I groggily opened my eyes from a nap. The sun was shining in through the front car window. I was sitting in the passenger seat of our rental car, on a random gravel road, in the Irish countryside. The last thing I remember before falling asleep was leaving Rathbaun Farm and wishing I could hold a fuzzy lamb in my arms.
I heard footsteps walking towards the car. "I'm looking for another farm with lambs," Steve said as he got back in the driver's seat. "Rosshill Farm should be close. It came up on my search for nearby farms."
We took a couple more turns before driving up to what looked like a family farm. We followed the driveway to the back of the farmhouse and parked. "This looks like a private farm. We should go. I don't want to get arrested." I told Steve as we contemplated whether to get out of the car.
"I'll at least see if they know of a farm we can go to," he said as he opened his door. Before he could step out, we saw a woman looking out at us from the house.
"Can I help you?" she asked. Steve walked up to her and asked whether she knew of farms we could visit. As they spoke, a pickup truck and trailer pulled up in the driveway. A tall man got out and walked towards them.
I sat in the car and watched them talk. I could see them all laughing. A few minutes later, Steve motioned for me to get out and join them.
"I don't have sheep or lambs, but I have horses and foals you can see," the man explained. "I'm Eamonn Hogan, and this is Rosshill Farm."
"Oh my gosh, yes! I would love that! Thank you so much!" I said excitedly. I reached into the car for my camera. "Is it okay if I take some pictures?"
"You can take as many pictures as you'd like," Mr. Hogan smiled.
We walked to the main stable. Three stunning stallions poked their heads out. Mr. Hogan told us that the farm bred Thoroughbred racehorses.
Let me pause for a moment and say that I've been obsessed with horses ever since I was a little girl. Like many little girls, I dreamed of riding horses, read every book I could about horses, and drew pictures of horses in my Lisa Frank notebooks. I read all the books in the "Thoroughbred" book series and wanted to be a jockey until I found out they had to weigh 100 pounds. I weighed well over 100 pounds by the fifth grade.
After visiting with the stallions, Mr. Hogan showed us another barn where a mare and her newborn foal were quietly resting.
Outside the second barn was a beautiful pasture where four more mares and foals were grazing. "These foals are a few months old, born between late April and June," Mr. Hogan said.
I was amazed at how close they allowed me to get to them. I was able to stand about a foot away and snap some shots. The foals laid in the field as I approached, not even flinching. There was something very calming about being in that pasture with them.
When we walked back to the car, Mr. Hogan's daughters had just come home from hurling practice.
"What's hurling?" Steve and I asked.
"It's akin to American baseball," Mr. Hogan explained.
"What's American baseball?" the little girls asked, confused looks on their faces. We explained American baseball, football, and hockey. They, in turn, described hurling and Gaelic football.
Mrs. Hogan invited us into the house for coffee and the girls introduced us to Tayto crisps. Steve asked the girls about school, and we learned that kids in Ireland could either attend a Gaelic-centric school system or an English school system that taught Gaelic courses. We were loving every moment with the Hogan family. We had stumbled upon their home and in return, got to experience Irish culture and hospitality in a way tourist sites never could have provided.
As we were leaving, the girls gifted me a new bag of Tayto crisps and then showed me their new litter of kittens. "Could this place be any more idyllic?" I thought. I want to build a home just like this one someday.
The Hogans could not have been more hospitable and kind. They welcomed us strangers into their home after we showed up looking for lambs. We'll remember this afternoon fondly forever.
