onward

After two weeks spent at home-home (two glorious weeks!), suitcases and boxes are getting re-packed to prepare for the move down south. It's been a beautifully cool early summer here in the generally dusty dry Central Valley. Yesterday I took a drive with friend J, towards California Hot Springs, and was amazed by the colors still cloaking the hills. We drove past pale greens, patches of blue, purple, and yellow.




I don't know if I will continue writing here; it was mainly to fill folks in on what was happening while I was away, but maybe I will continue to share photographs or other things that catch my fancy.

Love!

visions of spring

My life has been all about writing writing writing for the last three days, and will remain so until next Tuesday when I (hopefully!!) print and bind my Independent Study Project and present it for grading. I'm really nervous, mostly because I don't feel like my writing will do justice to the individuals I've been lucky enough to enjoy the company of for the last three weeks.

So this will be brief! Here is a view of spring, taken last week in Derry. That day, the whole world felt green.

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

This poem was up in my host mom's house in the North, and I'd always been a little biased against it (for silly reasons, really - I guess I'd felt it was cliche). But reading it in that house in Derry made a big impression on me, and I find myself coming back to it often.

On the subject of flowers - my walk to the DART station these days is colorful and bloomy - springtime has truly sprung! I'll have to bring my camera with me one morning and share the view.

brevity

I could write a novel, but I won't. My energy is gone and has been gone for weeks, it feels like.
Our three weeks in the North were divided up into several different parts. We went to Armagh, Belfast (and a brief, glorious weekend at Corrymeela) and finally Derry. I think that I felt the most at home in Belfast - maybe because we stayed in dormitories, and I felt as if I had a space of my own. I can't say that I got to know the city very well during 9 days, but I found places that I could sort of lay claim to (the fruit and veg shop down the street from the college, for one). I think I will return there for two or three weeks in April to do research for my big paper.

Corrymeela was a beautiful burst of sun and sea and being able to sink toes into grass and laugh unrestrained.


We were in Derry at a tense time - the Bloody Sunday inquiry was due to be released (but was pushed back again, much to the frustration of many), dissident activities were picking up again, and it was St. Patrick's day, which meant that a lot of Tricolors were flowed and worn. Everyday life wove itself in with all of this.

Coming back to Dublin felt a bit like coming home. Meabh looked at me with big eyes and said, "I missed you. We didn't play ANY cards while you were gone."
And after three weeks away, the trees have suddenly bloomed and front lawns are dotted with snowdrops and daffodils.

Ceasefire

by Michael Longley, a poet from Belfast

I
Put in mind of his own father and moved to tears
Achilles took him by the hand and pushed the old king
Gently away, but Priam curled up at his feet and
Wept with him until their sadness filled the buidling.

II
Taking Hector's corpse into his own hands Achilles
Made sure it was washed and, for the old king's sake,
Laid out in uniform, ready for Priam to carry
Wrapped like a present home to Troy at daybreak.

III
When they had eaten together, it pleased them both
To stare at each other's beauty as lovers might,
Achilles built like a god, Priam good-looking still
And full of conversation, who earlier had sighed:

IV
'I get down on my knees and do what must be done
And kiss Achilles' hand, the killer of my son.

I read that poem today; it was hanging on the wall of a mediation center.

Here I am, in Northern Ireland. I'm staying outside of the Belfast city centre, at a teacher's college, though the group is in Belfast proper for most of our days. We began our time in the North in the border area of South Armagh, traveling up to the city almost a week ago. I can focus on writing about little things, like the plants growing through the cracks in the sidewalk, or the robin I saw this morning, or my newfound love for beans on toast. But not the bigger things. I think I am beginning to understand now why one of our speakers at Glencree laughed (bitterly?) when he spoke about the term "post-conflict." What does post-conflict mean? Is that what you call it after people stop killing each other? I don't know.

I'm not sure if this carrot is graceful or grotesque, but I am a fan of the way it decided to grow. On Sunday afternoon, I made my way to the weekly market in Dun Laoghaire (Dun Leary or in Irish, pronounced something like Doone Lerah). It's only a 20 minute walk from the house, and held in a park that borders the sea. I bought a generous veg curry for lunch and walked around like a kid in a candy store bull in a china shop fusion. I wasn't alone; I think everybody was crashing into each other to some degree as they ogled everything.

