Slightly Off the Grid

How old does something have to be to qualify as a ruin? I’m wondering because on a recent trip to Ireland I saw buildings in various states of ruination. When I came home, I realized that Maywood has its own collection of things that could be considered ruins. What makes something a ruin, as opposed to a pile of debris?

Age must surely factor in. There are some seriously old ruined structures in Ireland. They have historical significance, too, so that must be a factor.

Take Doe Castle in Donegal, for example. There is some uncertainty as to whether Doe Castle was built in the early 1400’s by the O’Donnells or sometime later by the McSweeneys. At any rate, it was definitely there in 1544, a fortress in the battle between the Irish and the English, a refuge for sailors from the Spanish Armada in 1588. It’s old, it’s historic. It’s mostly still standing.

Then there’s Dunluce Castle in Northern Ireland. Built originally in the 13th century by the McQuillan family who was displaced in the 16th century by the MacDonnells, who made some necessary improvements. Apparently, as legend has it, when the kitchen fell into the sea, the wife refused to live there anymore. Well, I can relate to that. By the 18th century things really were falling into the sea, and parts of the castle were scavenged for other things. It must not have been old enough then. Now, it is an official state monument. And the grounds around it are a “scheduled monument,” meaning they are protected from unauthorized change because there’s no monument there right now, but once they dig up some old stuff there will be. And then they will schedule it to be an official monument. Well, that’s my take on it, anyway.

In Donegal, we toured some less famous ruins on the grounds of a family property. The oldest ruins are medieval and, like Dunluce Castle, are protected. Protected in this case means that no one can touch them. Not even to trim with a weedwhacker. I felt so at home looking at that mound of weeds.

Here is what is left of an old castle. At our house it would be covering the remains of an old rabbit cage.

Or maybe it’s this one.

One of these is what’s left of a medieval castle. The other is what’s left of a friary. There are graves around in there somewhere, too. The photo was taken at what would have been a medieval intersection. Or so says my cousin. We weren’t at the Blarney Castle, so I tended to believe him.

Now, an American would hack these weeds to kingdom come and set up a gift shop selling kitchen magnets, shot glasses, and tee-shirts emblazoned with a sketch of the remnant of a wall and the logo “ I saw the ruins!” But, alas, this was Ireland and these ruins are left to be.

The old family homestead is spitting distance from these ruins. It, too, is looking like a ruin. It’s old (18th century, which is ancient on my side of the pond) and historically significant, at least to the family. But it looks like an ancient ruin, even though it was lived in until 1959 when the roof blew off and another wife of another era said, “That’s it! I’m done!”

How can a house that held a family in 1959 look so ancient? I was three years old in 1959!

Oh.

Never mind.

Not all old things are called ruins. Pieces of old walls are called remnants. I guess a wall is still a wall, even if you only have part of it, whereas a house or castle is pretty much ruined if it has no roof. There are plenty of wall remnants in Ireland.

This is a remnant of the city wall in Carrickfergus. It’s still a wall, but not as impressive as the complete wall in Derry.

Back at home, my morning walk takes me past rolling hills that remind me of Ireland without sheep. Or rock walls.

We have rock piles, though. One in the woods by the house was gathered thirty years ago and then never used for our fireplace. Another, tucked amidst ferns under a hemlock tree, is a coveted pile saved by my in-laws. If we let the vegetation grow over them, maybe I can claim they are the ruins of some colonial structures.

Then there’s The Cabin. It’s in my face (a stone’s throw from the porch) and not overgrown with weeds, which would be a significant aesthetic improvement. Of historical significance to the family, it is finally falling in on itself. It’s not old enough to merit a historical marker. It is, however, old enough to merit a thirty yard dumpster, which I’m hoping will be scheduled soon. Maybe I should have tee-shirts made saying, “Remember The Cabin.”

Or not.