Green Green Dreams

Ever since we arrived in Ireland, I've been a snob about the color green.   Because Ireland is considered the Emerald Isle, I naturally assumed the grass (and mountains and trees and other flora) would be greener on the other side of the Atlantic (and continent) than my own Emerald city of Seattle  Before I left, many folks I knew reinforced how GREEN Ireland would be.

All that hype inflated my great green expectations of Ireland to the point that they were impossible to meet.  Looking back at my photographs of Kilarney National Park, which we visited on Thursday,  I realized that I was being fooled by my own expectations:

Fortunately, a camera lens is not so easily fooled.   I could look back on the scenery and realize I was smoking something to have missed the vast expanses of green that unfolded before me:

I still take issue with the fact that the hill tops are missing a few trees.  The great oak woods were long ago cleared from these hills, leaving virgin stands in only a very few isolated places in Ireland.

But, that's another blog for another day.  For now, I take back what I said about you Ireland.  You may continue calling yourself the Emerald Isle.  It's a nickname well deserved.

James and the Giant Orange

James and the Giant Peach was a fantasy movie filmed in the twentieth century.
James and the Giant Orange, in contrast, was a reality TV show, popular in the seventeenth century.

The story goes like this.   James was an important guy who decided to be Catholic.   William, who came from a giant Orange as a duke, was not as an important a guy but he fixed that problem by marrying Mary, James half sister.   Mary, who was not particularly thrilled by being a political pawn or being married off to a rather ugly guy (William), cried through the entire wedding.   Thereafter, she composed herself and stayed married to William, but never had any children (put two and two together there).  

Even married, the protestants William and Mary weren't as powerful as James, so they crafted a plan to kick James off his throne.   They had a few battles over the whole affair, committed a few murders, and did a few underhanded things... all in the name of religion.   The fact that both Catholics and Protestants are Christian and fundamentally believe the same thing (that around two thousand years ago,  Jesus Christ came aboard on planet Earth to be savior of the world) had escaped almost everyone's attention at the time.  So the Catholics and the Protestants fought with each other and a Glorious Revolution ensued.  

Meanwhile, back in Ireland, the poor Irish once again backed the wrong guy... James, the Catholic.   When William and Mary's political and military ploys trumped those of James, James ran to France to avoid the prospect of his head becoming a separate entity from his body.  At the time, France was a rather Catholic-friendly nation (just ask Louis XIV), so this worked out all right for James. Unfortunately, the Irish could not just pick up their Ireland and move to France so they continued to take the hit for William and Mary's ongoing campaign, revolution, and "victory".   One of the many ugly battles to "subdue" the Irish (which most have figured out by now is an impossible feat) happened at Charles Fort, which we visited today:

Charles Fort is a star shaped fort, in line with Advanced Fortress Engineering of the 17th and 18th century that had to contend with the fact that massive artillery bombarding a fortress wall was a totally different animal than weapons and strategies of the previous centuries.   Even redesigned, however, the many hills around the fort created a problem, and the British and their buddy William overcame the defenses of the opposing armies, causing Ireland once again to fall under a rule that didn't suit anything about who the Irish truly were as a people.  

The moral of today's story.
History repeats itself... again, and again, and again.

And, watch out for oranges and marrying unattractive men.  You never know where they may lead.

The Rock

There once was a rock in the middle of the water with a wee bit of furze (looks like scotch broom, but it's not) and heather covering her.   The rock was unimpressive, nondescript, and hostile to all other forms of plant life.  Hostile happens when there is no soil on which any plant in its right mind can place roots. Alas, I realize I have implied that furze and heather are not in their right mind, but I've also implied that plants have a mind, so perhaps I am the one who is not in her right mind.

I digress.   This rock, located squarely in the middle of Bantry Bay in southwestern Ireland, went unnoticed for a very long time.   Until, one day, the British decided to build a fat round tower on top. They had little interest in the rock, but great interest in the defensive capability of the tower.  

