Week 6.4 Will ye go, lassie, go?

Early Saturday morning it was evident that we were needed back home so we quickly rebooked flights, trains and hotels, packed up and said a few nearly tearful goodbyes.  We caught the train around 6 PM and maybe this was the best way to leave.  As we did a few final errands around town, I had a lump in my throat the entire time.  I didn't have time to think "this will be our last time here" or "I will miss this very much."  We weren't really able to say goodbye to all the people and places we might have liked but as I was sitting in the train station I thought it might be for the best.  I couldn't imagine what an emotional mess I would have been if I'd had a whole week to process leaving.  Besides, I knew for sure that we would be back.  On Thursday, Mike reminded me-- as he had last year when we were here-- that "planes go both ways."  True. We were leaving but the plane that would take us back to Canada could also take us back to Ireland again.  I have no doubt that we will be back.  Perhaps sooner than we imagine.  As I sat on the train waiting to leave for Dublin, I said to Dale, "5 weeks ago, we arrived at this station and had no idea what our lives would be like in Westport.  What a remarkable adventure it has been."   As we pulled out of town, the landscape was drenched in that glow of sunshine that happens at "the magic hour."  My iPod randomly selected the High Kings singing "Raglan Road." And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day. 

Thanks everyone for reading and for your nice comments.  We'll be back....

Week 6.3 The Reek!

If you're one of my FB friends or if you've been looking at the photos here, you'll know that you cannot have a day in Westport where you don't look at Croagh Patrick.  Climbing it has been a goal since day one and almost everyone we've talked to offered advice: climb on a clear day, climb on a dry day.  The best advice of all  was from J: "take a stick."  We'd been waiting and watching for a clear day and Friday seemed like it was going to be perfect.  Although we didn't know it then, Friday would also be the last full day we'd have in Westport and we were grateful the day cooperated with us.

The kind D drove us out to the base and we hired hiking sticks and headed out toward the mountain.  As prairie kids, we really didn't know what was ahead of us but it all seemed quite do-able.  Well,  maybe that's not quite true.  I will admit there were three points that it didn't seem do-able.  The first was when I realized that Croagh Patrick really is a mountain, not a hill.  And that those tiny creatures climbing it were people.  "There's no way I can do that," I thought but carried on, assuming I'd get to a logical place to turn back.  I never did get to that logical turning back place.  The second time I doubted myself was when I saw a lady coming down the mountain, basically sliding down the loose rocks that seemed sort of like shells in their thin, slippery shape.  I asked her husband, "I'm torn... should I go up?"  He said, "you could turn back.  But if you make it to the top,  you feel like you've really accomplished something."  His wife (who seemed to have weathered her slip) added: "that's the worst part right there."  I thanked them and carried on,

mentally thanking J for her advice about the stick.  I looked up and it was almost straight up.  "How on earth do you do this?" I thought.  One step at a time was the obvious answer and indeed it was the only way to go.  Once I took that first step, the others fell into place.  The man I talked to was right.  Once you got there, you really did feel like you'd accomplished something and I was so glad we'd found a clear day.  Everyone had talked about how breathtaking the view was and I realize thinking back on it that there are not words sufficient to describe what it was like up there.  I'll let the pictures do the talking.  The third time I doubted whether I could do the climb was when I looked down at that loose rock.  "How on earth do you do this?"  Not going down was not an option.  Slowly and one step at a time was the only way.  Even though we didn't know it would be our last day, I think I would pick standing on top of Croagh Patrick and looking over the county we had grown to love was the perfect thing to do on our last afternoon.  We didn't linger long up there but I will remember that view forever.  

Week 6.2: A full and perfect day

Although we didn't expect Thursday to be our second last full day of our time in Ireland, in retrospect it couldn't have been a better second to last day.  Our friend from our last trip picked us up in the morning and drove us on the Atlantic Drive where we saw fantastic scenery and spectacular views.  As I look at the pictures I'm attaching, it all seems like a dream.  But I'm still not sure I could dream something so stunning.  It was great to see Mike again and to continue some of our conversations from last year.
The other thing we wanted to do was visit the Jackie Clarke Collection in Ballina and Mike dropped us off there.  In a strange confluence of coincidences, we happened to see a tweet from the NY Times for a story about the opening of a museum dedicated to showing and preserving a great collection of historical materials that had been assembled by Jackie Clarke over his lifetime.  Remarkably, it was just down the road from us.  It opened only a few days before and we were thrilled to be able to go to it.  It's a fascinating place and a remarkable story about history and historical preservation.  And even more exciting, both of us saw projects we can work on related to this collection.  Guess that means we'll need to return.  Here's a great video about it.  It's worth a watch and the museum is also worth a visit.

