In the Shelter

For two weeks in December we had the opportunity to volunteer with the Corrymeela Community in Ballycastle along the beautiful Antrim Coast.

Corrymeela was started by a small group of people who believed in creating a hospitality space where the work of reconciliation could occur. In 1965, this group managed to scramble together the money needed to buy a large, out-of-repair, old white house and property overlooking the ocean just outside of Ballycastle.

Today, the property is home to a small village with about eight buildings on site. During the working day, Corrymeela staff work at maintaining the property, searching for grants, running programming, and visiting with various guests at the Centre. Often, a community member will show up to volunteer or help run a program that they have taken part in planning. 24/7, a small group of people consisting of long term volunteers and interns from all over the world, and the occasional staff or community member, form the "lived community" onsite, dedicating their entire lives for a time to the work of learning to live together, which is what Corrymeela is all about. Long term volunteers work in all areas of the larger community's activity and, with staff support, "run group sessions using dialogue, experiential play, art, storytelling, mealtimes and shared community to help groups embrace difference and learn how to have difficult conversations".



Like any community, Corrymeela has its work cut out for it, and there are many ways in which it can grow and change to better realize its mission. It has its own hypocrisies and is not perfect, but during our visit we experienced a loving group of people who begin everything "with a welcome." Corrymeela people are people whose hearts and heads embrace continued discovery and examination of "the fractures in our world" while welcoming all on a journey to discover how best to live together. One of the many learnings from our visit that we are taking with us into 2016 is the Irish saying that Pádraig Ó Tuama, the community leader, is quite fond of:

"Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireas na daoine. ~ It is in the shelter of each other that the people live."

While up north, we enjoyed several days of rest from our tasks with the community and managed to visit the Giant's Causeway, only 30 km away, and explore the stunning coastline along Fairhead near Corrymeela.



The legends of the causeway speak of Oona McCool. According to legend, Oona was more cunning and wise than her well-known husband, the giant and Irish Warrior Folk Hero, Finn McCool. She understood the saying, "Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireas na daoine," and embraced the same principals of non-violent creativity and storytelling that Corrymeela now uses to help groups have difficult conversations. When her hot-headed husband was in danger, she recognized that the best way to transform his conflict with the Scottish giant, Benandonner, was to help him to humanize his opponent. And what better way to do that than to confront him with a baby almost as big as he was! In a humorous and creative way, Oona keeps clear of the dignity-destroying violence that both giants are so fond of, and shelters them both to live another day!

Stories of the Wet

So much of Ireland is water that fresh water has been free here until very recently, and still many people do not pay for it. Below are a few short accounts of November, the wettest month we've seen so far (we missed the flooding in December in Limerick because we were up North).

1. Swimming on Samhain...where no one can hear you scream

Halloween is native to Ireland. Before jack o' lanterns and costumes, before All Saints Day, while Jesus walked the earth in the Middle East, the Irish were celebrating Samhain. Festivities of the summer's end, a night when doorways between this world and other realms of fae and fortune opened, involved sacred fires, feasts, and keeping family close and safe. 

Today in Limerick, "trick or treat" is a serious event. If the children in costume at your door are not happy with their treats they may play a trick or two on you. Having already experienced being egged this fall while riding our bikes we were happy to be off to the wondrous woods of Wicklow for a weekend of kayaking in the picturesque national park about an hour south of Dublin.

Despite the more sinister reputation of Wicklow as a good place to hide a dead body, the hostel we stayed at in Glendalough was beautiful.

Glendalough, the 6th century home to St. Kevin, is a glacial valley with two lakes, a small town and remnant of St. Kevin's monastic settlement among some of the best kayaking rivers in Ireland.

We had a fantastic time on (and in) the Avonmore river and safely navigated Guinness rapids and the boulder garden, leaving Jackson's falls to the more experienced. On our run their was 2/3rd's of a foot less water than in this video but it gives a great idea of what the river was like:

2. The Mighty Mold

November = Rain = Wet. The walls are shaking again from the wind. We wake up to windows dripping in mosture. Water is everywhere here in November.
 
At the Coffee Dock Art Gallery we've started closing our door to keep the water on O'Connell street and off the paintings but are having trouble figuring out how to get our Open sign to stay put in the wind.

In the wet weather here, colds are catching and the moisture of the Shannon lingers in your lungs. Our student house at 86 Bru na Gruadan, unlike the houses we are used to in Canada, does not have central air ducts. Localized heat, poor airflow and moisture everywhere, we are naively learning, is the perfect recipe for mold.

One fine rainy morning when we looked at our bedroom ceiling in the second week of November, we found a spiral of light grey mold looking right back at us! Since that fateful day, we have been at war with the spore!