Eventually, the British tired of beating up the Irish, and left (well, kind of).  The rock and its tower sat alone and unnoticed once again.   But then, in the early twentieth century, a man named Bryce bought it and hired a man named Peto to plant a garden on the rock. Peto did an admirable job of hauling soil, rocks, and other fundamentals to plant life over to the island, employing one hundred men, several years, and lots of money to do so.   Then, he put delicate plants from all over the world on this fresh new soil and renovated rock.   And, after taking one look at the brutal Atlantic winds blowing in from the South.... they died.

Bryce was not pleased with the situation, threw Peto into the wind, and hired a master gardener from Scotland (Murdo Mackenzie).   Mackenzie had the brilliant idea that perhaps all the fragile and delicate plant life transported from all over the world didn't particularly appreciate the brutal Atlantic winds.  So, he planted all manner of Scot and Monterrey pine in belts that sheltered the wee little delicate plants from those mean nasty winds.   And, sheltered as they were,... they didn't die.

In fact, they thrived and multiplied and managed to get along with hundreds of green friends from all over the world, until the island was nothing at all like its former sterile self:

Mackenzie spent the rest of his life making sure that Garnish Island remained a stellar example of gardening gone right.   The gardens were embellished with many an art form, including the traditional Italian garden layout:

Mackenzie could be an inspiration to us.  Someone told him you couldn't turn a sterile rock in a wet, cold climate into a slice of lush garden paradise.   But, he spent his life proving SOMEONE wrong.

Single mindedness does have its advantages.   Garnish Island in southwestern island can attest to that.

Same Old, Same Old... or Not?

Oddly, Cork is the second largest natural harbor in the world, next to the harbor in Sydney, Australia.   And, the Irish will be the first to tell you that Sydney gets a wee bit more sunshine and warm weather than the City Cork.  Regardless, on a sunny day, with the temperatures in the mid 60's, it's hard to find fault with this quaint city of 120,000.   Yet, today, while strolling along the River Lee, my husband, often known to be a fountain of creative and uplifting remarks manages the following:

"Looks like a dozen other cities that have a river running through ...
 Paris, Prague, London..."

I could only roll my eyes at such a comment because with that single thought, the costs, jet lag, ridiculously narrow economy-class seats, and any other number of hassles associated with traveling almost halfway around the world became pointless.

I am certain my husband did not mean this remark in the way it ended up coming out of his mouth, but it made me stop and think about what was different here.  The first thing that came to mind, of course, was that in other cities with rivers traveling through, I did not have a pint of irish lager and rich meat and potatoes lunch in my belly.   This surely slowed my pace if not changed my perspective on the scene before me:

In Cork, most of the walkways and thruways near the river that carry pedestrians, passenger vehicles, and an odd assortment of trucks were built directly on top of old waterways.  In modern day Cork, there is no need for these waterways to cater to ships, shipping, and water-based transport, so the River Lee has been architecturally free to host a delightful variety of low-hanging, romantic bridges and walkways:

Unlike the likes of Prague, London, Paris, and whatever other city has a river running through it, many of the houses along the River Lee are painted in all manner of colors, as if San Francisco had been transplanted to a river bank:

And, finally, the people in the City of Cork seem so much more laid back than this city's gigantic cousins to the east and south.   This may have as much to do with what they ate and drank for lunch as their general outlook on life, but the result is the same.  We ambled through the city today among others who were ambling.  We relaxed as others seemed to be.

And, simply enjoyed life in another place at a better pace.

Justice in the World

... comes in many forms.  Today, in Cork, Ireland, I saw one particularly gratifying form of justice.   In one of many (many, many) pubs in Cork city, I came across a beer menu (this is not a surprise). But, then more surprisingly, what to my wondering eyes did appear upon said menu but one shining reindeer:

No, no... that's not how the story goes.  Rather, while gazing at the menu in a cumbersome haze of jet lag brought on by flying halfway around the world from Seattle to Shannon, I saw a form of equality never before encountered in the United States of America:

It's true.  This photograph has not been manipulated in any way, shape, or form.  It is indeed possible to purchase a pint of Guinness at less cost per volume than Budweiser.   While the more rational and analytical of readers might say this is a natural consequence of lower transport costs and taxes (on Guinness) and the opposite for Budweiser in this beer-happy country, I prefer to think of it as a brief moment of sweet justice.   I know I should apologize to any Budweiser fans who may stumble across this blog, but I can't seem to get the words out of my mouth and onto my keyboard.   So, I will refrain.

