On reflection, the Well Field was indeed a very befitting name for the location where my lifelong passion for bog oak began.
To that marshy, bleak, windy acre I will be eternally grateful.
I came across bog oak for the first time when Stephen my brother in law in the west of Ireland was reclaiming some wet boggy ground. Little did I know as I propped myself on the handle of a fork, lazily watching him do his work. As he turned the sods, the steel blade of his machine unearthed some pitch black timber. When I realised that this material had been hidden and preserved for thousands of years, I immediately got interested.
I can still see that field in my minds eye. Farmers in Ireland still refer to certain fields by name, i.e. “Sheep Walk ” where sheep would walk from one field to another on a particular path or walkway. The ” Gorta Field ” where famine victims of the 1840 s might have died or were buried.