Colds have come and gone and come again, occasionally with headaches and sore throats. In the worst week, one of our housemates regularly wiped the spreading mold off his bedside window each morning when it was drenched in condensation. After successfully pestering the Landlord for bathroom fans that actually cleared the moisture, and several intense escapades against the spores, we're still coming out on top. Constant vigilance, regular boiler activity, and open windows despite the rain are a must.

3. Across the Shannon

Through the rain and the wind, warmth is found across the Shannon. When one ventures near the warm, wood-finished Academy, music washes away the mud. The last few weeks of November marked the countdown to end of the Fall semester at the Irish World Academy. The music and dance students fluttered about final rehearsals, preparing for their end of term Concerts before their final reflective papers and exams. With a community music ensemble performance, a traditional Irish fiddle performance, a gospel choir benefit concert and five papers due in the two weeks leading up to December 5th, Laura was fluttering around like a runaway reel while Joshua was trying to keep the beat steady with his heel.

One Voice, the MA Community Music Ensemble concert went well, and was quite the mosaic of music - bringing together community practices from all around the world.

The Darkest Midnight benefit concert was superb. The Academy was decorated in fresh pine boughs and warmed with multiple cauldrons of mulled wine and platters of mince pies - outdone only by the musical performances that night. Aside from Laura's performance with the gospel choir of "Winter Song" and "Ride On King Jesus" many other ensembles saw the stage, including Laura's program director, Kathleen Turner, and even Sandra Joyce, the director of the Academy, who gave a fantastic rendition of "Ye Rambling Boys of Pleasure," one of our new favourite songs.Walking home across the Shannon in the light drizzle, we carried the warmth of the music with us as we began to prepare for Christmas and the hope imbued in the slow return of the Light!

Wild Water

The Shannon glistens smooth below the empty city streets 
we tether our transport next to a bank hoping the cameras will keep watch

The bus shimmers into the station
like the fog above the smooth water of a concrete stream
we drift in its arms to Galway, the modern day fort at the mouth of a stony river
harsh winds blow us on as water bounces playfully on cobblestone

The Connemara wild beckons us out of our bus
we walk rain drenched into Letterfrack, a nineteenth century Quaker town on Barnederg bay

wild water welcomes us
cold and fierce, it rejuvenates the land
we walk on and are washed
dripping puddles form as we drop our packs in the National Park Visitors Centre

The steamy peat powered air warms our hands
we peruse the small museum on Irish Bogs and begin to dry

western blanket bog and heathland was once
great forests of pine and oak
first peopled five thousand years ago
the giant woods are now flaming purple moor grass tucked in with heather

The rain abated and we began
along ancient footpaths
above the sea and under the sky

Diamond hill was just out of town
its sharp ascent and six K return would just fit 
before sundown would require us to find a place to pitch our tent
and with the rain gone - off we went!

Shortly after starting, some more clouds rolled in.
The higher we got towards the 445 m top, the louder the wind made our rain covers pop.
We summited the peak inside a cloud, with wild, wild water roaring around.

Holding onto each other, we did not blow away
we inched forward together through mighty rough winds and the brief sting of hail.

Upon coming back down with care and grace
a vine covered holly tree found us in a perfect place.

The wild water rain was all about so we got out our tent
and up the fly went.

The fire in our souls kept our soaking-wet-everything warm
as I heated pasta in sauce on our small stove above the wet moss

With dinner done we donned wet clothes and marched down to town
for warmth and music Veldons Bar was sound.

Delicious smells of soups, fries and Guinness wafted around
and the traditional Irish session was quite profound

We splurged on some tea with warm cream and fresh biscuits
Oh did it fill us with the warmth of good wool
in this our wild water heaven.

- - - - - - - - - - -

The next day we rose with the sun and walked 6 K to Kylemore Abbey.

Nestled in the mountains across a lake it was quite beautiful.

Knowing the wild water could be back anytime we did not dally and began our hike at an old road. The road disappeared into sheep pasture and we followed a creek up the valley between two of the Twelve Bens, Benbaun (477m) and Knockbrack (442m).

 
We stopped for lunch on a small summit between the two peaks and then stowed our pack and started the ascent to Benbaun. The day was blue-sky and cotton-cloud. Beautiful.

When wild water came the high winds blew it past us within 5 to 10 minutes. Once rinsed, the wind tussle-dried us quick and water would give way to warm rays of sun. Views from the top of Benbaun were spectacular and the harsh and quick rain storms made for an early afternoon of many re-occurring blessings. Each time a storm passed the re-emergence of rays of light on the valley walls caused rainbows all around. It was like being born all over again to a new bright wild and wonderful world.

 In the afternoon, we found our way down the backside of Benbaun along the side of Knockbrack to the valley floor. Long moor grass and deep holes made it treacherous and difficult to see the ground.

After some time looking for a feasible place to get across the Polladirk river, we settled for finding a mid-shin deep section and took off our boots to wade across. The mountain runoff was freezing but it did wonders for our sodden bog soaked toes. Once across we rose out of the valley near an old, abandoned farm house.

