My newest project is that I’m applying for Irish citizenship, my paternal grandparents having come over from “the old country” (Limavady, Northern Ireland, #potatofamine).
Last night I thought to check the mean temp in, say, Galway: 60 F IN THE SUMMERTIME. Apparently it also rains literally ALL THE TIME.
Then I’m sorry to say I checked Is There Amazon in Ireland?
Then, this is what humans are reduced to when push comes to shove, I inquired: What do people eat in Ireland?
What came up was a photo of a giant tray of what I thought at first were fat stalks of pink asparagus but instead transpired to be PICKLED PIGS’ FEET (aka crubeens). The other thing they eat over there is Irish soda bread.
Next, fresh figs, nectarines, and plums being at the height of their season here in Southern Cal, I googled What kinds of fruit grow in Ireland?
December: apples. January: apples. February: apples. March: apples. April: apples. Then they get various kinds of berries for a few months, then back to apples.
It’s been well into the 90s here in Pasadena for the last couple of weeks, so the thought of a brisk walk in a drizzling rain, clad in a stout Irish knit sweater of water-repellent sheep’s wool actually sounds quite inviting.
All kidding aside, I’m quite hearty and have been trained since birth to “do without,” plus Ireland strikes me from the poetry and landscape to be beyond beautiful and in PROFOUND accord with my psyche and heart. I was over there once, in my drinking years, and stayed for a week with a bunch of other people in a stone cottage in Spiddal.
I was also supposed to have spent six weeks in Ireland this summer! I had a room booked at the Mercy International House in Dublin, then a month at a private-cottage hermitage at Glendalough Abbey in the Wicklow Mountains.
Naturally, that plan got scotched, no pun intended.
So Ireland has been much on my mind.
Let me know if you have a castle over there with an isolated turret in which you would like to install a resident artist.
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