One of my main goals, when we went to Ireland, was to stay in a castle. I did quite a bit of research as we flew into Shannon then drove around the bottom staying at B&Bs and ended up in Dublin. There are quite a few castles on that route. But one, a tad out of the way spoke to me, Blackwater Castle. So, I booked it.

Not going to lie, we got lost finding it. We could see it… just couldn’t get over some creeks and fields to get to it. When we pulled into the driveway not a sole was to be seen. I checked my notes for check in time, yes it was time. We parked and walked around a bit, went to some buildings and a man came out. He introduced himself, reminded us it was a “B&B minus a B” and said we were the only guests tonight. He told us to pick from two bedrooms and bid us goodnight. (It was around 3pm).

“Oh,” he said as an afterthought. “If you be wanting food for the night, you should go to the Spinning Wheel in town.” “Is it the best?” I asked. “It is the only place in town.” And with that he poofed.

We go inside, take a few pictures and then head into town as we are famished (missed lunch due to our getting lost, ok me getting us lost). We walk into the Spinning Wheel (literally the only place to eat in town) and conversation seems to stop. It is entirely locals and us. After a quick review of us, conversation resumes, and we have a lovely Lupper of Fish/Chips/Pints.

When we got back it was time to explore. After a few loud HELLOs! to see if we were really alone. We set out to look at ever single common area, room and perhaps a few spots we should not have looked. He was not kidding. We had the entire castle to ourselves!

The furniture was a mishmash of pieces. Antiques, lovely chandeliers alongside modern pieces or pieces a tad worn out so a throw was tossed over them. No single bed had the same headboard. Some walls had been plastered and some still had the exposed stone like the outside.

There were tapestries and a huge area with a bar (non working, yes we checked).

And a cool study with a grand piano and books.

As it got darker, I decided a bubble bath was in order. I got out my liquid bubble bath and started the tub. It was a very slow trickle. And chilly. It finally got to be about an inch deep so I sat in it, did a quick scrub in the brisk water and got out. But I can say that I did take a bubble bath in a castle, so there is that.

That night we got in bed and found that the castle is very noisy at night. Granted I am not sure you sleep well anywhere your first night. But the excitement of we are in a castle alone! Became we are in a castle alone?

The next morning, we got up, got dressed and headed out to our new town and next adventure (because you know the second B was not included). Staying at Blackwater Castle was very high on my list of “can you believe that?” for this trip.

I loved this house. It had such personality, class and wisdom. Granted I was in 1^st grade when we moved in and it did sit probably less than ¼ of a mile from a busy train track, but to me it was magical.

When you walk in there was a glorious staircase that made a C shape, four steps to your left, up ten more, turn right and up eight to the second floor. It was perfect for gentleman callers to arrive and then see you gracefully come down to great them, if you were not ten. All made of dark wood and fabulous banister, spindle and corner post assembly. I am pretty sure the entire upper floor was wood floors.

To your right was the parlor with pocket doors on both sides and giant magnolia flowers on the wallpaper. Above the double entry doors was an intricate pattern made of wood. Rumor had it that various people over time had been laid out in the room for visitation upon their passing. To me, it was the room with the TV, black and white of course. However, the TV was positioned in such a way, that if you were very, very quiet, you could creep down the stairs and sit and watch Emergency! when you were supposed to be in bed asleep.

Walking through the parlor would put you in the living room, with a non-working fireplace (at one time it worked, now not so much) and a giant picture window, the top with leaded glass and looking out to the back yard and the train tracks. When a train went by, the glass would rattle in its frame.

To the left of this room was the dining room, undescriptive to me except for being the place where birthday parties and family dinners were held. Many a fancy cake (my mom REALLY got into cake decorating at this point in my life) were had here.

The kitchen was noticeable for it’s being boring. It was a basic kitchen with a half bath off of it and an access to a small porch that led to outside. The only real memory I have of this kitchen was my father crushing grapes to make wine and my brother “helping”. They were mushing them by hand for quite a bit when a “bug” landed on my brother’s wrist and he freaked out. Waving his red grape covered hands with great force toward the ceiling to remove said bug. Spoiler: was grape skin and the marks on the ceiling stayed until we moved out.

Upstairs the majestic staircase ended on a hall but with a landing to the right. This was our toy room. I want to say there was a large window there and my adult self would have coveted it as an office. Master bedroom was to the left with a giant bay window that looked out on the road and to the right the magnolia tree. Down the hall to the left was my bedroom.

