Around the ring of Dingle, we pulled over to see the Beehive Huts. Had to. These stone huts built in the shape of, yeah you guessed it, a beehive, were worthy of a look. Now, I haven’t seen the “world’s largest ball of yarn” or the County Kerry’s own legendary wrestler Steve “THE CRUSHER” Casey, but Beehive Huts intrigued me.
We stopped. Can’t say that this tidbit of Irish folklore was abuzz with tourists, yet we were drawn to the hives like a drone. Up the hill was a colony of stone huts.
The pot-bellied Irishman with the blue thumb, in the wood cabin, spoke only Gaelic. I’m pretty sure “f- -k” is international, and the only thing I understood. He carried on about finding some sort of “f-ing” relic on his property but the “diggers” would not share the story. Must have dug up something interesting.
We climbed the small hill to the huts. Pretty impressive. These little conical stone structures have been here untouched for over 1200 years. Whoever built these things were masterful. Each layer of stones were slightly tilted downward for the rain to run off. Much like our roofing shingles. The inside gravel floor has been dry a thousand plus years. And we marvel over Frank Lloyd Wright mid-century architecture.
On the way out we asked about his blue thumb. “Ah…sheep…neighbor Ned…f–k…sheep…blue…” he uttered, and we nodded as if we understood. He holding his thumb up the whole time with pride.
I gave him the thumbs up, and simply said, “Good day Ned.”