a monastic settlement founded by Saint Kevin in the 6^th century who first lived in the hollow of a tree before creating a holy place that endured for six centuries. The park there includes an interpretive center; a number of remains of buildings, some of which may be a thousand years old; walking trails around both the lakes; and any number of mysteries and wonders like crosses built as stations for unnamed and unknown pilgrims.

The day we visited there was a severe wind, so much so that the lakes, smooth as glass in most photos, were teeming with whitecaps (the day after our visit the park was closed because of the weather). After walking about three quarters of the way around the upper lake we realized that we were seeing an extraordinary number of very large downed branches and that perhaps it would behoove us to seek shelter and so we did, leaving behind the wild and splendid landscape for the warmer and more human confines of a pub, a not unhappy outcome of course.

Today I’m dreaming of returning to Glendalough with the boys. There is so much there they would love. The visitor’s center has an interactive exhibit explaining what life in the settlement was like. Tiny goats with large horns and delicate hooves roam the grounds. The ancient buildings and sculptural remains of tombs are beautiful and eerie in just the way that I know would appeal to fans of The Hardy Boys and Scooby Doo.

There is an ancient tower where bells rang and that was also a refuge during incessant raids.

And of course there are the lakes, surrounded by hills and a network of streams and paths. How many stones could we throw into their usually smooth surfaces? Could we perhaps take a boat ride to see Saint Kevin’s Bed, a cave in the rock face where Kevin is reputed to have retreated for prayer and solitude?

I know that it’s easy to get trite when writing about Ireland’s history, but I’m not sure it’s possible to overstate its verdant beauty or the mystery of its holy places. Of course, I had the good fortune to see Glendalough without busses full of tourists I’m sure take over in the summer. And so it is that I think I would choose to return on a winter day like this one, bundling up the boys and showing them deserted lakes where one can easily imagine a saint communing with his maker.

What are you dreaming of on this Monday? Please feel free to share a link below, making sure you link directly to your post, not your site’s homepage and that you link back to this post. Questions? See About Monday Dreaming.