What makes it worth a second look is not grandeur but geometry: the enclosure measures roughly 79.5 metres from north-north-east to south-south-west and about 59 metres across, and at its southern edge the boundary scarp veers away from the oval and pushes outward in a deliberate spur-like projection, reaching up to two metres in height at one point. That projecting arm, and the slight hollow at the centre of the platform, suggest this was never simply a field boundary.

A scarp, in this context, is a slope or escarpment formed when material is cut or piled to define an edge, and here it forms the visible remnant of what was once a more substantial enclosure. The 1948 edition of the Ordnance Survey six-inch map recorded a large circular platform with the spur clearly visible, giving some sense of how the feature appeared before further deterioration set in. Today the scarp is best preserved along the north-western to northern arc, where it still stands to about 0.8 metres, but from south-south-west around to the west it has been quarried away entirely, removing any trace of the original boundary on that side. What kind of enclosure this was, and when it was built, the evidence does not firmly say, though such earthwork enclosures in the Irish landscape range from prehistoric ringforts to early medieval settlement sites. About 90 metres to the south-east, a mass rock adds a separate layer of history to the immediate area. Mass rocks are the flat stones, often in remote or inconspicuous spots, where Catholic priests celebrated the Eucharist during the Penal era, when public worship was banned under law. That two features of such different characters should sit in such proximity is the kind of quiet coincidence the Irish countryside occasionally offers.