My bedroom also looked right out on to the giant magnolia tree. I remember two things very clearly about this room. I had a small AM radio that I would listen to at night, especially on Christmas Eve when I would listen to see where Santa was in his travels. I would run out many a 9-volt battery but I never remember my mother complaining, just quietly replacing it from time to time. The other memory is Charlotte’s Web. I had been devouring the book (as honestly I still do) and my mom told me, do not read any more tonight, wait until tomorrow to finish. Yeahokwhatever. I crawled into bed, read and read and finished it and went back downstairs sniffing back tears. And bless her heart, she never said I told you so, just help me as I sobbed out how the book ended and how it broke my heart.

My brother’s room was across the hall from mine. He was giddy as he could be as he was 6ish and loved trains. He also, as many kids do, had a problem with the T sound. So they were frequently Frains on Fracks. Thank goodness he was not fond of trucks.

Down the hall was a smaller, guest room.

And at the end of the hall was the bathroom, complete with claw foot tub. (if one wished to shower you could go to the basement; needless to say I never wished to shower). To the left of the bathroom was a staircase to the kitchen. As I child, I was convinced that this was some secret staircase (Nancy Drew anyone?); grown up me puts it together with the small bedroom and less than flashy kitchen and realizes it might have been servants’ quarters. Work adult me wants to find city directories and plat maps and see who lived there and how old it was.

Outside there was a garage, tire sandbox, tire swing and a warp around screened porch. There were houses nearby and actual neighbors.

An aside; this was my last house of my youth that had sidewalks and neighbors. With the value of hindsight, I think that is one of the reason the river house was so hard.

A popular craft idea at this time as to put masking tape on a used glass jar (mayonnaise, etc.) in very tiny overlapping pieces, then coat the whole thing with brown liquid shoe polish (I see I have just lost some of you), let it dry and it makes a lovely vase. I was going to make on for a neighbor, and she was elderly and did not get out much. But I was ten and I kept putting it off. One day, my mom told me I didn’t need to make X the vase as she had died. I felt so, so bad. I, to this day, feel bad. And I really do not procrastinate for very long on anything these days.

As you guessed, we moved from this house to the River House. It was then torn down, made into a giant steel shed (ok building but I am being dramatic) that was a BBQ joint and now a plumbing shop. That house was magical, and not just because I was able to watch Emergency! at age ten.

I hope you enjoyed food. I did. I like how thinking about one specific thing can unwrap a whole idea, event or more depth to a person. Let’s move on to place you have lived, be that locations or domiciles or whatever. Let’s try for three this month!

***

When we first move to Indiana, we lived in this amazing house. A topic for another day. My mother had dreams of living on the river, like she had as a child. My father had dreams of being a gentleman farmer, for reasons I really have no idea. Lucky for them, the perfect property appeared. An old farmhouse with 11.5 acres. Granted most of it was straight up the hill side, the driveway was a gravel goat path, and the “grass” in the yards around it was 85% thistle and taller than I was… they were not to be deterred, this was place they had dreamed of (and maybe one of the last things they agreed upon). So, we moved.

I have now sat here for three minutes trying to think of something positive to say about the house.

Ok, two and a half things. One: it had very interesting built-in China cabinets in the dining room, two: the phone cord was long enough you could stretch it to go into the bathroom and sit on the clothes hamper for those important private high school calls and three, we could roam the property as much as we wanted, no need to check in. This only gets a half a point as I have major allergies to grass, trees and all warm-blooded animals. Adventuring in fields and woods normally meant a major allergy meltdown.

My mother loved growing up on the river. She would talk so happily about wandering in the woods or picking through the drift piles for treasure. (The Ohio River frequently floods in the spring; the water levels rise and then drift and stuff gets stuck in the fields when the water goes back down. She would go (and she took us a few times) to tromp through the drift left over and see if we could find toys etc. that had floated from upriver). When I reflect on her memories of living on the river, there was no work. It was adventures, explorations, and tea parties with dolls with hollyhocks as teacups.

My memories of living on the river were so different. To me it was work, constant work. Something always needed to be fixed. Wood needed to be hauled for heat. Animals (cows, chickens, rabbits and one evil to the core, goat) needed to be fed. Things needed to be fixed; drainpipes, shingles, siding. And then there were the WTF moments. Some nights rats ran over the keyboard of the piano. Rat traps needed to be emptied to be reused. Blacksnake in the bathtub (I just decided not to shower and was hopeful it would return to its home). Blacksnake skin in the closet (is that worse that the bathtub? I am still not sure). Wolf spiders as big as the palm of your hand and being told to relax they were not poisonous. Mowing the grass with a push mower, constantly it seemed. And pulling up thistles with the snake tongue hand tool. At one point early on, I remember my dad paying us a penny a thistle.

That house, with its bright orange living room walls (“it is my house now and I will paint things any color I want!” My mother told me when my father left), quirky heating and nonexistent cooling, constantly trying to fall down around my ears, formed me in ways I am still unpeeling (like a dysfunctional onion).