We are always scouting for photography potential for our quilts in Ireland. And since you're reading this blog, thus aware of Irish Quilting, then you are of course aware of Ireland, and then, well you already know that Ireland has miles and miles of photography potential.
We are a small business wishing to make a big impact. The wheels are always turning and we are always trying. Our home life is fully immersed in Irish Quilting and its quilts and photos and patterns and so on and so on. This includes the miles and miles of Ireland.
Last weekend I found myself, as usual, juggling Irish Quilting and family life. First Daughter had a birthday party to attend and second daughter, naturally, was put out of joint she was not invited. I told second daughter I would take her somewhere special. Between the packing of the quilts and the camera gear, she caught on quickly and groans began erupting. What 6yo wouldn't want to traverse Ireland in search of the perfect shot for a nine-patch quilted wonder?
Before my mouth could inform my brain, there were promises of chocolate milk and donuts--this being my olive branch I pull out every couple of months.
Early morning, one child and sunny skies--this I could manage. I set up the GPS. I keyed in New Grange, home of visual"mythical Ireland". Time arrival is 11:02. The journey was 52 minutes, plus some once you added the donut stop. More protests.
Mommy, where is this "New" place? Does it have "New" donuts?
Oh, the joys of when kids learn to read and tell time.
Does that mean we are driving until 11 o'clock nightime?
Could we please get out of the driveway without a meltdown?
Mommy, I'm starving!
As we headed down our Wicklow mountain to lower Dublin, the skies turned. The skies became ghastly dark and without warning, began pouring--no, dumping--rain water. On the M50, cars were pulling over; there was no wiper that could wipe quick enough. Rain. Rained out.
Rain is so intrinsic to Ireland, I've always wanted that perfect photograph of rain pelting down outside a quilt-adorned cottage--or anything for that matter. One day I will meet that photographer who will capture the ultimate Irish rain shot. Do you know him or her?
Typically unprepared for rain, we dashed in and back out of the bakery. A now-soggy second daughter happily clutched glazed donuts and a chocolate milk, her own slice of heaven. Yet, I dripped with defeat. While some rainbursts are momentary, these swollen skies were low and thick. They were going to stick around.
I had gone in search of the ultimate Irish scenery, was foiled by the Irish rain and was returning home awash in American comfort food. Go figure.
My daughter, now belly content and with a milk mustache and sticky fingers, immediately sensed the change in our driving direction, as I headed for our dry home.
"What about the "New" place? Will we miss it?"
Luckily for us, New Grange can wait for a sunny day. Afterall, it is as old as the stoneage.