I don't remember ever being alone for this long. I go days without seeing anyone. Any human, that is. The days I do see people, I don’t always engage with them. They are either driving a car or tractor or working in a yard or field. I’m okay with this arrangement if I can take long walks outdoors. But even walking has its limits. Although it’s good for me physically/mentally and connects me to nature, it doesn’t link me to humanity as directly as conversing with another individual. A good conversation provides unlimited returns. I need reminders that most people are okay.

When I’m indoors for several days and have neither a walk nor a conversation, I feel isolated. The silence gets heavy. That happens here. The wind at Carraig-na-gCat, which Danjoe described as the four winds (wind from every direction) and rain, not every day but many, makes walking undesirable, to put it gently. It makes being alone undesirable also.

When the weather is good or even okay, I walk. When I see a person, I attempt a conversation if possible. I will approach almost anyone, if they seem sane, and talk to them. This isn’t just something I do in Ireland; this is me always. Everyone has a story to tell, and I’m good at listening (mostly). The more stories I collect now, the more I will have stored away for the days I need to break the silence in my head. Unfortunately, traveling as a solo female can be risky. There are moments when my method of story collecting has put me in danger – almost. Sometimes it’s a cultural faux pas I have made, but not always.

Just this week I met three people. First was Nora Carney. She is a neighbor in Ireland. When I say neighbor, I use the term loosely. Nora is a ten-minute walk down a hilly, windy, narrow gravel road. She shared her life story moments after I spotted her as I passed heading to Dromberg Stone Circle. She lives alone and doesn’t drive (which is a necessity given the location of her home), her brother died last year on February 24th, and all her friends are back in England, where she spent 37 years of her life. She says those were her happiest years. I waved to Nora as I passed her house this morning.

Then there is the man I call “sea glass man”. I was at Prison Cove on low tide collecting stones with raised, white circular lines. My youngest son labeled them “worm rocks” (see photo below) after viewing an image I shared in our family chat. Sea glass man showed me what he had collected. We chatted briefly. He is from Dublin and has a summer home near Glandore with a walk-in fireplace. He said he feels most at home here. Every Summer, he scouts for sea glass upon arrival. He is older, with wild hair, and enthusiastic about life: a character. I’m drawn to unusual people. He offered me a ride home; I paused briefly considering the option. I declined because half the point of my visit to the cove was to get in a good walk. But why did I even pause? In hindsight, I remind myself to never accept a ride anywhere ever with a stranger! Sometimes my curiosity derails common sense.

Next, I met Kathy Hurley outside the West Cork Arts Centre in Skibbereen. I was resting on a bench after investigating the town and attending the opening at the art center, waiting for Danjoe to whisk me back home. Kathy asked if the other half of the bench was free before sitting with a coffee and a bag of mixed nuts in her hands. I waited a minute or two, then asked if she was from around here. We chatted: she is an artist, has a piece in the show, and lives in Ireland with her daughter. We talked about art and life. She is English and said she was immediately drawn to the Irish landscape when visiting more than twenty years ago. The weather is more severe here than in England, I learned, yet she prefers it. We exchanged contact information.

These encounters provide fuel for days when I may not speak to or see another human. At home in Michigan, when I’m not teaching, I spend my studio time in solitude. I cherish that time. I need silence to connect with my thoughts. I don’t see myself as a social person, but I am, with limits. In Ireland, I don’t have my daily routines; the rituals that connect me with humanity. I need conversations – stories – to remind myself that we are all connected and need each other.

Dromberg Stone Circle. Stone circles are considered scared sites in Ireland. This circle was constructed in the middle or later period of the Bronze Age, approximately 3,000 years ago. The name Drombeg derives from the Irish Droma Bhig, meaning ‘the small ridge’.

Wild flowers near the stone circle.

“Worm rocks.” The raised, white lines resemble caligraphy.

West Cork Arts Centre in Skibbereen. A lively and well attended opening for their member’s annual exhibition.

West Cork Arts Centre

West Cork Arts Centre. Lovely, modern building.

Glandore, Ireland. A fishing village that is a 60 minute walk from the residency. I walked there and back on a sunny day.

Glandore.

The Nun’s Strand in Glandore.

The Nun’s Strand appears to be a public beach tucked away. I had to walk down a steep path to get here.

The Nun’s Strand.

Luckily I was there at low tide which allowed me to go further along the coast.

Admiring a neighbor’s planting.

Foggy evening at Carraig-na-gCat.

Rain, rain, rain.

Sometimes it rains for days. Rain is ok, it’s the wind that’s intense. As it passes around power lines it strikes a note. If you are under a point where lines intersect, it’s musical.

Morning light heading Southeast on a walk.

Same morning, same walk.

A  summer cottage on the sea.

I’m building this little number as a summer getaway. Start packing, family!

Somewhere in Southern Ireland on a walk in the hills.