A LATE AUGUST DAY

It is a cool, damp overcast day in Albany.
Mick and Paddy are out in the backyard
sniffing the air and looking at the sky.

They know another summer of their lives
is on the wane. Soon the leaves will turn
brilliant colors as the nights get cooler.

They are cool weather dogs having been
born in the Fall. Nine years ago they were
pups frolicking in the frosty Autumn air
beneath the White Pine and chasing one
another around the spruces and cedars.

They love the snow and winter. I know
they are looking forward to our winter
walks in the woods on the nearby mountain.

They tolerate living in the city, but they
are happiest running loose in the fields
and meadows.

The backyard is quiet this day. No bees at
work around the flowers. No birds chirping
in the trees. No squirrels trying to raid the
bird feeder.

Paddy and Mick sense that change is in
the air. In their behavior and eyes I know
that they are thinking about the mystery
of life and how they seasons of our lives
quickly pass by.

102 years ago this day, Grandfather Mike
drew his last breaths, at age 34, in the hot
dry desert air of the Nevada gold mining
camp of Rhyolite, near Death Valley.
Grandmother Julia was near death with
typhoid. My father, Rob, George and Lizzie
all had scarlet fever.

Many miles to the North in the bustling
mining town of Butte, Montana, 
Grand Uncle Black Jim was tending bar
in his saloon on the Anaconda Road in
Dublin Gulch. Bridie Soonish and her
husband were doing the same at the
Five Mile House, near St Patrick's
cemetery.
Many others were going down in the
mine shafts to dig copper.

Great grandfather Sean Harrington
A Buaile (Sean of the Field) breathed
his last, at age 67, his lungs ravaged
by the quartz dust of the mines. The
fate of all miners.

Pats Cohou lived to his  late eighties.
Pats  told me, he was wise enough to get
out the mines as quickly as he could.
Pats worked in the Butte brewery

Miners con they called it.

Sean  lived many years longer than
most of the relations who went mining
in Butte. Most died in their twenties
and thirties. Sean did not emigrate from
Beara until he was in his fifties. So, his
lungs were clear from breathing the sea
air that blows in from the Atlantic over
the mountains and glens of the Beara
Peninsula.

Sean lived longer than two of his sons
who emigrated with him. Both died
in their early twenties.

Around late August 1968, I was in Butte
and met Nellie O Sullivan A Buig, who
was in her late 8o's. Nellie was a relation
from the next farm in Inchinteskin. Her
mind was clear as the mountain air.

Nellie knew my grandfather Mike and
all that family well.

In 1904, Nellie went first to relations in
the copper mining area of   Upper Michigan.
Black Jim, paid her way to Butte, where
she lived out her days.

Nellie and my father's sister Liz could
have been twins. Same stature, looks
lilting speech, eyes and demeanor.

Nellie told me of life in Butte. The
thick smog from the mines and smelters.
Mines being worked around the clock.
Three 12 hour shifts. Mine and train 
whistles, noise, dust, moments of joy
and more of sadness.

Yet, Nellie loved Butte, and said she
wouldn't live anywhere else. Hundreds
and hundreds of relations were there
over the years to keep her company,
if only for a while.

Nellie lived on with her memories. She
was kind enough to allow me to record
a few.

Hard rock mining was a hard life, indeed.

                                            Joe Sullivan

ALLAH ACKBAR
GOD IS GREAT.
AND SO HE IS.

There is a little church in Kilcatherine
RC not Church of England. As I recall
it, the Church of St Catherine is in a
small village consisting of the church
a post office, three pubs and about a
dozen or so houses.

My father went to Mass at St Catherine's
his father, grandfathers and great grand-
fathers before him.

Great grandfather, Michil Anna  O' Sullivan
had a row there, in the 1800's, with the P.P.
(Parish Priest) when the P.P. read Michil
Anna's name from the altar to shame him
for not  making the customary Christmas
offering.

In my father's day, the West Cork IRA
flying column hid their rifles and ammo
in that church above the altar. The
Black and Tan's never knew.

When in Eyeries, I stayed on the Strand
Road with relations Noreen and Joe (The
Post) O Sullivan. St. Catherine's Holy
Well, a popular place in the 1800's is
in a shed at the back of the house.

Mish Kish Mountain lies to the North.
Since medieval times, it has served as
the commons were the sheep of local
farmers mingle together in summer.

