A Brief Sojourn Before Uprooting Ourselves.

Not so long ago, we took the winding road south, down through the belly of this island of ours, through damp, mizzling hills that rolled under us and away to the glowering east. The rain ran down the foggy windows, the grey and the green flew past us in a rush as we sped towards the Atlantic coast on the southern rim of Ireland.

We spent the weekend with new friends, the warmest, loveliest of people, we took our time, we savoured every minute, we reminded ourselves of how much we love this place, memories returning of distant weekend visits to my sister when she lived here, so many years ago.

We passed through the wet, through the green, as though flying like ghosts, through virescent memories that clung to our hair, our skin, in the very drops of rain that hung in the air about us.
A heady combination of the newness of friendships lately found, and the deep hum of history stirring under our feet, all bound by the verdant magic of where we found ourselves.

A briefest of sojourns before we returned home, to the mammoth undertaking of uprooting our little family, of deconstructing all we had spent our parenting years building. Our Home.
An exciting, daunting endeavour, that caught us up in it's momentum and carried us onwards, of which there will be more, anon.

Returned to this, a most splendid of evenings that held a promise of spring. An evening that gave me perhaps my most favourite image of this view, in all my years photographing it.


A view that will always be there, behind my eyelids, when I close them against the sun.

The Leave-Taking.

There is a little house that sits on a spit of land between a marsh and a sea, a place with jackdaws in the chimney, where lizards hide in the grass with the tiny shrews, where swans glide overhead and murmurations of starlings loop through curlew cries, and at dusk the bats swoop in their beautiful dance as herons skim the tops of the reeds against the sunset. There are countless birds that throng the marsh here, among them terns and mistle thrush and finches, lapwings, even occasional owls, and in the evening pheasant wander in the garden, and sometimes, somewhere beyond the reeds, a peacock calls, his cry across the marsh sending a tingle down your spine.

I have written so many times about the weather here and how it changes the shape of this place, about the seasons and how each one blooms and swells, brings dustly moths on the walls, spiders along the windows, stormy seas, sea mists, dancing sunlit grasses, endless blue skies, and sunsets that take your breath away.

I did mention big changes around here, didn't I? Big changes that we have been studiously ignoring the possibility of for rather a long time, now.

You see, our golden age is over.

For the sixteen years we have been living here, I have been in a little bubble with my babies, cocooned in this most magical of places, like some little creatures from the Wind in the Willows, the seasons rolling around us as we burrowed in, and we grew into this land, the green and the salt seeping into our blood and bones, from the very formation of my babies. Our Eldest was barely four months old when we moved in, and the following three were born right here in the living room with windows to the sea, and windows to the green and the mountains, pulling all combinations of seasons and weather and time of day into their beginnings, all manner of the elements that make this place so miraculously special, into the weave that is our little family.

As the years have passed, they have grown, we too, myself and Jay, have grown, this place like a paintbrush against our skin, each night touching up where it did not find us in our day, a tender reassuring like a fine mist that layers, and over the years has become our skin, as though we are this place and this place is us. But now it is at an end. When the year turns, together we will pack the little pieces of us, the myriad of little things that have been put together to form our home, the collections of Us, and we will move. And though nowhere will ever match this place, with all our hearts we know it will be somewhere beautiful. I do need green outside my window.

We are on a rollercoaster of emotions about it all. Some are excited, some wholeheartedly against it, but it is out of our hands, regardless, and because of that I have decided to embrace this change, the timing of which I can't complain about. I no longer spend my days embraced in this magical cocoon with my babies and toddlers, now that our Smallest is in school, instead I am out in the world more, looking at what I want to do with this next phase of my life, and this makes it easier to accept.

So, this summer will be about making the most of this remarkable place, a summer of gatherings of friends and loved ones, of Celebrating, and later in the week I will share with you, one such gathering that we had this weekend.

Photo by Líosa.

And who knows what wonderfulness is just around the corner, for I know there is a place for us.

What We Did In School One Day.