We took the bus back to Westport from Ballina and both of us felt a rush of "we're home" as we rolled into town again.  We headed back to our apartment and were soon picked up by D who took us to their beautiful house and its amazing view of Croagh Patrick.  As I mentioned before in a previous blog, I think Dale and I both assumed we would spend the whole time away by ourselves and we were fine with that.  I don't think either of guessed that we would find people who, in the course of a few short weeks, would seem like friends we've known for years.  Finding friends who took such good care of us, who made us laugh and smile, and who made us feel at home was such a gift, especially with all that was happening at home.  Every day of this trip has been filled with blessings.  It's no wonder that my dad sent me an email asking me to "Thank the folks there for adding so much to our lives and for making my daughter so very happy." 

Week 6.1: Museum of Country Life and Reconnecting

There was a lot going on in the backrooms of the Cafe this past week and we ended up needing to leave Westport a week early and go to Alberta.  But I still want to finish up the blog so I'll be posting new entries over the next few days.

Wednesday was the day the weather really started to turn around.  It was still a little chilly but the beautiful sunshine was such a treat.  Our kind friend D had once again offered to take us out to the Museum of Country Life outside of Castlebar and so we set out there in the morning.  The Irish museums we've been to have all been fantastic-- interesting spaces, fascinating content, and well curated.  

One of the first things you see when you start walking through is a collection of images that remind you of the differences between reality and romanticization of Irish history.  That seemed to be a theme throughout the museum.  This exhibit-- along with all the other things we've seen on this trip-- was a stark reminder of some of the realities that inform (and continue to inform) this country and its people.  It's the vital context between statistics like this one: in 1841, the population of Ireland was 8,175, 124 and in 1861 it was 5,798,967.  As I heard elsewhere, over a million Irish went to the New World and a million went to the Next World.  The more I read about this, the more stunned and appalled I am that the Irish famine rarely emerged in my studies of the 19th century.  I'll be working on redressing that.  I am not sure how my education missed that.
Our kind friend D picked us up and we went for lunch and while there, we got an email from the lovely man who drove us around Ireland a year and a half ago saying he was going to be in Westport that evening.  We met him at a pub we suggested (where the lovely J works) and then went for dinner.  It was so wonderful to see him, especially since it was he showed us the country we all fell in love with.   He joked to J that he thought it was funny that the visitors had suggested the pub but J smiled and said "No, they're locals now."  It did my heart good to have lovely friends from both trips in the same place.  Dinner was wonderful and M offered to drive us around to see some more sights on the Thursday.  Thinking back on that night, I'm struck by the memory of how at home I felt there and how it all feels like a dream right now.  A dream "that, when I waked, I cried to dream again.”

Week 5.7: And suddenly it's spring and there's a heron

We've needed to make some changes to our sojourn here and will be leaving a bit earlier than planned.  Things are what they are and will be what they must be.  With that in mind we spent the afternoon grateful for our time here and committed to enjoying what the lovely spring weather brings.  We walked into town along the Greenway and then home through the Westport House park.  By the river on our way to Westport House park, we were delighted to have spotted a heron on the banks of the river: majestic and beautiful it was.  More evidence that EB White was right: "Always be on the lookout for the presence of wonder." 

Week 5.6 Opening Day. The Tigers in County Mayo

Cafe regulars have been very kind. Thanks for your feedback and wishes for a speedy recovery. I'm on the mend. I slept very late, got up feeling well enough to do some work, and then figured if I'm well enough to work (and get a draft of the paper done!), I'm well enough to walk into town and watch some horse racing. It's been cold and windy for maybe 2 weeks but lately it's been sunny. On our walk into town this afternoon I noticed spring has been on hold: a few things that seemed a few weeks ago like they should be blooming look like someone has hit 'pause.' But spring must be here since it's the Tigers opening day and we're watching it in our hotel lounge on an ipad. I must admit, it is strange to be watching baseball here (as it was to wake up at 4 AM to catch Tigers playoff games in Spain in the fall). It's nearly midnight and it's the bottom of the 7th. It is also strange (but perfectly understandable) that very few people know about baseball here or know how it is played. In the pub last week, a man offered this explanation of the game to someone who knew nothing of the game:"it's like rounders." "Aha," she said.
I was very excited to watch this game tonight. I thought I had just been missing baseball but I realize I also miss Detroit and sitting on our sunny porch in Windsor listening to the games as summer evenings settle in around us. It is oddly comforting to hear the soothing cadences of Rod and Mario, the crack of the bat, the ballpark organ, the roar of the crowd (even if they are cheering for the Twins).
Tonight, while chatting with my brother online, he signed off with "Have fun! Make sure to come back, though" and recently another friend emailed saying "have I told you how nervous your blog is making me that you'll refuse to come home?" Yesterday we booked our train back to Dublin and a hotel for the night before we depart. Leaving is becoming more of a reality and I'm starting to look at ordinary things and think about how I will miss them. I know I will be devastated to leave and that I will miss this place, these people, these sights achingly for quite a while. But it's also good to be reminded that I love where I am from and that loving another place doesn't mean you love your home less. Loving more places can never be a bad thing.