This made me think of this poem:
The Crannóg
Kathleen McPhilemy
On the pretext of a school project
I dragged them round the coast, from ruin to ruin.
Their voices, shrill in excitement or protest
blown back to me, are Cockney.
They are godless, without history.
We walked to Fair Head, to the cliff's edge,
Sheep-paths through the heather seemed nature's and timeless.
But the green island in the blue lake with the rowing-boat
is artificial, built for defence.
This earth has been fought over.
They leap from yellow marker to marker,
shriek as feet squelch in peaty bogholes.
But when we meet the stream on the bare rock
it is they who kneel and cup their hands
to drink the clear water.
Myrtle, I'm sorry you have that difficult situation going on in your family, but good news about DSD starting her job, I hope it goes well for her