second visit, day 3 (first day of real adventures)

24 May 2008. I woke up at seven o’clock. Rachel came and tapped on our door to wake EMM up—EMM tumbled out of bed, still in her clothes, and ran downstairs to start studying. I dressed, did my devotions, then went downstairs for breakfast. D and Logan had already eaten, of course. EMM was sitting in the kitchen, studying. P and L got up eventually. We all fixed lunches and then walked to City Hospital to catch the 8:40 train to Coleraine. For the first half of the journey, I sat with P, L, and Logan. P played songs for me on his MP3 player. He and Logan joked around. Then I went to sit beside D, who’d taken a separate bench. The lush green fields slid past. Everything here looks so much fairer now that early summer is here. White hawthorn, yellow furze, deep green grass, blue sky. The day was perfect, clear, a slight N breeze. On the train there was a little girl traveling with some older relatives. She kept chirping, “The lady dropped her handbag!” to a woman who must’ve been her aunt, and staring at me with big blue eyes. The platform at Coleraine was crowded, but Mr. M was there to meet us, combed and showered, with a warm smile. He drove us out to the farm. The boys were out moving calves between fields, but Erin, Eleanor, and Mrs. M were all in the house. Mrs. M had laid out the table with cups and saucers, and we had tea and scones—delicious. The McCollums made us very welcome. The boys came in eventually, and after we’d finished our drinks, Eleanor badgered all of us with her usual enthusiasm to come outside and bounce on the trampoline. I stayed inside, though, to get directions from Mrs. M. We pored over a map together, she marking the places of interest in neon highlighter. Mr. and Mrs. M had to leave for a funeral at half eleven—I said good-bye to Mrs. M, perhaps the last time I’ll see her. After they left, Erin, Eleanor, and the boys gave us a tour of the farm. Quiet at midmorning, between milkings. Swallows flying in and out under the slanting metal roofs, the smells of grass and molasses mingling in the silage sheds, the sound of the calves. One of the cows had just given birth, so we got to watch the newborn calf take its first steps—incredibly shaky, its legs splayed, its back humped. We all bounced on the trampoline in the back yard, even D. The wind rushed in the sycamore trees and raised rich smells from the grass. The kids played around. I was weary to the bone already…. P and L played basketball in the farmyard while Eleanor chatted with Logan. We said good-bye and left at about half twelve. Mrs. M had marked out the Causeway Coastal Route on the map, and this we followed. The Ms had ensured D on their minivan. D was tense, driving the narrow country roads between the high hedges. We drove past Glenmanus RPC and turned off onto the East Strand. The day was perfect, warm, sunny, hazy, the sea completely calm. Small waves came lapping up onto the shore, teal far out, aquamarine and white nearby. We played around, barefoot, running in and out of the cold water. P and Logan skipped stones; L found a few shells. A couple of little boys were body-boarding. We spent a long while on the beach, then drove on through Portrush, taking the narrow A2, out onto the cliffs, and stopped at Dunluce Castle. The stairway to the bay underneath the castle was open (it’s been closed both other times, to EMM’s great disappointment), so we went exploring under the castle. A steep flight of steps down the cliff-face to a deep steep-sided bay of grass in between the mainland and the castle peninsula. We could glimpse the cave underneath the castle’s peninsula, a low-ceilinged long affair. To Logan’s disappointment it was off limits. P and L scrambled up one of the steep knolls. The sunshine was warm in the deep bay, the wind running down the hill in the long grass, and crows flying out of the ruined stones overhead, wheeling and crying against the clear sky. White butterflies danced over the grass, over purple vetch blooming in the sunshine. After awhile we drove on to the Giant’s Causeway. The afternoon was still pristine. At the Causeway, we ate lunch in the car, then took the cliff path to the Causeway. Glorious day: the path running between the furze bushes was warm, sunshine on arms and neck, cool breeze in my face, cattle and sheep grazing to the right, steep drop and blue sea to the left. We took the cliff across and down, down, down. At the bottom, in the huge bay of the coast, we scrambled around over the rocks. The sea was farther out than I’ve ever seen it before, perfectly calm. Most of the rocks were exposed, so we climbed quite far out, to places normally covered by the great waves. In still warm tidal pools we found prawn larvae squirting from side to side, and orange and burgundy anemones, and long rubbery kelp leaves, and clams and barnacles. It was beautiful, poking about among the rocks. We lingered…. The Causeway itself was mostly exposed. L and I climbed all the way out to the farthest tip, our feet crunching on a crust of white barnacles on the farthest rocks. I stood silently, mesmerized, watching the waves seep and slurp at the stones, kelp leaves weaving in the dark water. The sea was so many colors today: bright aqua in the shallows; copper on the kelp beds; teal and royal blue far out; aquamarine at the very edge, in the curls of the breaking waves. As usual, it was interesting to hear all the different accents—French, Eastern European, lots of British. We walked up the road (usually take the bus) to the tourist centre at the top of the cliffs. It was four o’clock. From the Causeway, we took the A2 on north and east. We drove past Sheep Island View and stopped at Carrick-a-Rede but didn’t go in. We drove on and on, taking the route EMM, CMAM, and I had taken back during inter-semester break. The land was so different now, a completely different face than it had worn in January. The highway wound through tiny towns, Ballintoy, Cushendall, Glenarm, Glenariff, like white beads strung down the road. The road wound up to the Glens of Antrim—highlands that had been windswept moors, grey and brown, barren, full of pools of grey rainwater, hung with mist, were now copper and dun, heather and furze, long grasses bowing in the fresh wind and sunshine. We drove through one of the country parks, dark evergreens on either side, and from there the road began to twist down. We drove along the edge of one of the glens, the place where CMAM had whipped round her hairpin bend, now not slick with rain, but instead under a shimmering canopy of green-and-gold sycamore leaves, the trees arching over the highway. D took in his breath at the scenery. It was lovely. At the mouths of the glens, where the valley came down to the sea, would be a cluster of white buildings, a village, usually each with its harbor. Then the road would wind round the steep face of the glen, and curve into another valley, and then another steep bend, and then another valley, headland and valley, headland and valley…. Green fields on the steep slopes, interspersed with thatch-yellow fields where silage had been cut, hazy gold behind us in the late afternoon sunshine. To the left, the deep blue of the sea, cropped with whitecaps. Seagulls skipped from wave to wave. I saw a tiny island with a lighthouse on it far out toward Scotland. It was beautiful…. Serene, quiet, the highways mostly empty, the villages silent, the sunshine lingering over a still land, like driving through a photograph. At last we reached Larne, and there we turned off onto the A8, which eventually joined up with the M2, and took us into Belfast. I navigated us back to RH. D was relieved to be safely in RH. I started to fix tea in the kitchen at quarter to seven, shortly after we’d returned—Chinese beef and noodles. Logan came in to ask if he could help; P crept in quietly and sat down in the corner with his book, Journey to Ixtlan. We had tea, the five of us, joking around. After D and Logan had washed the dishes, we all gathered in Room 4. D led us in family worship. Then D and Logan went downstairs to read. P borrowed my laptop, but L insisted that we listen to a Gunsmoke episode online while she sat in the window and knitted. I lay on my bed and read the next O’Malley mystery, The Protector, borrowed this morning while we were at their house. At nine o’clock, I told L to take a shower and moved downstairs to the common room. Logan and P are sitting in here, chatting with Dean about mountains, cars, and environmentalism in the States. Dean is being mostly polite, with only a little of his usual sarcasm. Clouds are coming down from the north.