Food! Books! ...! Thai food, Chinese, Japanese, Indian, Middle Eastern, German (German bread, mmm); there were tables displaying jewelry, tables with cakes, fudge, a fairly large organic produce section (see carrot), used books, stands that sold various herbal teas and cider (brandied or un-brandied)... oh, I could go on.

Today I purchased a magical expanding backpack for the journey north. The group will be in Armagh, Belfast, and finally Derry for the next three weeks and it would be good to travel light; I always get stressed out about luggage. So hopefully this magical expanding backpack will prove to be magical enough!

I leave you with one of my favorite graffitis in the city.

Here are thoughts about the past week - it's been difficult to reduce them to words, but we were assigned to do so. This was written in a haze of headache, so I don't know how cohesive it is.

Place

Physical geography of the coast was the most easily distinguishable aspect of “place”, though by no means did it encompass a comprehensive picture of the area. Because we had arrived at Kilcommon Lodge at night, we had no idea what the landscape would look like, and morning was a beautiful surprise. Long stretches of field, hills – both bare and covered with old trees, and down near the sea: cliffs, dunes, and bog. The nature walk that we took with Simon on the first morning helped to begin unfolding what this place meant. Simon talked about the geographic history of the Erris Peninsula, telling us stories about shipwrecks off the wild coastline, the famine wall, and how inhospitable the soil was for growing anything. He also told us about the marine life, mammals, and birds that live in the area – a thriving ecosystem for such a wind-whipped wilderness.

As we continued to meet with people and listen to their words, it became clear that there was a deeper meaning attached to each feature of the land that we saw. Vincent McGrath and Micheal O’Seighin spoke with us about the significance of naming; naming things and places helped to orient ancient people and also connected them with the place. Different names also had different nuances, because, as Micheal said, those with the power get to name. Choosing to use one name over another can indicate one’s loyalties and position, and may have political implications, so names are always not taken lightly. Vincent’s work with mapping aimed to restore many of those old names, to help connect present Erris with the past. I thought of the United States while we were discussing this, and how many places have been re-named from their older, Native American names.

Meeting with the Corduffs, and reading sections of The Rossport 5 illustrated to me how these two things – surface, or physical, geography and a ‘deeper’ geography (I don’t think the two are ever really mutually exclusive) – come together to form a personal narrative rooted in the land. The Corduffs said that the boggy soil and harsh weather make it difficult for much to grow, and unless it is deliberately planted and tended, the crop or vegetable won’t produce – all farmland is reclaimed bog; reclaimed by hand. One person told us, “You won’t take anything from the land that you haven’t put into it.” It struck me that through meticulous cultivation day in and day out, farmers and those who live off of the land or the sea have a sort of conversation, and thus a relationship, with the physical geography of Erris. That really stayed with me; it helped me to understand attachment to place a little bit better, and the way in which a threat to the land or sea can easily become a personal threat, as well.

People and Community

The community was diverse; insiders as well as outsiders were living in a small space, all linked together by the Corrib conflict and, it seemed to me in many cases, a shared respect for and defensiveness of place. I was wondering about this insider/outsider dynamic, and whether it caused tension. Betty, our hostess, told me that the Solidarity Camp members helped to boost up the spirits of locals and other activists. If they were not wanted, they would not be here, she told me. Afterwards, I spoke with Lanka, one of the members of the Camp, about the conflict and its repercussions within the community. She said that the most tragic thing for her to see was the split it had created amongst the inhabitants of the area.

People were very willing to speak about the importance of place for them, and the way that the community’s personal landscape had been affected by this project. Mary Corduff spoke about the way that their lives had been absolutely changed the past ten years. They woke up early to go protest, afraid that if they didn’t go one day, Shell would win. She spoke about living with a feeling of weariness and the fear of defeat. If Shell succeeded, she didn’t know what they’d do. Betty spoke to me about the sense of appreciation and love that maybe one wouldn’t have if one grew up in the area. She chose to come here, she said, and thus she also has a deep attachment to the place. It is her adopted home. Micheal, Vincent and Treasa all imparted deep historical knowledge and through that sought to reinforce the importance of place. Through mapping, knowledge and telling of the area’s myths, and providing a place to practice and learn the language of the place, Irish, they were preserving the area’s heritage.

Meeting with representatives from Shell was difficult after being in the affected community; I felt very defensive and ready to be angry. The truth was, though, that Shell’s PR people were just that – people. They had their own histories, struggles, and biases. Christy’s son is a Garda, so it makes sense that Christy would be wary of protesters and concerned for his son’s safety. This is by no means any excuse for police brutality, but I understand a father fearing for his son’s wellbeing.

