The walk into the village now is pleasant. The evenings are long, it is light until after 10:00, though I’m usually well in before then. On one side of the road the waters of Galway Bay vary on the day between glass calm and frothing whitecaps, in color from a clear brilliant blue to grey and angry green.
On this evening it is calm enough, there is some wind on the water pushing up small waves and wrinkles on the surface. The tide is in, bringing the water right up to the wall along the road. A few feet to spare yet, but I wonder, on a stormy high tide, do waves leap the wall?
On the other side of the road are a scattering of homes and cottages, holiday homes I wager for the most part. It seems, now that I’ve had a chance to spend some time here, that Ballyvaughan is largely a village for tourists. There are a few locals who stay year round, but there are many, many B&Bs and rental cottages in and around the village.
My last few days here. It is going to take a long time to digest all that I’ve learned, seen and experienced in the past 9 months. For now, it has been a well spent time.
I’ve learned quite a bit about my painting and about art in general. Can’t say I know yet what is going to come of it. I will keep drawing and painting, that is a given. What it is going to turn into, that is still open. I do know I am drawn to doing animals, in realistic rendering, and in landscape both as a background for subjects, and as a way of registering a sense of place.
I have also learned I am interested in traveling more. In looking back, the trip to Italy was a highlight for me. Something I never really thought I’d do, but am very glad I did. I would like to see more of the places I’ve read about in history, and of places where my ancestors would have left behind. I will certainly come back to Ireland to visit, and I am still particularly drawn to County Donegal.
And then there are the little things. References in reading or conversation or movies that now have more meaning because I have a context to put them in. And how differently we frame our thinking. I made a comment to some friends here one time about how Yellowstone was not far from where I had lived, about 200 miles. They sputtered at the thought. That is a major journey in the context of this place, where the next village is only a few short miles away, and you are never further than 150 miles from the edge of the island itself.
The smell of peat fires now brings warm and pleasant memories of walks through the village, or home after school on a cold and blustery evening. How much I’ve become dependent really, on the internet and the fact that it doesn’t exist everywhere, and where it does connections can be slow and dodgy. Soda bread is my downfall, particularly a thick slice toasted with melted butter in the morning alongside a bowl of wheatabix.
Walk on the footpath, not sidewalk; Hoover the house instead of vacuum. Use the cooker, rather than the oven for fixing dinner. Put recycle and rubbish in the bin. Very good things are grand rather than great. Everyone talks on a mobile, with a long i. Never ask for ride, its a lift. Young children go to cresh rather than daycare. And always start a conversation with a comment about the weather which can be soft, lovely, dull, bright, fresh and it will change before the sun sets.
I am building a slide show to post here that I hope will capture some of what I saw and heard. I hope to have it up in a couple of weeks. Stay tuned.