A Swirling Mist of Irish Green

A visitor to Ireland returns home surrounded by a mist of Irish green from Ireland, that mystical island across the Atlantic forever within her heart–a fabled land where ancient towers still keep watch on the countryside. I close my eyes and see swans floating on the River Shannon surrounding King John’s Castle. Swans are swimming on the river, much as they must have done in the 1100s, when the castle was built. Sunshine dapples the river and the temperature is a comfortable fifty-one degrees.

In Irish towns, signs in both Irish and English identify the streets. Flower boxes hang outside the shops and the streets are clean of litter. In the countryside, clear-running streams hurry down from the hills; water is everywhere in Ireland. The lakes of Killarney are misty-blue because of the rain. An ancient graveyard lies beside the highway. White sheep dot the green, green fields and Kerry cattle, the oldest breed in Ireland, graze in pastures. The largest lake in Killarney, five miles by three miles and 300 feet deep would be a lovely place to set a mystery.

St., Patrick’s Cathedral

Sadly, there are famine houses, ruins and pitiful reminders of the great potato famine. Stories abound of families holding the American wake when loved ones left for America because everyone knew they would never return to Ireland. And, there were coffin ships, so called because so many died on the trip at a time when it took seven weeks to cross the Atlantic. Heart-wrenching stories, these, unbearable tales of suffering, but all a part of the heritage of Ireland.

Names like O’Shea’s, O’Briens, Mulcahy’s identify shop buildings, pubs, street signs. Then, there is Blarney Castle and the Blarney stone. One hundred ten crumbling and narrow steps lead to the top of Blarney Castle and the stone which is said to give the gift of eloquence and which any writer cannot pass up. The top of the castle is a marvelous place to view the bogs, those treacherous areas which stretch on and on, keeping secrets hidden within their depths for centuries.

Yes, four and a half years later, a mist of Irish green still clouds my vision, and I remember Ireland, the magic of the island, and wonder if one day I will return.