The word in the Irish language is bóithrín, anglicized to boreen or bohereen. It’s generally translated as “small road,” but the bóith part means “cow.” I think of it more as a field-to-field cattle track that became a road as the few houses down our laneway were constructed.
It’s down this laneway (which has no name) that our cottage is tucked, the last but one.
Expect the Unexpected, and Plan Ahead
As I’ve made my way up or down the lane over the years, I have learned to expect the unexpected. Be it small potholes that can become crater-size after an overnight rain, or bewildered tourists who make the three wrong turns it takes to reach our end of the lane; you just learn to get on down the bóithrín.
You have to plan things when you live at the end of a cow road. You never go anywhere empty-handed; you never go out for just one thing. You always ask your neighbors if they need anything while you’re out. You always have tea bags, milk, and biscuits on the shopping list for those who wander down — intentionally or not.
A Few Visitors Find Their Way Down the Lane
Cars are rare enough on the bóithrín that I can let the dogs off-lead to run a bit if it’s the kind of multiple sclerosis (MS) day where the trip up and back is all my weakened legs can manage. Our youngest dog, Maggie, will hear the postman’s rig splashing through those potholes and let us know that we should expect a delivery within a couple of minutes.
We’ve had other visitors down our bóithrín as well.
There have been the cattle from the field behind who squeezed through their gate to come and eat grasses from the side of the lane. The rescued jack donkey from the other end of the road, who must have heard the two females in the field past our end and spent half an hour at the gate with me and our oldest dog, Sadie. And the neighbor’s ducks and chickens, who like to hunt for insects along the lane and know that I’ll throw a handful of oats out if I see them coming.
It’s a Life of Both Potholes and Unexpected Joys
It’s not easy, living down a bóithrín like this while coping with symptoms of multiple sclerosis. Then again, it’s not particularly easy living anywhere when the beast is awakened.
We’ve learned to navigate the real and figurative potholes; we’ve come to rely on the kindness of neighbors and to repay good deeds in kind. I’ve come to understand loneliness, and I’ve learned to ask when I need help or just a bit of company.
I’ve also come to understand that there is an expertise that comes from living at the end of an old cow road. Others who wander down this way might need directions on more than just how to get back to the main road. We’ve learned to recognize when someone requires more assistance than they may be comfortable letting on.
Life down this old country road is a lot like the life I’ve learned to live with MS, potholes and unexpected joys alike.
Wishing you and your family the best of health.
Cheers,
Trevis