~*~

Mosaic, murals, marbling, weaving, building, drawing, tie-dying, puppets, pottery, printing, jewellery, 

drumming, turf-mazing, juggling, special effects make-up, sugar paste, felt-making, batik.....

and I just know I'm forgetting many more....

~*~

I'd like to tell you about something. A place, actually. An incredible, unique place. A place where the word community means something. Where you can see, in action, just what it means when something is truly the sum of what is put into it. For all the human frailties and stumbles along the way, when heartfelt love and the best intentions fill something up it will always sail strong and true, even in squally weather. 

This is our school.

A place where our children learn about democracy, and humanity, and equality. Where they learn, through colourful and exciting practical projects, and hands on experience, just what it means to be a part of this wonderful, magical existence that is being human, being part of this world of ours.

These pictures may be of just one, exceptional day that takes place each year, but it is a sparkling example of just how magical a place it is. After ten years of attending Art Day, this year I was suddenly struck by just how unique it is. This event may be the biggest, funnest and most popular of them all, but it really is just one of many throughout the year where our children are shown that it is not just lip service, that we really do believe in the best of them. That they can be the best they can be. Yes they are children, with all the necessary mischief and shenanigans that are part and parcel of being so, but ultimately they are trusted and respected, and here, given an autonomy I have rarely seen elsewhere.

And in return they give it all they've got, throwing themselves into whatever it is they are engaged in, with unselfconscious, joyful abandon. I cannot think of anything more we could want from them, can you?

Here they are forming themselves into the adults they will be, laying the cornerstones of their future selves, discovering how to be. And this here is also why we drive 12km to school every day.

Because here is a place where exceptional people, the staff and parents, have taken what could have been an ordinary national school and, over years, turned it into something extraordinary. And I do know it is not unique. All over the country, all over the world, there are exceptional people who dedicate themselves to giving our children what very few of us had, to giving them something extraordinary to take with them into their future.
A belief in themselves and the possibility of being The Best Person They Can Be.

But I do feel blessed to be part of something that really does do 'what it says on the tin!' Here is a school that has an ethos that truly is part of the fabric of it's daily life, that holds it high and says, of course we can do this, because we can do our very best. And that, after all, is good enough.

And as the year comes to a close, Our Only Girl is preparing to leave this place that has been a very significant part of her life, that has seen her grow from a quiet, thumb-sucking 5 year old, to the confident, amazingly together 13 year old who is sailing forth without qualm.

And although she makes ready, with great excitement, to follow her big brother on to secondary school, it has been heartening, and heartbreaking, to see these children prepare to say goodbye to one another, after eight years together, every day. 

The bond between them, as a group, is unlikely to ever be replicated again in their lives, something they don't realise, but I do believe is so deeply ingrained in them that it is truly a part of them. Some of them are moving on together, but all is about to change, as I saw with Our Eldest two years ago, and life is about to stretch out it's dewy, tender wings.

So this is my own heartfelt thank you, to all you amazing people, past and present, who have made this place what it is today. So although one more of our Dearlings is leaving, we still have one in midflow, and one more, The Smallest, just about to start. My time is not yet done here. And though at times, the driving in particular seems interminable, I cannot think of a better place to be.

We are blessed. My heart is full.

Lord Of The Fires.

Thoughts following reminiscent conversations with friends.

When we were young Halloween night held a wildness to it, a lawlessness that shook the trees and sent an unruly wind snapping at our heels, a dark and sinister sky closing in like a cloak, some looming spectre just beyond the gloom.
For weeks it was building. And it was the bonfires that did it.

For in the months leading up to this most wicked of nights, in suburban Dublin every housing estate became a military-like scene of organisation and strategy, of planning and plotting.
Us against Them.
For there is only so much wood to be had in a given area.
Who would get it first?

We would start by asking parents and neighbours, knocking on doors and begging for any old bits of furniture that was no longer needed, anything wooden that could be burned was taken. Then we moved further afield, knowing the estates that had grown older, the children now moved away, or the houses that always had a yard full of junk out the back just waiting to be pilfered. And in someone's garden or yard nearby we would build our stash, accumulating a growing pile that needed guarding and protecting from poachers!

