Nobody knows when it was built or abandoned. The date is recorded simply as indeterminate, which places it in a long, ambiguous category of rural structures that left too little behind to be pinned to a century, let alone a decade.

The remains were identified during a field inspection of a wider enclosure, and the house sits within that enclosure on the edge of a scarp, the natural drop in the ground forming its eastern boundary. What survives is a rectangular footprint, roughly nine metres north to south and five and a half metres east to west, defined by a low earthen bank. The bank is modest even by the standards of vanished vernacular buildings: just over a metre wide, rising no more than a quarter of a metre on the outside and barely fifteen centimetres on the interior face. Three sides, south, west, and north, follow straight lines, while the eastern edge curves gently to follow the line of the enclosure's scarp rather than cutting across it. A three-metre-wide gap in the western bank marks the entrance. Inside, the ground slopes softly southward, and water still gathers in a small depression at the southern end, a detail that hints at why the site may eventually have been abandoned, or simply at the ordinary difficulty of keeping a dwelling dry in a hollow of Irish pasture.

The structure's relationship to the larger enclosure around it raises quiet questions. Enclosures of this kind in Tipperary range widely in age and function, and without excavation it is impossible to say whether the house and the enclosure belong to the same period of use or represent different moments of occupation layered onto the same ground. The earthen bank that defines the house is low enough now to be easily missed underfoot, the kind of feature that registers only when the light is low and the shadows fall at the right angle across the grass.