Budweiser may be the King of Beers, but Guinness actually has the kind of deep, intense flavor that doesn't require intense advertising to market and sell.

My only question today is this:  given this rather attractive and endearing price advantage for Guinness and its many Irish cousins, does Budweiser hold a prayer for selling in Ireland?   Compared to the alternatives, it's hard to believe Bud has a meaningful and appreciable market.  Would you choose a Budweiser over a Fursty Ferret?

... or over a beer that might give you an STD?

The choices for beer and ale here in Ireland are seemingly endless.   I almost feel like a heretic when I choose a glass of wine over a pint of beer.

Oh well.  At least, I'm not choosing a Budweiser!

The Best Vacuum Cleaner Hoover never Made

During my time in China this summer, I simultaneously had a view of the air problem:

And the air solution:

Yet, we don't often link the two.  Sure, it would help the problem if in the next two days or so, emissions of particulates and air pollutants in China would drop by half.  I would even patiently wait two months for such a reduction.  If pressed, I might wait for two years.   But, in the absence of the political willpower and consumer sacrifice required to achieve such a miraculous reduction in toxic air pollution, we might want to consider planting another acre or two (or three) of those interesting green things that stand out in the photograph.

Just one will produce enough oxygen each year to match what two human beings consume by breathing in that same year.  Just one will consume about ten pounds of air pollutants every year and block immeasurable particulates from traveling to other cities and other places on our planet.  

They are simple, common, numerous, everyday... Remarkable, Majestic green trees. By design, they are nature's vacuum cleaner and are equipped with the best HEPA air filter ever made.   Their design goes well beyond anything Hoover ever imagined.   And also well beyond anything we, who stubbornly continue to spew pollutants into the air we breathe and poison the planet we just happen to inhabit, could ever design.  

With this knowledge in hand, we will apply our superior intelligence today, tomorrow, and the next day, well into the foreseeable future... to eliminating far more of these impressive air cleaning wunder machines than we plant.

When it comes to SugarLoaf, the Third time is the Charm

Whidbey island is a rather long and large island, extending 55 miles from tip to tip and between 1 and 12 miles wide, covering over 160 square miles.  At the southern tip, the Washington State Ferry is kind enough to charge us a few dollars to haul us over to the mainland by boat.  At the northern tip, we can drive over a bridge, cross over Deception pass, and drop onto Fidalgo island.

At only 41 square miles, is may look like a dwarf next to Whidbey, but topographically, Fidalgo is impressive.  Fidalgo has several peaks over 1000 feet, which may be wimpy for the mountainous west, but are impressive on a small island.   Anyone with two or four wheels can drive up the side of Mt. Erie and admires the view from the summit, but the lack of authenticity involved in driving to a summit prompts many to move to neighboring Sugarloaf, for a traffic-free hike up to the summit, with an equally stunning view... on the odd occasion when the weather is cooperative.   

To me Sugarloaf suggests the trail must be padded with soft white sand or evergreen needles, and the grade easy enough to "loaf" up the mountain.  A few steps onto the trail will dispel all such illusions and a quick check on Wikipedia tells us that instead, Sugarloaf is named for its characteristic conical shape, similar to the shape in which sugar was produced and sold until the late nineteenth century.

The hike up Sugarloaf is steep but short.  I had done it twice before, only to reach the top and find my head in the clouds, fog, or both.   A summit without a view.

This past Friday, however, after two days of rain and overcast skies, a golden opportunity rose with the sunrise in the eastern sky.  Hopeful, we hopped in the car and headed north, up the island, wondering: would the third time be the charm?

The rest goes without saying.

Sitting atop the summit, a window of time that might otherwise be forgotten, became a moment of simple, unforgettable joy.

A memory  to hold close and warm to my heart, when the rain and the chill comes back in a short few months.