It was gang warfare. And we meant business...

I remember so many standoffs between gangs of children from neighbouring estates that the rest of the year we got on fine with, and some we didn't. We found ourselves face to face with gangs who were much more used to confrontational behaviour but we always amazed ourselves at our own newfound tenaciousness!

No one was going to take our fire!

And the satisfaction when the day came and we built our fire in the field at the end of the road. Dads passing on their expertise on bonfire building, the whole road coming out to lend a hand.

Hands down best costume last night!

And then home we went for colcannon with money hidden inside it, and brack with a ring in it, for our homemade costumes made out of old clothes and a mask, or if you were lucky like us and had a mother who sewed, something more elaborate.

Snap Apple!

And there was Snap-apple and Bobbing-for-apples to be played, and then off we went into that dark and scary night, knocking on doors with a chorus of "ANY APPLES OR NUTS?" And that is all we got!!

Bobbing for apples!

Coming home at the end of our journey we emptied our bags on the floor, sure there were one or two sweets lurking somewhere in amongst the mountain of nuts, and maybe even a 50p! And we were the lucky ones, because our mum made TOFFEE APPLES, so we were always sure of callers in their dozens, eager to hunt down whatever sugar they could.

Colcannon.

And at the end of the night we had the bonfire to look forward to, and oh! how wonderful and marvelous that was. Creatures looming out of the darkness, voices we knew but faces unrecognisable, and everyone riding on a wave of chilling thrills that pushed the energy of the night somewhere into another realm of danger, of electrifying spookiness, rousing us like no other.

To this day a most very favourite night of mine!

What did you do?

And yes, this year we did go back to the Grandparents!

Blackberry Crimes and Dandelion Songs.

I thought I would share something a little bit different with you here this evening.
I used to have another blog that I shared with a friend, a blog that fell by the wayside quite some time ago, but one that had some lovely things on it. So I have decided over the next few months to share some seasonal posts from it with you here. I hope you like them.

But first, a little about the blog:
"We are two mothers who want our children to know what childhood was like. Before Nintendos, before computers. Before fear of freedom. What it was like for us, and for our mothers, and their mothers. We want them to know adventure, to know play, to know the world. And not the controlled, organised world that modern mothers seem to think they are tied to, but the real, natural world that is here on our doorstep. Come and join us on an adventure in childhood."

This first post is one that I expect will resonate with some of you. And I would dearly love to hear similar tales of what sort of games you played as a child!

~*~

Autumn has come around again, and it's time for 'Conkers'! This is a game that has been around for generations and is very simple and satisfying to play. 

First of all, unless you are lucky enough to have a horse-chestnut tree in your garden, a walk in the woodlands is essential. So on a crisp morning off we go hunting in the woods.

You'll often find the biggest and best chestnuts are the ones still in the shells.

If you do find one, standing on it is usually enough to open it and you can peel it back to uncover the shiny treasure inside.

We usually fill a bag or basket as there are lots of other things you can do with them, as we will show you later.

When you get home, the first thing to do is to bore a hole through the fresh chestnut or conker. Please make sure an adult does this bit! It needs to be a fresh one as a seasoned one would be very difficult.

Then if you have an old shoe-lace, or if not, a piece of string, about half a metre long, on a darning needle, you can thread it through. Again, best if an adult does this bit.

Tie a knot at one end and wrap about half of the string around your hand, with the conker hanging at the end.

The idea of the game is to smash as many conkers as possible. Your opponent holds out his piece of string on which he has his conker. To get a good hard hit, hold the string in your strong hand and pull it out tight, holding the conker between two fingers. Take aim, then take a shot at hitting it off your opponents conker.

You can take turns, or allow three tries each before swapping over, playing until one of them is smashed or disintegrates. If you manage to smash his with your own then your chestnut is called a conker (conqueror). Although over the years, all chestnuts have become known as conkers!

