In 1984, Stephen lived on a small farm-holding tucked four miles from the nearest village, by the shores of Lough Derg, in a valley called Urra. Urra (from the Irish Iubhar" or Yew Tree) is still a place apart. Before reaching the end of the cul-de-sac road where Stephen's farmhouse is located, visitor Padraig O Flannabhra said that he came across himself (Stephen), who had just finished ploughing "the near field." Later he broke up the rough sod by means of a harrow and later refined this with a traditional cultivator -- all with his team of horses, two white mares. Alongside him was a white terrier dog, who walked up and down by his side as if he were some kind of authority on the ancient art of ploughing. By afternoon, the near field was ploughed and ready to sow some corn. But that was another day's work. Right now one of the mares was yoked to a cart and Stephen piled bales of hay in. When it was full, the haggard gate was opened and Stephen and the white mare t! rudged down the lane to fodder the cattle. The afternoon was warm and the Shannon air was rich and heavy. Long before the pair had reached Bun-na-Fuinse ("the low place of the ash-tree") the cattle saw their hay approaching and by the time the top hill was reached the small herd of Friesians had moved in the cart's direction. Even before Stephen had time to unload each bale of hay and scatter them at random around the field, the hungrier and less patient of the herd began to nibble at the wisps of hay from the tailboard of the cart. Luska Bay in the background formed a perfect setting, where the field swept down gently to the shore of the lake on the Shannon. Soon it would be m milking time. In the brightly decorated kitchen Stephen's wife Mary had baked a huge apple tart. Tea and large slices were polished off in comfort and ease. Through the back window of the kitchen, and between the bright leaves of a red geranium flower, the two white mares could be seen in the ! nearby hill field, chopping and grazing the sweet short grass. It's like that every day in this little cul-de-sac haven. Urra is a timeless place, and a unique state of mind to boot. They are still to be found here and there. "Sunset and silence! A man; around him earth savage, earth broken; ... And the plough that is twin to the sword, that is founder of cities!" -- Padraic Colum, "The Plougher" Excerpt's, "Ireland of the Welcomes" July-Aug 1984 Not sure if this location is Co. Tipperary or not, anyone know for sure?