My ‘Postcards from’ series comes from villages or towns that I have visited. Now however, I want to make an exception, and send you Postcards not from a town or village, but from a wood in Ireland. Not just any wood, but a very special wood in her Springtime attire and with the sun casting dappled shadows through the emerging canopy of delicate new leaves. I hope you enjoy!
Glenbower Wood is situated behind the village of Killeagh, on the Cork – Waterford Road, in East Cork. It gets its name from the Irish “gleann-bodhar” or “Deafening Glen” from the noise the river Dissour makes when rushing headlong in winter through the valley. I prefer the notion that the name is derived from the beautiful English word ‘bower’ meaning ‘a pleasant shady place under trees or climbing plants in a garden or wood’. Or perhaps it is both? Come join me in a springtime stroll in this beautiful place! The pictures speak for themselves.
Glenbower Wood has many species. The mostly deciduous native woodland trees allow the light to reach the woodland floor in spring and early summer, giving a rich tapestry of beautiful plants.
Oxalis, violets, fern and wild garlic abound!
The paths wind along the river, from light into shade.
There is a very nice stand of Redwoods,trees that are native to California. These were planted by the owners, the DeCapell family who lived here for about 7 centuries.
One of my favourite features is a little alcove on the bridge where musicians sat to entertain visitors perambulating through the woods. The ground level is higher nowadays, so it was a neat little nook to sit in.
The real treat for me in early spring is in looking up at the delicate canopy of emerging leaves, that makes the sun dance along the woodland floor.
Woodlands are special places and here in East Cork we are blessed with a number of very special ones. I am reminded of the poem by Patience Strong, Woodland Cathedral. This could have been penned about Glenbower Wood!
Go into the woodland
if you seek peace of mind–
As this time when Nature’s mood
is gentle, quiet and kind,
When soft winds fan the trembling leaves
about the cloistered glade–
And paths go winding deep into the green
and breathless shade.Where nothing breaks the silence
of the warm and fragrant air–
But snatches of sweet melody . . .
and wings that rend and tear–
The stillness of the windless dells
where shallow brooklets flow–
And shadows fleck the water
as the sunbeams come and go.
An unseen Presence walks the woods,
a sense of holy things–
Haunts the dim Cathedral aisles;
and every bird that sings–
Is like some morning chorister,
and every breath of air–
Seems to bring the secret murmur
of a whispered prayer.