It’s Friday night, I make a short but strong cocktail and take it outside for the first slurps in the waning afternoon light and watch the starlings getting ready to roost. I eat a plate of homemade chips with shop bought mayo then have a hot shower by candlelight. Afterwards I realise I’ve put my pyjamas on inside out but smile at the mistake and don’t rectify it. I saunter happily and lazily into the living room to watch the rest of Jurassic Park with the kiddos. Isn’t Dr Ian Malcolm such a cool dude? He has the utmost respect for nature, he knows her power.
My nine year old tells me he told the kids at school he doesn’t like Saint Patrick because actually he’d rather there were still snakes in Ireland. I love his wee brain; his appreciation of the natural world and his ability to see all creatures as equals. In fact, Ireland never had any snakes and old St Paddy was most likely referring to the pagans when he said he’d banish them from Ireland…not exactly a beacon of equality, you could say he had a major lack of tolerance and an inability to respect others beliefs. You’d like to think things have moved on since the 400’s. Hmm, dubious.
This week, when everyone can be Irish and the festivities go on for days, I wonder what their thoughts are of the famous Emerald Isle, their ancestral home perhaps, the land of myth and legend? Have they visited her ’32 counties and 40 shades of green?’ This little island is a special place, we know the stories of giants and warriors and queens that made her, the green glens, mountains and rugged countryside that define her. The magic and stories visible in the dolmens, stone circles and souterrains, her sorrowful scars and heartbreak in the abandoned villages and bog roads.
I’ve spoken before of the importance for me to know the land that holds me, to feel some sense of belonging. My commitment to this ideal is reciprocal in respect; she has created a home for me so I will get to know her, every county; finding my favourite places, observing the nuances mile by mile; the subtle changes in accent and idiosyncracies of landscape. I remain open minded, purposely forcing contemplation without prejudice; reading and researching facts and historic details through topography rather than the politics or religion that sadly so often shape opinions here. She is a beautiful place North to South, East to West.
Those that claim their nationality so proudly confuse and confound me; what are they celebrating? Why do we treat the land we love so badly? I cycle home counting Red Bull cans and crisp packets into the twenties strewn along the roadside. Chewing gum on the pavements, takeaway boxes, vapes and smashed bottles in the playground, tyres in the hedgerow, the odd fridge in the field and rumours of an illegal asbestos dump up on the hills. My heart is still aching from when the farmer told me he ripped out a ring of hawthorn trees and a standing stone so there’d be more space in the field.
What would do visitors think? The romantic vision of Ireland redefined by litter in the laybays and black plastic from the silage bails caught straggling in the branches of the hawthorn. The streams polluted and the land poisoned, such disrespect, such blasé attitude, our sense of entitlement, the top of the food chain, we are the cleverest on this earth. How can we hope to repair our relationship with nature and therefore food when we seem to be utterly detached from it?
Gloomy, sorry! But important, I’d love to know your thoughts on why we treat our beautiful land with apathy and disdain. Onwards though! The countryside is awash with green, the new leaves of spring unfurling, my favourite Gorse at it’s best, spreading bright yellow hope and positivity with it’s cheerful blossom. And the foragers favourite, wild garlic.
A few ideas
Today I grabbed a handful for lunch and dinner, it’s a lovely ingredient to use right now, very versatile and really simple to use as a straight swap for garlic as well as adding delicious silky texture. Add to soups, make pesto, add to hummus or chop into pasta. I made a ‘garden weeds’ take on Caesar salad; with chunky croutons panfried in olive oil, various leaves (ground elder,chickweed and hawthorn) and a dressing made from wild garlic, yoghurt and sorrel topped with Kylemore cheese. For dinner I made a simple tomato sauce and stirred chopped wild garlic leaves through for the last couple of minutes of cooking, I had mine with fior di latte and toasted almonds. I made these bites last year which were delicious and in the bakery we often make an egg sandwich with wild garlic chopped into the mayo.
Get out and enjoy Wild Garlic season now, remember to pick responsibly and always say thank you to mother nature x
Tá an ceart agat ar fad agus is mór an náire do mhuintir na hEireann an méid sin.
Tá daoine sa tír gur náire leo aon rud ’sean’ a bheith fágtha sa tír: saothar orthu airgead a bhaint as na rudaí sin agus iad a scrios ina dhiaidh sin: an nádúr san áireamh. Tá siad ag iarraidh an díobhál a rinne muintir na Gearmaine, an Isiltír agus Sasana do na áiteanna sin ar feadh 200 bhliain; tá siad ag iarradh a dhéanamh in Eirinn taobh istigh de 30 bliain amháin.
I pity the farmer who messed with the hawthorn! What a crying shame. We were having this exact conversation yesterday cycling round Mullaghmore - so many bags of Supermacs dumped in fields - why do so many of our celebrations come at the expense of the natural world? You have put it so beautifully here. Did you know the 18th is Sheelagh's Day? I am thinking of switching my allegiance to this celebration instead. I also picked wild garlic yesterday so am very grateful for your tips. A wonderful article - thank you x