…this would be my backyard. I just love this rugged terrain. Big, wide rocks almost submerged in the wild grass, scrubby gorse, vibrant rhododendrons, and dainty wildflowers. The front yard would be neat and trim, like any self-respecting Irish cottage. And the back would be mayhem.

This is the view I’d see out my back window each day. I’d stand and gaze at it for awhile, cup of coffee in hand, and then, unable to resist any longer, I’d grab my jacket and go out in it. The moodier the weather, the more dramatic the landscape. And on sunny days, I’d eat a picnic lunch in those ruins.

We had a nice little walk today in the almost-rain along a rails-to-trails path in Burtonport (Ailt an Chorráin—don’t ask, my Irish is not that good), County Donegal. We were in between cottages, having checked out of our snug little stay on the north shore of Donegal Bay, near Slieve League Mountain. Up next, a remote little village in the northwest corner of County Donegal, near Glenveagh National Park—our last Airbnb in the Republic.

This is what peat looks like after brick-sized slices have been cut out of the bog. They’re left out on the grass to dry in the sun, then stored to use in the fireplace during the winter. From muck to fuel. Very resourceful. We’ve grown accustomed to the smell of a peat fire, but it does take a bit of getting used to. It smells a wee bit medicinal to me. (Have you tasted a peaty whisky? Tastes a bit like Bactine smells, doesn’t it? Yeah, not to my taste.) Most Irish people love a good peat fire because that’s what they’ve grown up with, as we love the fragrance of a good wood fire when the weather turns cool.

Despite my momentary fantasy, there is no real threat of me moving to Ireland. As beautiful as it is, I could never live here. Too cold and too damp for my blood. I’m beginning to wonder why I brought short-sleeved tops on this trip. My forearms haven’t seen the light of day since we left Florida. I really thought it would be over 60° by now. Today: a whopping 56° and incessant rain, which makes it feel cooler. There are flood warnings. We’re holed up in our new cottage, waiting for the weather to improve. We just may have to see the national park in the rain. Ah, well, the moodier the weather, the more dramatic the landscape, right? Yeah, well, don’t quote me on that.