Conflict

The conflict only became more complex – at times even paradoxical – when I arrived. I was glad to have gotten an overview before we arrived in Mayo, but like many people talked about during de-briefing, visiting and speaking only muddied the waters. I thought that I would come away with a clearer picture, but I only got a more complicated picture. More issues arose as people voiced their concerns to us. The main issues are twofold, it seems; these are health and safety, and political and ideological. These two veins of thought encompassed many other questions and issues. Most people we talked to agreed that the conflict was not a pro/anti gas conflict, and that gas is a necessary reality, but it was instead a dispute about the way in which the project had decided to proceed. What the project had succeeded in doing, it seems, is give a small number of the community unsustainable work (though Shell’s definition of “local community” is a little bit questionable to me, as it encompasses all of Mayo), and has reinforced the feeling among the Erris community that the government has little concern about their livelihoods.

The Shell PR response to many of these questions seemed compelling enough – that the project would provide jobs for the local community; that Shell had a keen interest in building a sustainable community and showed its involvement by offering scholarships to schoolchildren and businesses; that the majority of people are for the project in its current form; and that it is impossible to hold talks with local community members when they will not listen. They assured us that there had been much community consultation before the beginning of this project. However, Shell was clearly not interested in seeing the project in a historical, political, and environmental light. Wrestling with the ideas of place and community are not easy, and multinational corporations are in the business to make money, not friends. That much was made clear during our visit to the processing plant and the question and answer session afterwards.

I feel that nothing I write will adequately portray the way I perceived that week in Mayo. I had difficulty writing this; I felt that addressing each part separately would help me to focus on each thing, but in trying to separate them, I realized just how connected each component is to another. Micheal told us that the environment, the land, these things are not separate from the community and historically never have been. Seeing this first hand was an intense experience.

Perhaps the only certainty I’ve taken from this experience is this: nothing good or helpful can happen when people are dehumanized and reduced to stereotypes, when they are marginalized and left out of dialogue. This is especially problematic when it comes to Shell, as Shell is not a person, but a corporation – a faceless force. But that force is made up of many people. In the midst of conflict, it is easy to demonize the other side –whether it is Shell reducing dissenting locals to eco-terrorists, or something else – but I do not think that it is ultimately going to help. I do not know if people can build bridges on their common humanity alone, but I do believe it is worthwhile to try.

adios for a week!

Happy Valentine's Day, from me (and my darling be-sweater-ed hot water bottle) to you!

Today is significant for me because it marks one year since I made a very important and painful decision, and stepped further into the unknown. I was thinking about that as I walked through the streets of Dublin this afternoon. It's been a difficult year, but I am grateful for it in so many ways.

I'm sorry that I haven't been more talky this week, but it's been a busy one and most of my energy has been going to trying to stay awake when I need to be awake.

Today was a fun break, though, going into the city and sampling delicious desserts (plus a goat cheese - tomato savory tart) with a bunch from the student group. After I got back to the house, the girls and I folded origami and Meabh created a play involving swans (we made some origami swans) and treachery. I provided dramatic music. The swans were named Francoise and Clara; Francoise was a mean swan, but eventually he lost weight and gained a bunch of muscles and suddenly became a lot kinder. Hmm. But Clara ran off with another swan, and Francoise got a girlfriend who was a butterfly - which was great for him, because somehow he did not have any wings. But during the curtain call, Francoise started to bully Clara again. It was pretty confusing, but also quite compelling.

Tomorrow, I am leaving for a week (on a train!) to go to the westernmost of west Ireland in County Mayo. It's the site of the ongoing Corrib gas controversy, something that began in the mid-1990s and has really escalated. I am looking forward to talking with locals (and Shell spokespeople) and learning. The controversy echoes struggles I am familiar with in Indonesia between locals who actually live in the areas that gas pipelines/fisheries/chemical plants are put, and the multinational corporations that own the plants.

