To the waters and the wild

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand.

For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

"The Stolen Child" is a poem by William Butler Yeats, published in 1889

Listen to the poem set to music by the Waterboys here

See more wild places in the gallery here

When hope is scarce

We come from a harsh history ourselves; 800 years of occupation, a terrible famine which halved the population and the ongoing loss of emigration which goes on to this day. We didn't forget any of it. That kind of pervasive pain is passed down.

Sometimes it's their absence that brings home the memories. What they left behind, the empty simplicity of their lives, the poor land where they eeked out an existence. Above all, the cold east wind.

A "rebel hand set the heather blazing" here in Boolavogue. Have no illusions, one man's hero is another man's terrorist. They too must have lived and breathed the complications, the grey areas. But eventually too many had died. Contemporary heroes emerged who could rise above the historical pain and since then we have tried to move on......

My social media feed, like yours, fills up with dead and bloodied children. Here in the silent Irish farm yard we wonder how it must be in Gaza at this time of the year?  Amongst the dust, rubble and summer heat there could be no end to the unbearable pain. 

Quietly I believe that there is only one possible ending. People on all sides will have to talk to each other and reach an accommodation. Everyone will have to let go of something. There will be no winners, no losers, no triumphs. And then if we are all very, very lucky, there might even be a feeling of deep relief. 

In trying to stick with the story of the middle east it's been a challenge to find intelligent and verifiable reporting. If you want to see truth in action follow Naomi Wolf  She never shies away from candid debate, murky complexity and above all deep compassion. Sadly every day the story gets darker. 

And all of us are looking for some hope, which is eerily scarce right now. 

Set free in a loose garden

We inhaled the scent of herbs on the soft balmy air. Occasional yelps of joy bounced across the lake as youngsters leapt into the water from the dodgy bough that leans out over the deeper water. 

The Irish feel such deep relaxation in our bodies when the temperatures soar. So we are elated by this evening, warm enough to sit outside under the sky, warm enough to put our feet up, one where we can get the grill out. 

I love your "loose garden" she said.  And loose is a good word for it. 

Loose enough to sway in the breeze, loose enough to shed colourful seeds everywhere, to create dingly dells of stems and blossoms. 

If I were a thrush I too would want to be set free, in a loose garden......

More wild places here

Warblers, Andy Warhol and the beautiful art of land

Tiny warbler in the fennel

Small flocks of warblers have invaded the herb garden and I've taken a big shine to them. I think this one is a Chiff-chaff but as ever I am open to correction by my twitcher friends. 

This summer there are fewer butterflies and insects but a lot more warblers. My sister was visiting from Sweden and we both remarked on the eery silence and lack of bees buzzing. The buddleia otherwise known as the butterfly bush, has had no takers. Every other year it has been laden with them. 

This week I did a happy dance because one butterfly appeared in the kitchen.

It is probably no coincidence that the land around here has been cleared and fertilised having been a boggy wilderness for years. Although designated as a protected wetland, the local authority did not see any conflict of interest with clearing for "agricultural purposes." This consisted of the removal of a willow wood, a number of acres of boggy wildflower meadows, ditches, hedgerows, and numerous trees. 

Farmers can't be blamed if the relevant authorities fail to educate and monitor how farming should be managed. At this stage our couple of wild acres are an oasis of cover for small animals and birds on this boreen. There are other small farms around here but there won't be any talk of conservation when the younger generations finally inherit them. I suspect instead that all the shiny bulldozers and diggers will be out in force again.

I came across this prophetic wisdom from New York celebrity artist Andy Warhol, and I thought of the vulnerable landscapes of Ireland.

"I think having land and not ruining it is the most beautiful art that anybody could ever want."

Wild foxgloves on the lane

Wild Foxgloves appear in a new place each year, especially some old patch that has been recently cleared. A corner of rocky earth suddenly gives birth to an abundance of the most exotic of our wildflowers. They nestle under trees and festoon the hedgerows. They peep over the tallest grasses and parade their purply pink lady's fingers up and down the lane.

This year they surround the newly drained meadows on the shores of the lake as a ribbon of vibrant bunting. An odd one grows on a stone wall. Another few wave from the grassy hill. 

It's as if they are cheering us on!!