Traditionally, there were little rhymes you would say, for example, if you want to get the first hit when you see your friend with his conker you would say,

"Hick, hack,first crack!"

or

"Obbly, obbly, onker, my first conker!"

You would also give your winning conker a name which depended on how many other conkers it had destroyed. For example a 'Twoer', or a 'Fiver' adding them up as you beat each one. And a real winner would often be held over until the following year, when it was well seasoned and would beat all, hands down!

But best of all, conkers make the most lovely of Autumn wreaths!

The Little Ghosts Of Summers Past.

This weekend we will be returning to an old haunt of ours. A very special place that we hold dear in our hearts. A place we knew so well as children, and have magical memories of.

Lough Key Forest Park 1976.

A place we returned to year after year, for as long as we could remember, up until we were briefly too cool to go and the spell was broken for a while.

Lough Key Forest Park, 1980.

A place that lent itself to the idyll that is a child's imagination, that made books like 'Swallow's and Amazon's' and The Famous Five come to life.

Lough Key Forest Park 1980.

We were Kings of the Castle, Lord's of the Lake. We tramped through the mud, the mizzling rain, we ran the gamut of possibilities that this kind of freedom allows.

Lough Key Forest Park 1976.

And though these holiday's ingrained in me a love of eating outdoors, a dread of Monopoly and Scrabble, and a love/dread of camping in general, this lake and land of memories never fails to cast it's spell.

Lough Key Forest Park 1980.

And so this weekend we will return once again, with all the additions to our ever growing family, in the hopes that it becomes, for the next generation, the Place Of Great Importance that it was for us.

Those Precious Fleeting Moments.

"...plead the fleeting moment to remain..."

A dear friend sent me this lovely quote this morning. A quote about photographers and why they do it. And it made me think about my own love of taking pictures and why us humans seem to need to do this. Is it just a desire to record? To make our mark? Or is it something more poetic? A desire to capture beauty as it passes so fleetingly through our lives?

A few years back one of my brothers came back from a summer in San Francisco with a small stack of photos he bought at a market. Photos of unknown people. Photos that had been rescued from unclaimed lock-ups or storage units. He said there were thousands of them and they just selected a handful, but he regretted not getting more. I cannot tell you how strangely moving it was to look through this collection of photos, to gaze upon the faces of these unknown strangers. Anniversary parties, family holidays, friends hanging out, all blithely unaware of where their image would end up, and where have they ended up, I wonder?

And it is moving, truly. And again I was reminded of this as I read Sophie's latest sweet entry on her Missed Connections blog, because each person has a story, one we'll never know in the case of those photos, and I do find myself marveling once again at the wonder that is us humans. Those stories mean something to someone, somewhere, and oh how the mind can take off on a figary and with all sorts of  imaginings.

I remember so clearly how starting this blog coincided with getting my first digital camera, and suddenly I was seeing the world differently. It was as though I was seeing through the lens, and the smallest things were, in a blink, being mentally framed and considered. And I was truly seeing the details that I felt I had been missing before. It made me pause, and look. Really look. And suddenly the days were no longer whirling by in a blur of rushed necessities.

And I have relished it ever since.

And although I have forgotten most of the small bit of photography I studied in college, and I do sometimes think I'd love to know what I'm doing when I take pictures and maybe I should go back and study it, I also love this digital age that allows people like me to take pictures and feel happy with the result! (And also to indulge in a fit of polaroid nostalgia like these photos here, even if I don't even own one!) I love seeing friends photo albums on facebook or flickr, photos that look amazing and beautiful and yes, often moving. And all just ordinary people recording ordinary lives. But recording the extraordinary beauty that we all live with every day and sometimes never see.

I have said before, beauty is something to be treasured and encouraged, and if taking pictures allows us to focus on it, then may we all be trigger happy for the rest of our days! Imagine a world where everyone looked through their lens and saw only the beauty?

What a lesson we can teach our children...