The weather in Ireland has been sublime. Rain has been infrequent, but at least in Westport, County Mayo, enough to enjoy a lot of rainbows. I spent some time painting a picture of Croagh Patrick, and of course a little bit of rain came to keep me company. That, and the horses that were in the paddock across the lane. They were curious when I perched up on the stone fence, paints, pad and pencil. Leaves were brought to life by the wind, and also curious, it seemed. They would rush across the lane and swirl at my feet. It was October in Ireland and in the slant of light this far north, everything took on a more vibrant hue. The contrast between cloud and sky, sky and mountain, bog to pasture and stream to ocean, all exuding vibrant fall colors. Even the flowers that were still blooming added to the palette: red fuschia, purple dots of heather still poking out and the yellow gorse. For a land that should be falling asleep, there was still plenty of life.
Change always comes and so too, this far west outpost of Eire has new improvements and construction as modernity jostles for its place in what is called the “Wild Atlantic Way.” New roadways of fine wide lanes, clear signs are finally moving into this area. What is now fairly commonplace in the east of Ireland is still new, smooth and shiny. It is the epitome of modernity, of the new Ireland. Fine luxury hotels are here in Westport, too, again a face of the European Union and the influx of visitors, businesses and workers. The wind turbines are almost everywhere you turn, out on a horizon, moving in sync and silence. Above, the sky is laced with contrails of jets that have crisscrossed the island on their way to America, Africa, Europe and Asia. No longer some far-flung backwater, Ireland is the doorstep to a modern Europe.
Yet, as I sat and painted on this fine October day, the stones in the fields were still there. Old cottages and forgotten lanes still were in abundance. Sheep, scraggy and paint branded, still foraged and squinted at you as you walk by. Somehow enough of the old is still present: chimneys with plants sprouting out of them, window boxes of flowers in every window on every floor, the sound of traditional music pouring out the doorway and into the street, and now and then, the pungent tang of burning turf.
Even climbing Croagh Patrick, I was surprised to find the arduous ascent of scree was now modified into a steppingstone path. The path to help preserves lives and preserve the plant and animal life that call the holy mountain home. It didn’t make the climb any easier, or perhaps I am just that much older now, feeling every step up and down with a wince in my right knee.
Yes, Ireland changes, like everywhere else. The Halloween decoration craze is coming to the land that created the holiday to begin with. This time, it’s the Americanized spookiness, with ghouls, pumpkins and other beasties, a lot of them born of Irish writers and folklore. Yet here they are, looking like some new idea in the store front, along with a selection of costumes from the Hulk to Barbie to Frankenstein. Pumpkins to carve and plastic skeletons with glowing LED eyes.
And truly, they cannot compete with the real faeries, banshees, ghosts of the olden days. Those spirits must find the Halloween craze especially entertaining. Those spirits, still roaming around the stone circles, the ring forts, the oak groves and faery trees must laugh at all the progress being made, the modernization of Ireland. For especially in October, when the evening in Westport quiets, the wind sighs and the sky is ink black, the spirits are there, and those who scoff at that may find themselves sadly mistaken. That mystery, that wild energy, is what will keep Ireland forever magical.
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