Laurel has taken over the interior, and a laurel walk connects it to the nearby Killycoonagh House. That landscaped tidiness is part of the puzzle: the enclosure was probably incorporated into the country house grounds as a decorative feature at some point, which makes it easy to overlook the older, stranger story attached to the ground beneath it.

Local tradition holds that a convent once stood here, dedicated to a holy woman named Una. It was said to be a daughter house of a convent in Clones, and the connection between the two communities apparently ran westward across the Finn River, which could be forded by stepping stones just beyond the site. According to the same oral tradition, something went badly wrong at that crossing: a precious book was lost in the river while being carried across. Whether it was being removed for safekeeping or simply transported between the two houses is not recorded. The convent itself, the tradition says, was burned in 1703 by a settler family named Barnett. That date places the destruction in the decades following the Williamite wars, a period when older religious foundations across Ulster were particularly vulnerable to disruption and clearance. Nothing in the physical remains can confirm or contradict the story. The enclosure, roughly subrectangular or D-shaped, is defined only by the bases of its walls, and no structural detail survives above ground to date it or identify its original function with any certainty.

What remains, then, is a layered ambiguity: a site that may preserve the footprint of a medieval religious community, or may be an eighteenth-century landscape feature borrowing the atmosphere of one, or both simultaneously. The laurel walk that leads from Killycoonagh House to the enclosure suggests that whoever laid it out found the spot worth marking, even if they were the ones who had transformed it.