Check out the Foxglove Lane Gallery for more images

Contemplation

A quiet moment of contemplation from one of my friends. When life is a bit hectic, remember to stop and smell the mint....says she.......


More contemplative rabbits here

April hedgerows

Bumble bee

Gorse

Violet

Blackthorn blossom

Ladybird

Herb Robert

Primrose

It's three years now since I started this blog. One of my earliest posts was a photograph of creamy Blackthorn blossoms on the ditch. Today just a short walk up the lane reveals again the quiet beauty of our wildflowers. While the coconutty gorse dominates and is blooming all over the hill, along the ditches there are small splashes of colour. Getting in closer (some of these are really tiny) there are ladybirds competing for space along the grassy highway, and bees busily buzzing.......

Take a deep breath, spring is here, summer is just around the next corner, and creamy blossoms are still as good as it gets........

There are some more Irish Wildflower images here

Going green

Ireland is going green. 

First of all it's the National Holiday, Saint Patrick's Day. But even more importantly it is also Spring. 

At last, at last, at last. 

After the grey, stormy winter, here in the fields, every small twitch of change registers. Buds, shoots, blossoms, flowers. Nest building, mad march hare dashing, and the buzzing of flies. For now I just love flies!!! 

Wake up, shake a leg. I walked up the lane without a coat, without a hat! I sat on the beach and felt sun on my face! I'm sitting here at an open window listening to a blackbird chirping!

But more than anything else, it is this particular shade of green. It starts out so light and fizzy. And it's not just the EU grasses and the fertilised meadows. It's the fresh new leaves and the wild grass on the ditches. The buds of brambles, the tips of gorse. This newest spring green is the most Irish thing I can think of just now! 

I have lots of photos of smiling faces and funny hats but for Lá Fhéile Phádraig or Paddy's Day (it's never ever Patty's Day by the way) I offer you the green of an Irish spring and a Happy Saint Patrick's Day.

And for actual funny hats and craic see here

Home

Clinging on in the storm

The storm hit hard and I was in the thick of it swerving back and forth in 150k gusts. Finally reaching the warren of back roads nearest home, it dawned on me; I was crazy to be out in this weather! 

Of the many possible routes, three turned out to be blocked by fallen trees, and after driving around in circles for over an hour it was all about to get worse. My fourth approach route, ended abruptly with another fallen tree and while bewildered motorists tried to turn around and find a way back another tree fell behind us. We were now stuck between the two giants. I pulled into the ditch disorientated and shaken.

A postal worker stopped and shouted to me. Encouraging me to follow him he pointed to where the others had been swallowed up by a curtain of rain. I felt like falling in a heap but had no choice but to keep going until I could go no more.

Making a frenetic dash through lanes and farms we eventually came to a familiar boreen. Jumping out of his van, he pointed to where I needed to go next and then my luck changed.

With my heart in my mouth I ran the gauntlet of more creaking trees, branches strewn on the road, debris hitting the car from every angle. The house was dark, the power was out, no water, no phone or internet. 

But unlike so many of the power supply workers heading out to repair lines, I was home, dry and intact. Once you have experienced the panic and vulnerability of having your precious home flooded, you never forget it.

Still lacking internet and any connection with the outside world, the next day my youngest left Ireland for Sydney, Australia, and I found myself saying with a teary eye and a wagging finger, just make sure you come HOME! I keened for the rest of the day...... 

After the storm I revelled in my own home sweet home, muttered to anyone who would listen that living on this windswept island has far too many challenges and I keep wondering what the weather will be like in Sydney at this time of the year? 

The sky is on fire in the west

Just now the October sky is on fire in the west. 

Where there's muck there's money

There's an Irish expression that where there's muck there's money.

The last week has seen the return of muck to these parts but we are still waiting to see the money. Crops have been harvested, grass growth is slowing, the clocks went back last night, rain is falling heavily and the local pot holes are filling up to the brim with water. But still, no money!!

These photos were taken at the very crack of dawn through a hazy light. The heat was rising off the cattle and the promise of a glowing October day lifted our spirits. There have been tougher times I know, but we are yearning for a bit of respite from doom and gloom, and we are all dreaming up schemes to help us keep the show on the road........

There's no shortage of muck, but how can we turn it to gold!!!