A few million sheep
There are 4.8 million Irish living on the Emerald Isle as of the official count in 2017. But there are 5.2 million sheep. The Irish humans are concentrated mostly in a few cities and a lot of really small villages. The sheep are not. We've seen sheep everywhere. In cozy little pastures surrounded by the inevitable stone walls, on the side of country lanes where they wander back and forth across the road causing drivers to swerve or brake to avoid them, and scattered high on steep mountainsides in Connemara where they resemble tiny little zits on the green hillside. There are a lot of sheep.
The result of all these sheep is a lot of sweaters, a lot of them allegedly from the Aran Islands. Although the Aran Islanders do knit some sweaters, since the population of Inishmore, the island with by far the largest population only numbers about 1,500 year round, we figure that every man, woman and child would have to be knitting 24/7 and they'd be years behind. Don't get me wrong; the Aran Island sweaters are beautifully made, but just not all on the Aran Islands. And ironically, there are almost no sheep on the Aran Islands anymore. The locals say they were too hard on the very limited grazing available on the islands. Cattle, pigs, a few sheep, and lots of friendly dogs, but the genuine Aran Island sweaters are now made with wool imported from the mainland.
Which brings us to Foxford, a tiny village in County Mayo about 30 kilometers from our base in Westport. We heard there was a woolen mill somewhere that did tours. So after our lunch in a wonderful old pub in Castlebar, we asked the man in the men's clothing store if he knew of such a mill. He did indeed, and insisted on going outside to see where our car was and gave us detailed instructions, not once, but three times, making us repeat them so we would not get lost. Once safely back at the car, we fired up the GPS and put in the Foxford Woolen Mill. To our pleasant surprise, the very detailed instructions we had from the clothing shop owner matched the course that our GPS gave us, exactly.
Foxford turned out to be a lovely little market town whose major employer was in fact, the woolen mill. We signed up for a tour and once in the mill itself I got a serious case of deja vu. The sound of all those looms running brought back the sounds, the feel, and the smell of the Thomas Kay Woolen Mill when my grandfather, Oscar Donaldson, worked there as superintendent. I remember very vividly walking through Bush's Pasture Park with my mother to fetch Grandpa for dinner. The machines were humming and people buzzed about in all directions as the building itself vibrated like a tuning fork from the energy pumped out by the mill race. To a young child, the humming belts, the rhythmic thumping of the looms, and the smell of wool, left an indelible mark that came flooding back. I felt I saw Oscar standing there in his overalls, big grin on his face, as he hoisted me up shoulder high and carried me around the mill, I'm sure more about showing off his grandson than giving me a tour of the place.
Every piece of Foxford garment is still made right there in that little town, a glimpse into the past when dozens of woolen mills were scattered around Ireland, each producing a unique product which probably wasn't sold more than 50 miles away. The mill opened in 1892 and in spite of a catastrophic fire and at least one bankruptcy, is still cranking out the woolen. The cloth they produce there is stunningly beautiful with serious craftsmanship in every piece that is designed, created and manufactured on the spot on that one little mill. We came out of the mill having purchased a few pieces of woolen art that we know we'll treasure for decades.
Tomorrow we go into Northern Ireland and the home of the Greers in County Tyrone. We also hope to find more about Madlynn's Hutchison ancestors who were born in County Armagh, next door to Tyrone. Slainte tha!
The result of all these sheep is a lot of sweaters, a lot of them allegedly from the Aran Islands. Although the Aran Islanders do knit some sweaters, since the population of Inishmore, the island with by far the largest population only numbers about 1,500 year round, we figure that every man, woman and child would have to be knitting 24/7 and they'd be years behind. Don't get me wrong; the Aran Island sweaters are beautifully made, but just not all on the Aran Islands. And ironically, there are almost no sheep on the Aran Islands anymore. The locals say they were too hard on the very limited grazing available on the islands. Cattle, pigs, a few sheep, and lots of friendly dogs, but the genuine Aran Island sweaters are now made with wool imported from the mainland.
Which brings us to Foxford, a tiny village in County Mayo about 30 kilometers from our base in Westport. We heard there was a woolen mill somewhere that did tours. So after our lunch in a wonderful old pub in Castlebar, we asked the man in the men's clothing store if he knew of such a mill. He did indeed, and insisted on going outside to see where our car was and gave us detailed instructions, not once, but three times, making us repeat them so we would not get lost. Once safely back at the car, we fired up the GPS and put in the Foxford Woolen Mill. To our pleasant surprise, the very detailed instructions we had from the clothing shop owner matched the course that our GPS gave us, exactly.
Foxford turned out to be a lovely little market town whose major employer was in fact, the woolen mill. We signed up for a tour and once in the mill itself I got a serious case of deja vu. The sound of all those looms running brought back the sounds, the feel, and the smell of the Thomas Kay Woolen Mill when my grandfather, Oscar Donaldson, worked there as superintendent. I remember very vividly walking through Bush's Pasture Park with my mother to fetch Grandpa for dinner. The machines were humming and people buzzed about in all directions as the building itself vibrated like a tuning fork from the energy pumped out by the mill race. To a young child, the humming belts, the rhythmic thumping of the looms, and the smell of wool, left an indelible mark that came flooding back. I felt I saw Oscar standing there in his overalls, big grin on his face, as he hoisted me up shoulder high and carried me around the mill, I'm sure more about showing off his grandson than giving me a tour of the place.
Every piece of Foxford garment is still made right there in that little town, a glimpse into the past when dozens of woolen mills were scattered around Ireland, each producing a unique product which probably wasn't sold more than 50 miles away. The mill opened in 1892 and in spite of a catastrophic fire and at least one bankruptcy, is still cranking out the woolen. The cloth they produce there is stunningly beautiful with serious craftsmanship in every piece that is designed, created and manufactured on the spot on that one little mill. We came out of the mill having purchased a few pieces of woolen art that we know we'll treasure for decades.
Tomorrow we go into Northern Ireland and the home of the Greers in County Tyrone. We also hope to find more about Madlynn's Hutchison ancestors who were born in County Armagh, next door to Tyrone. Slainte tha!