There is no church nearby, no graveyard wall, no obvious reason why this particular spot should have been chosen. It sits alone in a landscape of exposed rock pavement and thin soils, the kind of terrain the Burren is known for, where limestone outcrops slowly dissolve and reshape themselves over centuries.

The strangeness of its location is partly a bureaucratic accident. When the Record of Monuments and Places was compiled in 1996, this site was categorised as a church site, presumably on the basis of a hand-annotated map attributed to a T. Coffey. When investigators visited in 2000, they found no church, no ruins, no structural remains of any kind. What they found instead was the headstone itself: a rectangular limestone slab measuring 2.4 metres by 1.18 metres and between 0.18 and 0.23 metres thick, now leaning at an angle. The inscription reads plainly: "This tomb was erected by Andw Hehir in memory of his father Michl. Hehir who depd this life November the 11th 1891, aged 60. For him and posterity may he rest in peace. Amen." Andrew Hehir commissioned the stone for his father Michael, and the phrasing, asking peace not just for the deceased but for his posterity, gives it an unusually forward-looking quality for a grave marker of that period. Whether Michael Hehir was buried at this precise spot, or whether the slab has shifted from an original position, is not recorded. What remains is a substantial piece of cut limestone, a family name, a date, and a place that official records once mistook for something else entirely.