Ireland – sethlewis.ie

Patrick Loved Ireland Before Ireland Loved Patrick

On the 17th of March, people around the world will celebrate Ireland’s national holiday, St. Patrick’s Day. Is there any other national holiday in the world that is celebrated as internationally as Ireland’s? It is truly unique. So as the bunting goes up and the landmarks turn green and the parades are organised, it’s worth remembering the man who inspired this global celebration.

Like the holiday named after him, Patrick’s life was truly unique. He did not consider himself a great man, and would likely be uncomfortable with the extravagance of the yearly honours we bestow on him. In his autobiography, he calls himself “a simple country person, a refugee, and unlearned.” The reason he calls himself a “refugee” is because his connection with Ireland, which is how everyone remembers him today, only began when he was sixteen—and it wasn’t a good start at all. The first Irish people that Patrick met were the people who raided his hometown (probably in Wales) and carried off thousands of prisoners—including Patrick—to be sold into slavery in Ireland. Our patron saint’s first sighting of Ireland’s beautiful shores came while he was in the chains of human traffickers. In Ireland, Patrick tells us that he was “brought low by hunger and nakedness daily.” His slavery continued until he was twenty-two years old. This is not the part of the story we celebrate on March 17th.

Steeple Mountains

It was a Sunday afternoon in Killarney, and I was alone with no time pressure. In a situation like that, there’s no difficulty in knowing where to go—it has to be Killarney National Park. The paths are basically endless there, winding as they do through the mature forests that grow along the lakeshore and up into the mountains. The fields, the ruins, and the trees all have long histories, histories that bleed their weight and significance into the air and make quick steps—like mine—ring with impertinence.

My manners were mended when I was forced to step aside from the main path in deference for a horse that was pulling a jaunting car. As I waited, I noticed a narrow track worn into the ground at the very edge of the lake. This new way called to me with the eternal appeal of the road less travelled, and I was not disobedient. There were no horses on that tiny trail, and no other people, either. The sound of my own heavy feet on the ground was all I heard, accompanied by the occasional rustle of the leaves above me and the endless quiet splashing of rippled water against ragged outcroppings of rocks and roots beside me. When I stopped my noisy shoes on a protruding boulder, the stillness immediately enveloped me.

How I’m Voting In The Constitutional Referendum (And Why)

On the 8th of March, the citizens of Ireland will be asked to make two changes to our constitution by referendum. Because of the importance of these decisions, I’d like to use this week’s post to discuss them. The first change would be to the constitutional definition of the family, adding “other durable relationships” alongside marriage in Article 41. The Article with the proposed change would read this way (updated wording in bold):

Article 41.1.1° “The State recognises the Family, whether founded on marriage or on other durable relationships, as the natural primary and fundamental unit group of Society, and as a moral institution possessing inalienable and imprescriptible rights, antecedent and superior to all positive law.”

After The Flood

When the children went to school last Wednesday, it was raining. This is Ireland. We’re used to rain. Met Éireann gave an orange weather warning, but that almost always just means a bit of gusty wind or extra rain. I barely noticed. It wasn’t until the afternoon that I realised that this time it was not just a little bit extra—it was a month’s worth of rain, in 24 hours. The ground, so green and lush and well-watered, refused to take any more. The rivers carried away what they could, but they couldn’t carry it fast enough. Their banks broke. The green fields quickly became brown lakes. Then the lakes came into the streets, and the streets became rivers. And rivers don’t knock before they come inside.

Days Like Blackberries

It’s blackberry season in Ireland right now, and our family has a yearly tradition of picking them. They’re not hard to find. The vines are growing in the hedges along the roads, reaching out into the paths in the woods, climbing over the old stone walls in the fields, and all of them covering themselves in juicy, plump, sweet little berries. Like candy, except healthier, and with thornier packaging. And free! They just grow, right out of the ground, in loads of public places where we can pick and eat and keep as many as we want. Last weekend we got almost four pounds on one family walk which are now (thanks to my wife) three jars of delicious homemade jam. Can you believe we live in a world where there are jam-bushes growing wild?

Anyway (a poem)

Sometimes beauty is found in the most unlikely places.

Where Ireland’s green
Meets ocean’s blue
In jagged cliffs
With sweeping views
I walked until
The thick grass ended
Down onto the
Rocks descended
Down where wild
Wind and sea
Play tug of war
Continually

The Green

When we moved from America to Ireland fourteen years ago, one of the first things we noticed was the architecture. The buildings in Ireland are quite different from the ones we grew up in, all the way up from the thick concrete (or stone) walls to the slate tiles (or rarely, thatch) on the roofs. The unique climate, resources, history, and culture have all helped to shape these buildings. And they have shaped not only the individual buildings, but also the way the buildings relate to each other and the spaces around them. For example, it makes sense that our village is compact enough to walk everywhere when you consider that it was built hundreds of years before cars were invented. We have cars now, but that’s still a great feature—I love being able to walk easily to any building in town. But one of my favourite features of Irish design is not a building at all. It’s not a structure of any kind, and it doesn’t take a degree in architecture or urban planning to understand it, imagine it, or built it. It’s just a bit of grass, and it’s known as “the green.”

Slowly Going Blind

We had some friends visiting last week who had never been to Ireland, and we got to show them why this place is called the Emerald Isle. The beautiful postcards tell the beautiful truth. And the castles, churches, and monastic ruins dotted across the countryside add a layer of historic mystery to the impossibly green landscape. We have a castle in our own village, and the patchwork fields beyond it eventually lead down to the rocky coast. You could hardly go anywhere on this island without seeing something historic or naturally magnificent. Welcome to Ireland. Let me show you around…

Or will you show me?

A Christmas Selection Box 2022

It’s traditional in Ireland to give chocolate selection boxes at Christmas, with a variety of different treats inside. Unfortunately, I can’t share that chocolate with you over the internet. I wish I could, because Irish chocolate really is some of the best in the world and I’m not the only one who thinks so. But I can’t give you that, so instead I’ve collected a few Christmas treats for you from around the internet. Enjoy!

Walking With God At 3mph

When we moved to Ireland, one of the things we noticed was how near we were to shops, schools, meetings, and most things, really. The old streets are laid out with feet in mind, not tyres, so the buildings in towns and villages are close together. Now, I can walk most places, and a lot of times, I do. I know it’s slower. Most people walk at about 3mph, and my car is faster than that even on narrow streets. From that perspective, walking isn’t the most efficient way to get around. So why do it?