Coulagh Ard (The High Field) and
the home place of my great-great
grandparents John O'Sullivan (Shearhig)
and Mary Murphy, is on the West
slope facing the Atlantic off in the
distance.

Below is Inchinteskin , the home
place of my grandfather Michael J
and his parents, Sean Michil Anna
O Sullivan and Johanna O Sullivan
Shearhig.  Before them it was the
home farm of  Michil Anna O Sullivan
who came over from Adrigole ca
early 1800's and his wife  Sile
O' Sullivan, Ni Hurrig of Cahirkeem.
Michil Anna was a block of a man, with
raven black hair and dark eyes. Sile
was 6 foot 1 in her bare feet .

Down the Strand Road from Noreen
and Joe's, lies Coulagh Bay and the
ruins of the home of Murthy Oge
O'Sullivan, a soldier of fortune  in
the 1700's ,who held a Commission in
the Austrian Army of Maria Theresa,
who fought in France and at Culloden
Moor with Bonnie Prince Charlie.
Murthy Oge was also a smuggler and
impressor.

Murthy Oge's sloop would quietly drop
anchor in Coulagh Bay, laden with
French wines, brandys and silks. Fires
were lit on the beach and the boyos
came down from the surrounding
mountains and glens to enjoy the
hogsheads of brandy.

When they awoke, they were at sea
on their way to fight in the armies of
Europe.

As late as the 1980's, Cousin Mary Stephen
Paddy O, who , with tumbler of Irish
whiskey in hand, in O Neill's Pub, sang
to me in the Irish.

After, I rode out to Urhan, with Cousin Big
Michael Hanley, Mary Stephen Paddy
O and some of the others. The women
bid Michael pause at the Gortnabulliga
graveyard, just West of the High Cross.

As we sat there, Mary Stephen Paddy
O, and the other old women, began to
lament for their husbands who lay at
rest in the graveyard.

Then, they took up a lament for  all
our ancestors who had been impressed
by Murthy Oge, 200 years before. They
concluded by cursing the memory of
Murthy Oge (The Impressor).

Many times I stopped at St Catherine's
Church to say a prayer, and also
visited Cousin Donal Harrington's Pub
across the street, just opposite the
front door of the Church. Also, O Shea's
 Pub, at the back of the church, just beyond
the  old village water pump, where my relations
Paddy Houlihan Suvane, the Harringtons of
Kilcatherine, Murphy Maheesh of Inchinteskin
and the Harrington's of Goulane would gather.
Or O'Neill's Pub  across the street from
the church, where Big Michael and
Paddy Suvane , the Cronins, Michael
Crowley, of Urhan, Con O Sullivan  of
Filedarrig, and more relations would gather
for the customary sing song on Saturday
evenings after the vigil Mass.


Safe to say,  the number of pints of  Guinness
consumed, and songs sung, far exceeded the
number of prayers said.

One day long ago, the Parish Priest
was giving a sermon about the joys of
heaven.

Murphy and some of the other men
were standing in the back of the church
as was their custom.

The priest asked for a show of hands -
who was ready to go to heaven?  Almost
everyone in the church raised their
hands, except for Murphy.

The priest repeated his question and
still Murphy did not raise his hand.

The priest said: Murphy, - is it so, you
don't want to go to heaven?

Murphy paused for a moment and
replied, sure and I do, Father,  but I thought
you were leaving now. Not now, for me
Father. 

We can agree with those who believe in
Islam- God is Great. But we have different
views of Heaven, what it is like, who gets
to go there, and what they must do to get
there.

Islam, Christianity, and our Constitutional
Republican form of government  here in
America, are simply, not compatible.

Nor, is Islam compatible with the way of
life in Beara.

Like Murphy, heaven may be a wonderful
place, but many of us like our lives here on
earth and are not in a hurry to go just now.

There is a line in the Irish ballad Galway
Bay that goes..."The women in the uplands
speak a language that the strangers do not
know. They came and tried to change us, but
they may as well try to light a penny candle
from a star".

So, it is with those who follow Islam.

Leave us be as we are. Don't come, and don't
try to change us. If you can't live here in peace
and assimilate into our way of life - leave.

For those Americans who mistakenly believe
that the the furor over the siting a mosque in
the shadow of Ground Zero, is about religious
freedom and First Amendment Rights - it is
not.  Those who believe this, do not know the
true nature of Islam.


