The ancient spa well at Gorthaclode fringes the farm. Before doing our homework, we had wondered why there are pools of warm water at different spots along the River Dawn. Their use can be traced back to the days when horses and carts lined the High Road and pilgrims immersed themselves in the healing spring water. The following is a poetic account of those days:
(Via Cartophile's Log)
Do truths find their way home? Are there imprints left behind from centuries before, when smoke and steel drove paths beneath amaranthine skies, through rolling forests ablaze with oranges and golds? The spa well spills its secrets into the pools of colour collecting in the millrace and along the weir and in the trout streams.
In the shadow of a blasting furnace, iron water was collected by the bucketload and pilgrims soaked in the chalybeate spring. The Gorthaclode Spa was hailed as miraculous before events and circumstance dissolved a ritual into history and stories were hidden in the rivers and streams.
Does a landscape summon its stories home? Does an element return to its source over and over?
Sitting along a pathway at Gorthaclode are wagons loaded with steel as they wait patiently for an old railroad to return to life. Sharing a history with the crystalline rock birthed in the soil and pulled home by the lodestone buried in the hills, is this celestial metal merely finding its way home and are we merely the transporters?
© 2017 Evie Connolly