Identity crisis over.
September 2016 and I feel like I am getting a handle on the blog. Missing the diary making aspect of blogging badly when I went ahead and set up my own website creativevisions.irish. So now I have the luxury of the two. This is for more personal musings and philosophising, not particularly engineered to drive seo and all of that. The other blog will hopefully be for more horticultural endeavours.
West Cavan Ness
I really didn’t have a clue when I moved here just how hard it was going to be. I am naive by nature and for some reason I thought living in the country would be wonderful. I didn’t think that I would be heading into territory that would be the most challenging of my life. There I was with a head full of Eco friendly ideas. How to save the planet and living close to nature. Actually nobody around here particularly wants to save the planet. Hardly anyone wants to garden. When I worked in the garden centres just about everyone wanted the fastest acting most toxic chemical to deal with their weeds. Mostly farmers actually but house holders as well. Hardly anyone read the labels or understood them. My ideals have has a serious pruning. Slurry tanks washed out in local rivers, Ah Sure, it’ill be grand sort of attitude. Fracking? bring it on vs a few concerned locals who had some long range vision.
A neighbour the other day complained bitterly at the loss of his hives. He had asked the local farmers to let him know when they were spraying. He said he felt like giving up altogether. Well I know just how he feels. For me it’s been one step forward and two steps backwards. I won’t go into it now. But suffice to say it’s been the soil, the weather, the working conditions, the xenophobia, the damp and a dollop of poverty to finish off any resilient optimism. In the fine dark mode I will share with you my poem.
Immaterial to me
It’s a blessing that the cows are still in the milking parlour and
The winding road is free of traffic
It’s a curse to always have the worry of running into them
I have a roof over my head now, that’s a blessing
But the damp’s a curse
And it’s a blessing I own my house,
A curse to have to share it with the bank
It’s a blessing to live in quite, gentle countryside, surrounded by lakes for every day of the year.
It’s a curse to be a blow-in
To have a beautiful child is a great blessing
It’s a curse her father has me demented
To live by the sea’s a blessing, to scoop up its infinite grey wisdom in my hands
I feel accursed by these lands
Some say to own land is a truly a blessing
These soils are a curse to work, unyielding and unforgiving, sod to snap a good shovel
Ground that is hungry, starved of life, drowning in its own reek
Stony real estate, hopeless and beggared, shunned even by tree roots