                                           Joe Sullivan

MUSINGS ON A
LATE SUMMER DAY

Thank God for Canada.  Yesterday and
today, we had some relief from the very
hot weather of the last month or so.

Weather systems originating in Canada
bring us reief from the summer heat, and
lovely Fall days. However, they also bring
us bitter cold, winds and snows in winter.

I have to get my emergency firewood stash
split and replentished before the snow flies.

The vegetable garden was neglected this year
while I dragged around in the heat getting
signatures to qualify for the November 2
ballot.

Nevertheless, my garden has been productive
and taken care of itself, producing yields that
more than cover the rent of  the land.

Plenty of lettuce, spinach, chives and turnip
early - but, no potatoes, for the first time in
many years.  I always plant in March, but the
snow cover was scarce and some deep frosts
occurred. No doubt, some of blight from last
year overwintered to finish off what survived
the frost.

A great yield of garlic which I had planted
last October. Also, some very nice small
tomatoes , swiss chard, summer squash , pole
beans and a small early crop of raspberries.

Plenty of Russian kale, which produces
a tremendous yield and will taste best after
some Autumn frosts.

A huge crop of late raspberries should come
in late August, early September. Also, some
elderberry

The flowers have been grand, first the
brilliant yellow of the Forsythia in early
Spring, followed by the puple and blue
if Lilacs, the red and purples of the
Rugosa Roses ,  yellow Yarrow and
brilliant orange of the native Tiger
Lillies. Now the purple Coneflowers, wild
daisies and delicate, white Queen Ann Lace.

I cut some of the hay and brush early
yesterday morning at  dawn. Next, the
land must be cleared and tilled for
a Fall Crop of lettuce, spinach, cabbage
beets, mustard spinach and purple top
turnips.

But, the heat is due to return tomorrow
making that a real challenge for a man who
functions best when the temperatures are in
the 60's, or lower, and the sky overcast.

The Red Dogwood , Forsythia, Lilac and
Rugosa Rose  bushes are overgrown and will
have wait for trimming ,  thinning  and
transplanting, til the weather is right.

The Red Dogwoods  loose their leaves
in early winter, leaving bright red branches
to contrast, with the white snow.

The birds don't mind at all, neither do
I, the bushes provide habit and privacy.

I rarely have insect or potato beattle
problems as a result.

The Maple and 2 Scots Pines are doing well.
The mosquitoes at early dawn and dusk
present a challenge, and a risk of West Nile
at those times.

The ticks disappered during the intense
heat, but they will return in force in the Fall
looking for their blood meal to survive the
Winter. Transmit Lyme disease, as well as
several other lesser known, understood
diseases.


No butternut squash or pumpkins this
year.

We will get those from Schoharie, along
with picking Ida Red, and other varieties
of apples at the orchard that allows Mick
and Paddy to go along.

I have to get some new seed garlic to plant
in October. Maybe white clover and winter
rye for cover crops.

The kale and turnips continue to yield
to as late as early December, in a good year.

However, observing the signs, I expect that
we will have an early and severe winter.

All the more reason not to ignore the
emergency firewood stash.

Well, time for a bit of tea and a bite to
eat.

Will continue musings when the muse
is in the humor again.

                                           Joe Sullivan





The Red Dogwood

AUGUST

August, my father would say, was the
most eventful month in his life.

He was born August 25, 1904.

His father, my grandfather, Michael J
died August 24, 1908, at age 34, in
Rhyolite, Nevada one of the last gold
rush mining camps located on the edge
of Death Valley.

Mike was a hard rock miner first in Butte
Montana, then Cripple Creek, Colorado
winding up in Tonopah, Goldfield and
Rhyolite, Nevada. Mike was also a
union organizer for the Western Federation
of Miners and a participant in the mine
wars at Cripple Creek, Goldfield and
Tonopah.

He was one of many of our ancestors
and relations that went mining in the
American West beginning with the gold
rush of 49, then on to the Washoe District
and Comstock, Virginia City, Nevada in
the 1850's. St Mary's RC Church built
by Berehaven, Irish miners, still stands
there.

From there, the clan went to subsequent
gold camps throughout the Rocky Mountain
West, The Black Hills and later the Yukon.

Some were in the U S Cavalry on the
frontier. Others went cattle ranching in
O'Neill, Nebraska, Montana, The Dakotas
and Nevada. More went sheepherding
around Casper, Wyoming.