Sleep sweet, friends.

lights

Tonight, Meabh took out some colored pencils and a notepad, and wrote down all the good things she could think of about Thursday - her least favorite day of the week. After she was finished, she drew a rainbow and a bright sun at the bottom of her list and said she felt so much better. I think I'll take a lesson from Meabh the next time I'm feeling down.

afternoon in howth

I am determined not to stay in the house! So, this afternoon, I took the DART (oh, delightful DART) and visited Howth, a fishing town to the north of Dublin. It was very cold, which inspired me to keep moving. Despite the chilly weather, there were lots of people out sailing, and a couple people kayaking. I walked down both the piers, stopping for fish and chips and a cup of coffee along the way. On my way from the first pier to the second, I looked down into the water and was surprised to see three seals staring right at me! We watched each other for a while, and then they were on their way.

craic!

Today I traveled into the city with Kelly. We should have guessed, from the long line running out of the DART station, that it would be quite a day. Somehow, I’d forgotten that it was the first rugby match of the season – the game was held in Croke Park, Dublin – and the trip in was a crush of green-adorned rugby fans. I don’t know how we all managed to fit into the carriage, but we did, and everybody was extremely good-natured about having to share a very close space with a bunch of strangers. In fact, we nearly missed our stop because we were having such a good conversation with the fellow next to us, who was going in to watch the match with his young son.

We, however, did not go to see the match. We went into town to visit the National Gallery and perhaps get free movie tickets for an event that the Irish Film Institute was putting on.

Galleries are always difficult because there’s so much to see – and I could stare at one painting all day. This gallery is really large, with four floors and many many rooms full of paintings and sculptures. I wrote down my favorites, which were “The Wave”, by Nathaniel Hone (sadly, that website doesn't show you a picture of the painting, but it's good to see some of his other work), Walter Osborne's plein-air painting, "In a Dublin Park", Francis Danby's "The Opening of the Sixth Seal" and especially Chaim Soutine's "Landscape with a Flight of Stairs."

Back at the Irish Film Institute we got tickets for the only show not sold out, which was a look back at travel films about Ireland from the early to mid 1900s. They were so campy and fabulously restored.

We spent the rest of the day walking around town and seeing the festive mood manifest itself in street performances, balloons, flags, and friendly chatting. There were a lot of Italians in the city for the match, and although Italy lost, it seems like everyone was making the most of the opportunity to be in Dublin.

thoughts on living in a big family (1)

Today was the first really soggy day since the arrival in Dublin. ("Awful weather, just awful!" lamented my host mom at dinner, to which her sons shot back, "Isn't it always this way?") The photo was taken from the window at the SIT building. After class, I slogged to the DART station in the rain, and made it through the door just in time for dinner.

The girls are involved in school plays, and as a result, everyone has bits of songs from both Aladdin and The Wizard of Oz drifting through our heads. Fionnuala rehearsed her lines after dinner, and I taught the girls + Ronan (whose name means "little seal" - i'll get to this later) a card game. Following that, the younger sister rolled herself up in her mom's yoga mat and declared herself to be "a vegetarian sausage", and then decided to act out the meanings behind each of our names. When it came to Ronan's turn, she said, "LITTLE seal? More like BEACHED WHALE!" and flopped around the kitchen, being a beached whale. It was horrible and hilarious. At that same moment, the phone rang ("Oohh, it's your boyfriend!" was the chorus that followed). It turned out to be someone taking a survey. They oldest boy, Michael, grabbed the phone out of Ronan's hand, and said, in a very thick Northern Irish accent, "Aah, aye, I'm the man of the house" which led to a long conversation about the economic downturn and how it was affecting him, a rural homeowner. The girls dissolved into giggles and the boys egged him on. So the whole evening was very silly and wild.

This is the first of I'm sure many reflections on living with a large family. When I first heard that there were 5 children in the house I'd be living in, I was overwhelmed and unsure of how I'd fit in, only ever knowing life with one sibling. Now that I've been here for a little while, it's difficult to imagine this family with anyone missing, because each person - as trite as it may sound - helps to make it work.

connections

Before I left, Mom tucked a poem into my suitcase. It was by W.S. Merwin, titled

"One of the Butterflies." I'd only pulled it out to look at it this morning. Why did the poet's name sound so familiar? I realized that it was because, riding the DART the other day, I had copied down a Merwin poem that had been written on the side of the carriage.

One of the Butterflies

(Ma)

The trouble with pleasure is the timing

it can overtake me without warning

and be gone before I know it is here

it can stand facing me unrecognized

while I am remembering somewhere else

in another age or someone not seen

for years and never to be seen again

in this world and it seems that I cherish

only now a joy I was not aware of

when it was here although it remains

out of reach and will not be caught or named

or called back and if I could make it stay

as I want to it would turn to pain.

