The tree is not simply an inconvenience; it was itself considered holy, and locals once held it unlucky to cut its branches. That combination, a sacred well and a sacred tree occupying the same modest space, gives the site an atmosphere that goes beyond the functional, and the wellhouse itself is more carefully considered than its modest scale suggests. Two small niches sit above the main water opening, likely intended for votive offerings, while a near-square flagstone set directly in front of the low entrance acts as a kneeling stone, worn smooth by the posture of whoever came to drink or fill a bottle.

The well's dedication is not entirely settled. Antiquarian T. J. Westropp, writing in 1910, recorded it as belonging to St Senan, a sixth-century bishop associated with Scattery Island in the Shannon estuary, and the same attribution appears on Ordnance Survey maps from 1840 and 1916. A possible dedication to St Simon has also been noted, though it sits at the margins of the record. When John O'Donovan documented the well in the nineteenth century, he found it entirely neglected. The Schools Folklore Collection tells a different story: accounts gathered in the 1930s describe continued veneration, with visitors coming on specific sequences of days, Monday-Friday-Monday or Monday-Thursday-Monday, and performing a precise round of prayers, one Pater, five Aves, one Gloria, and the Creed, repeated per circuit. The well was credited with a cure for sore eyes, and water was drunk on the spot, rubbed directly onto the eyes, or carried away in bottles. There was no pattern day, the communal annual feast associated with many Irish holy wells, but the visiting practices followed their own careful rhythm.

The wellhouse itself is a D-plan drystone structure, meaning its plan is roughly semicircular against a flat facade, standing 1.25 metres high and about two metres wide, with a south-east-facing entrance. The access opening is low, just under forty centimetres high, roofed by a single flagstone five centimetres thick. The ash tree growing directly from the monument has collapsed the eastern corner, leaving the structure in a state of partial ruin that feels less like neglect and more like a slow negotiation between the built and the living.