Leaving Knockbrack in the dust, we turned to the back side of Diamond hill. Climbing it to rejoin the trail up to the visitors centre felt like the hardest part of the day. Our legs were on fire from traversing all the uneven bog grass terrain. When we got to the top of a ridge just south of Diamond Hill, we were relieved to see evidence of a manicured trail in the distance! We made it back to our tent just as it became dark, and enjoyed a second night of fantastic music at Veldons.

The next morning, sore from our walk, we decided to hitch a ride to Clifden, the largest town in Connemara. Peter, a student at the furniture making college down the road, gave us a lift and even took us to some nice views along the sky road.

After a  hour of walking around the small sea side town of Clifden, we got the bus back home to Limerick via Galway. As our wild hair trailed behind us, we pedaled home from the bus station in our somewhat dry clothes motivated by our fresh memories of the beautiful wild Atlantic coast.

The Burren and other pursuits

While Laura is researching, reading and practicing violin at the Academy I am caving, cooking and volunteering.

Monday mornings meander through mostly dead existentialist philosophers. So far, of Kierkegaard, Nietzsche, Rilke, Ortega and Jaspers my favorites are K, N and J. I enjoy K for his wonder in paradox and N for his creative pen, while J does a fairly good job of saying some things somewhat clearly - which is always nice. Before winter, I still intend to have brief but deepening interactions with the works of Heidegger, Sarte and Camus.

Monday evenings from 7-10 pm, I have taken to learning SRT (Single Rope Technique) with the Caving part of the Outdoor Pursuits Club. SRT is used to drop down into a hole or hoist yourself out of a cave by your harness and rope. While we have not used it underground yet, we did make a trip underground to the Burren a week and a half ago. The Burren National Park is situated in North County Clare. It is a rocky Karst landscape abundant in wildflowers, abandoned Neolithic settlements and spectacular views. Underground, it is home to Ireland's most interesting caves! 

A couple weeks ago, I arrived in the north Burren on a dark starry night. I walked through a very wet field and found a stream rushing underground. Saying goodbye to the sky, I followed the glistening waters through mysterious tunnels, large chambers and a small waterfall 20 feet under the earth.

Apparently J.R.R. Tolkien visited the Burren. It is believed that he based a large amount of the landscape in Middle Earth on what he saw there. In fact, some say that the name Gollum comes from the name of the longest cave in the Burren, Poll na gColm (pronounced Pole na Gollum), the cave of the rock dove.

 

During the course of the week, I also spend time on rivers above ground improving my kayaking skills. Kayaking river trips happen once a week through the UL Kayak Club and, if they are up by Castleconnell, they take about 4-5 hours to load the boats, gear and glide down the river.

This afternoon I would be going on a trip but I have a pestering cut along the tip of my right index finger from slicing homemade sourdough bread for stuffing this past weekend and I want it to heal. Last week in the kayak, I successfully did several T-rescues out the Castleconnell way! Hopefully my finger heals quickly so I can make the most of the kayaking pool training sessions that Laura and I have been trying to make it to on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday nights.

Tuesdays and Wednesdays are very full. Tuesday mornings I am helping to start a morning math and science drop-in for refugee and immigrant youth who are not able to get into the school system here because their English is too poor. Wednesday mornings I am a volunteer ELL tutor and have about six students for a basic conversational English class. Both afternoons I spend running a drop-in tea and coffee dock and local Art Gallery. The Coffee Dock/Gallery just opened last week and is run out of a building downtown owned by Christ Church. Having gotten some grant money to start the initiative, Vicki Lynch, the pastor at Christ Church, is hoping that the coffee dock will provide hospitality to all who enter and a space to connect community life in the downtown core from 11am to 6pm Monday - Saturday. While it was just Vicki, myself and her daughter Anna working on establishing it and planning what it would look like over the last two weeks, we have started to fill out the proposed Gallery open hours with volunteer shifts and we will see where it goes!

Weekends (Thursday - Sunday) are not routine. I usually practice guitar. After about an hour, of slow and haphazard G-C-D or Am-E-C cording, my fingers can't hold down the strings so I pull out the tin whistle or harmonica to give my fingers a break. The only song I partially know on tin whistle at this point is a polka called Britches Full of Stitches.

Some weeks I have gone on kayaking trips, sometimes both Laura and I will travel. The OPC (Outdoor Pursuits Club) has day hikes on Sundays and a bouldering centre that I make use of when I can to work on my climbing skills (Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and climbing workshop Wednesday).  Aside from that, I am enjoying finding ways to use up Alexi, my pet sourdough starter, who at the moment, doubles in size twice a day. (Once seasoned, in another two weeks, Alexi will live in our fridge and will only need to be used once or twice a week.) From pizza, bread and pancakes to biscuits - I haven't done this much baking in a while!

~Joshua