Living on the Edge

We live on the edge. Almost. Almost on the edge of the Irish sea. There's nowhere I'd rather live.

From our kitchen window, I can see the mountains. If I stand on my toes, I can see the shimmer of sea on the horizon through the bathroom window.

The sea is a constant in my life.  I missed it those short years when I lived away from home while attending college many years ago.

Our daily dog walks take us to the shore and I welcome the opportunity to breath the sea air, listen to the call of the seabirds and clear my head after a day's work.

The estuary and mudflats present an ever changing canvass. 

The sinking winter sun turns the shorefront into a photographer's paradise and reminds us just how beautiful nature can be.
Last week, however, the sea became our enemy. As storm Christine lashed the Irish shores,  the seawater poured over the embankment which protects the low-lying reclaimed land where we live. Fortunately, the levee held but it was a nerve wreaking experience watching the sea flow across the fields, stopping just yards from our home.

As the raging storm coincided with high tides, we spent an anxious few days living on the edge. We'd been flooded before so put our 'flood plan' into action, moving everything upstairs, erecting  the floodgates in the front and back door, packing overnight bags, and planning what we'd do with the pets if we had to move out. 

Luckily our fears weren't realised - this time anyway. 

It's now up to the Irish government to make funds available so that coastal communities don't have to live in fear.
In our case, the county council have plans to raise and strengthen the embankment - a relatively straight forward task once funding is in place.
More complex solutions will be needed elsewhere to protect those living along the coast, including a number of major towns and cities.

Earlier This Summer ....

A very belated post about our holiday earlier this summer, just before the heatwave,  in north Antrim.
It was the first time in several years that we didn't go abroad and also the first time that Fudge, our three  year old Labrador, went on holidays with us.

Do you have a favourite place to go? A place which never disappoints?  A place which takes your breath away and leaves you feeling refreshed? That place for us is Ballycastle, a small seaside village with a beautiful beach and stunning views to Rathlin Island and the Scottish coast.

It's a place rich in history and legend, one of which, The Children of Lir, is recalled in this
elegant piece of public art. I love how the swans, Fionnuala and her brothers, appear to fly over Fair Head.

I love walking along the strand, catching glimpses of Rathlin Island or looking back at the stunning Antrim coast.

Away from the seafront, the village is quite charming and manages to cater for tourists without losing its character.

We travelled over the Rathlin Island for the first time this year - and thanks to Fudge we got talking to lots of other passengers on the ferry. Aren't dogs just the best conversation openers?

The only inhabited island off the coast of Northern Ireland, Rathlin has a small community of around 100 people which increases during the summer season.

The island has three lighthouses. It was near to this one, the East Lighthouse, that Marconi sent his first telegraph messages.

The dramatic coastline is home to thousands of seabirds, including puffins, and a colony of seals.
We had lunch at McCuaig's Bar, the island's only pub, and I had the tastiest panini outside of Italy!
We then walked around the bay to see the seals.

The old Manor House is now run by the National Trust and serves as accommodation for visitors. While we didn't stay overnight on the island, we enjoyed a cup of tea on the lawn outside the house.

Although the north Antrim coast is most famous for the Giant's Causeway, we've seen it so many times that we decided to give it a miss. Instead we visited the ruins of Dunluce Castle, where, according to legend, the kitchen, cooks, pots and pans, went crashing into the sea during a terrible storm.

We stopped off and enjoyed the tranquility of the tiny Ballintoy Harbour.

We walked along the magnificent White Park Bay, marvelling at the crashing waves, so big compared to  the ones that lap our secluded coast.

We drove down the coast to the pretty village of Cushendun and clamoured down to its 'Pudding Stone' caves.

Gaelic culture is alive and well in Cushendall in the heart of The Glens with its old watch tower.

The sun reappeared by the time we got to Carnlough with its quaint harbor

At the end of each day's exploring, we were glad to go back to the delightful cottage we had rented and Fudge made himself at home in front of the fire.

At the end of the day

At the end of the day, when I'm searching for beauty, there's a place I go not far from  home.
On this early summer's evening, the day trippers have gone, leaving  just  a handful  of dog walkers.

Alone with my camera, I drink in the beauty. I watch the sun sinking, the sky a kaleidoscope of changing hues, reflected in the still water of the in-coming tide.
 The waves lap gently on the rocky shoreline. I  inhale the salt infused air and breath deeply.

This is peace.
And there's more. Behind me the clouds are illuminated from the sun, even after it has slipped below the horizon.

Welcoming the Light

'As the day lengthens, the cold strengthens' my parents were fond of saying of the early days of the year.  I am more than happy to trade a bit of colder weather for brighter mornings and evenings.
Although we're not yet even a month past the solstice, the days are already slowly lengthening, most noticeably  in the evenings when there's still an afterglow of light in the sky as I'm leaving work. At least that's the case when it's not raining, but the past week has been so wet, dull and dreary that it was impossible to tell.

I finished work earlier today and got home in time to go on a dog walk up the road to the shore.
The sun was already starting its descent and it was a race to get to the coast in time to see it sink
below the horizon.

As the sun disappeared behind the houses, shops and factories of town, a lonesome fishing boat returned to port.

The mudflats were deserted, save for a symphony  of feeding birds.

We turned for home, my quest for light satisfied.