Separation

(DART)

Your absence has gone through me

Like thread through a needle.

Everything I do is stitched with its color.

a picture of the present

Courses have officially begun. I like the commute into and out of the city; besides giving me time to psych up for and decompress from the day, the DART takes me through a bit of country, out to the coast, into suburbs and finally into Dublin itself. From the train, it's about a twenty minute walk to the building where our studies are held. It's located in the inner city, among public housing projects. We walk past a demolition site and rows upon rows of apartments with drying laundry spilling out of the tiny balconies. Next to one apartment complex, there's a large sign that says ABSOLUTELY NO BALL PLAYING OF ANY KIND, placed near an incredibly inviting stretch of open grass. A few doors down is our building, looking quite shabby and unassuming, but sporting a bright red door. The building itself is very old - it dates back to the 1700s and as such has many idiosyncrasies (like - uneven floors, steep and narrow stairs, small hallways, and lots of twists and turns, the full effects of which make me feel a little bit like I'm on a boat). There's a kitchen in the building where all the students crowd into and grab our cups of tea and coffee before class and during breaks, and where we'll probably be making lunches for the next three months or so.

This afternoon we walked all over the city and ended up at a little Italian restaurant. It felt so good to sit and be still.

Trad!

Yesterday I ventured out of the house to try to find the sea and explore the town a little. It was bright but very cold.

In the afternoon, I met up with some of the others in our group, and we bumbled our way through the DART system (Dublin Area Rapid Transit) in search of the Trad festival which was going on in the Temple Bar area of the city.

We made it there, and followed the music to a clearing which opened on a crowd of people dancing and clapping and listening to

wonderful group that was performing on a small stage. Funnily enough, we ran into a volunteer from Glencree (and ran into her one more time, later) who was also out enjoying the day.

Eventually, we made our way to THE Temple Bar, in which a fantastic trio (accordion, fiddle/voice, and guitar) was playing. The accordionist officially has my heart. Ah. John and Kelly had a pint (or rather, a glass for Kelly) and Britt and I had sips of each, and just soaked in the sounds.

okay, i'll bite!

It's been almost a week since I drove from P'ville down to LAX and boarded a plane to Ireland. This program seems a lot more fluid than I was anticipating, which is a welcome break from the past couple of semesters.

Right now I'm sitting in my host ma's kitchen, listening to one of the boys play guitar in the other room, and watching light pour in from outside. The family's cat, Socks, is asleep in the sunny on the trampoline. Their back garden is deep, with a vegetable garden (which they mulch themselves!) at the very end, and a birch tree closer to the door. The aesthetic is different here, but somehow it's also familiar - in a funny way, it feels like Singapore or Indonesia, but I think that's only because some of our friends there were European and still held onto parts of that aesthetic, even there.

My host sisters are darling - their names are Meabh and Fionnuala. They love to read and do sports, and are chirpy and full of questions. It's good that they're so social, because I have a lot of questions for them, too. Meabh has been especially patient telling me things about her school - she's in fifth grade - and explaining words or activities that I'm not familiar with. They're in public school, but it seems much more comprehensive than school in the US. M showed off what she learned in yoga (which they're learning in PE!!! jealousy!) for me after dinner, and Fionnuala and I talked about how much we love Harry Potter (M says "I don't really think I'm old enough to read those yet. Maybe next year.") and The Little House on the Prairie.

The boys are all gangly and tall and pierced, and very into sport, video games and music. They mumble and speak so fast that I can't keep up. Their names are Ronan, Conor, and Michael. They tease their mother incessantly, as all teenaged boys should.

Backing up, though, I'll speak a little bit about the first few days, pre-homestay (I've only just been at the house since yesterday afternoon). After meeting up with the group - which is a fantastic group of people - we drove into the mountains to a place called Glencree. It was isolated but lovely. Though the center was founded in the 1970s, the buildings have been there since the 19th century, and have historically been places of conflict and pain. It's fitting that it should be turned into a place of healing. There, we received lectures about celtic spirituality (followed by a visit to a beautiful and ancient monastic city at Glendalough), reconciliation work and peace work, and got to know each other a little better. I'm looking forward to going back.

Today I took a walk down to the sea. There's a small park by the water with a sort of boardwalk that's inviting to dog walkers, families, joggers and Claras.

I'm so thankful to be here.