Some entered politics and became
Aldermen, Congressmen, U S Senators
and Governors.

In August 1908, his Grandmother, Julia
was near death's door with typhoid fever. 
Dad, his brothers, Rob and George, and
sister Liz were all with scarlet fever.

Grandfather's brother, Black Jim, who
ran a saloon on the Anaconda Road, Butte
Montana, and Grandmother's brother
John Harrington. an Butte miner went
to Rhyolite to lend a hand. There was no
welfare in those days. People took care
of their own.

Black Jim and John brought my family
back to Butte. Mike was buried in
St Patrick's cemetery. Ironically, the
same week as Sean Harrington A Buaile
(Sean of the Field). The field is in
Kilcatherine, Eyeries, ( The Northern
Parish)Beara, where my O Sullivan and
Harrington relations fought a turf war in
Famine times.

Sean's mother was Mary O Sullivan of
Shronebirrane, Tuosist Parish , Kerry.
A very ancient, remote mountainous
place containing standing stones and
ring forts dating back to neolithic times.


Sean was grandmother Julia's father and
my great grandfather. Sean was a miner too.
He died of the miner's con. Quartz crystals
in the dusty mines eventually shredded the
hard rock miner's lungs ending in a hard
death. The mines were a dangerous place.
Many  more died in cave ins, explosions
and other accidents.

The visitor to St Patrick's cemetery, Butte
will see row upon row of young Beara boys
and men, whose lives ended prematurely
in their 20's and 30's. Quite different from
their long lived relations and ancestors in
Beara who lived to the 80's, 90's and some
more than 100.

My great grand uncle Paddy O'Sullivan
Sounish (The Peaceful), of Killaugh in
the Allihies or Western Parish,  uncle of my
grandmother Julia, lived to 96, despite being a
Famine baby.

Grandmother Julia ran a boarding house
for Irish miners on the Anaconda Road in
Dublin Gulch, Butte, a few doors away from
Black Jim's saloon.

In August 1913, grandmother Julia had
enough of Butte. She brought the family
back to Beara. She went to her uncle
Paddy Soonish's farm in Killaugh, with
Rob, George and Liz.

My father went to the home farm of
his father's  aging parents,  Sean Michil Anna
O Sullivan and Johanna O Sullivan Shearhig
Inchinteskin, Eyeries Parish. There 12 children
had scattered, except for Kate, who never
married.

My father and his First Cousin Pat's O Sullivan
Cahou worked the farm for their grandparents.

There are more than 23 branches of the O Sullivan
family in Eyeries Parish. And many more in the
Allihies, Castletown, Adrigole Parishes and
beyond to Kenmare, Kerry and Bantry, Cork.
They had what my cousin Paddy Houlihan, oral
historian of the clan, said were long-tailed
families of 12, 15 or more children. In Beara
they married young and had very large families.

Black Jim came back to Inchinteskin about
the time of WW1 and the troubles. He built
a fine house opposite the old home place,
But, never lived long to enjoy it. Black Jim
died during a Black and Tan raid. 

The Blacks and Tans were released prisioner
military units that the English sent to Beara
to terrorize the people into submission. It
did not work.

My father, Pat's Cohou and many other
young men were with the West Cork IRA
flying columns that beat the Black and Tans.

In August 1925, my father sailed from Cobh
for Boston, never to return.

Relations told me, that his dog kept a  long
vigil for my father at the cross roads waiting in
vain for his return.

One day I asked my father why he never
went back. He said he wanted to remember
Inchinteskin and Beara as they were, for
they were the finest days of his life.

These thoughts came back to me as I
turned the page on The Beara calendar
sent to me my Cousin Cathy Dennehey
Murphy, Church Gate, Castletownbere.

The lovely picture of Garnish appeared.
My father told me of Garnish, Allihies
Parish, where he went fishing for mackeral.

12 men in a long boat, most of whom could
nor swim, rowing out into the Atlantic
and returning in boats laden with fish and
the water lapping at the gunwhales.

Many relations live nearby still today
including Nora O Sullivan Lowney who
at 96 was still walking the 3 miles each
way to Cahermore Church and Mary
O Sullivan, Scrivogue, Garnish.

Here in America, August is often referred
to as the dog days of August. Wonder
what the Grand Ayatollah of Iran  thinks
about that?

                                      Joe Sullivan