Martin with his cousins Seamus (with Toby the dog) and Tommy Connaughton at Ballybrehony, Claremorris,
Ireland in 1988.
I will head back to Ireland next week. It is perhaps the country that I have visited the most in my life. Close to 30 times by now have I been over, not only with Switchback, but on my own or with family. There is a certain feeling when arriving in Ireland that I feel. It is almost like being in love, a rush of energy and emotion that hits me when I glance out the window and see the fields below. That feeling has been mentioned to me by others, and it is especially interesting when those who have no roots whatsoever describe that feeling. It is always something of “coming home” that is felt. There may be some sort of amazing energy that flows through the ground of Ireland. Afterall, it is one of those places where myth and lore walk hand in hand with everyday reality. Where supermarkets and old castles share the same land. We don’t have its equivalent over here in the same context.
There is something emotional about seeing a place that retains its wild beauty yet has been lived upon for thousands of years. Ireland has been blessed with ranges of mountains that please the eye. They form a backdrop against the green fields and blue skies and deep purple and green sea. That sort of untamed bold splash of color thrills and the drama of clouds parting just enough to have the sunlight lancing the mountains is something that is inspiring.
And there is something about that land residing in my family and the people. The progression of faces I have seen over time. There is the loss of family to old age and illness and when that occurs, a helpless sense of knowing that the Atlantic Ocean is still in this jet-age too wide. I will reconnect with family and reacquaint with old friends as well. And they too get to get a good look at me and see that I am getting older and perhaps wiser.
The pace of life in Ireland is much better than most places. Even in a large city like Dublin, the rhythm of the day is taken in and enjoyed. A good lunch, tea-time, a stop at the pub. All these daily rituals of life that remind that life is to be lived. The pub serves as a community center and a waystation for the curious traveler as well. The Irish like to ask questions and usually without judgement, take in the answer. I think that has to do with all the history of the people. Everyone at one point has a bastard in the family and everyone at one point has notched a tragedy or loss. They approach you as an equal.
It is a land of faith, even now in this skeptical era. The faith doesn’t necessarily translate into attendance at Sunday Mass, but more of a belief that better days have to come because they can’t get any worse. That sort of Janus-like look at things requires a bit of gallows humor, which the Irish have honed into an art form. They clutch onto it and believe. Sometimes that faith is rewarded, like this year, when Mayo won the All-Ireland after 75 years.
While I am happy to return, I also feel that other part of me that is not of Ireland. I came to know that at this point in history, to be American is to be a disappointment for the Irish and others as well. That the foolish waste of time and money by those in charge aggravate people who know innately what the taking of their time and money feels like. The Irish know what the taking of their country against their will felt like, too. They shake their head that Americans would allow such a thing to happen by choice. And I understand their frustration because I, too, am frustrated. At least I can vote to try to change things. Their modern world is changed without their consent. Yet they stand up for the oppressed and the innocents because their history demands they do. Their anger over the killings of thousands in Gaza is the old wound reopened anew. The Irish still know that feeling and it cannot be trivialized. It is something real and too recent. I know from the stories of my cousins. Yes, time changes and forgiveness can be found, but to forget is a terrible wrong. That is where the Irish mind is at.
I will come to Ireland with all these feelings swirling around in me. I will find some moment to capture a scene with paintbrush and paper. I will lock in my heart observations of the land, the people and while I look and even at times might sound a wee bit like them, I know I am not. I am that odd creature, in love and in heartache at the same time.
READ MARTIN’S OTHER BLOG HERE.