Random musings of a sun-starved-soul...

I feel like I’m coming out of hibernation. Winter on the coast seems harder than further inland. I was caught momentarily in unexpected rays of sunlight streaming through the clouds the other day, and it made me realise just how much I’ve missed the sun, and how deprived of daylight I have felt. I read an interview with a city-dweller-turned-rural-homebody the other day, and felt such agreement at her mention that winter in a rural place is more desolate than you can imagine. I think her exact words were that you need to experience the country on the greyest of cold wintry days to appreciate what living there is really like, and I felt like I’ve been identifying with that perspective lately.

But I have vague recollections of having the same conversation repeatedly last summer – about how on a good day there’s no other place on earth you’d rather be than this wee town. Lately I’ve struggled to connect that idea with the place that seems to have been so consistently wet and grey and cold. And there’s something so much worse about a grey day by the coast – it’s like the landscape taunts you with a sense of what you’re missing. Being stuck indoors with little kids is no fun anywhere, but here it feels worse to me, because we know we could be on the beach if only the endlessly depressing weather would lift.

Also - warm and welcoming as the people here are, it’s still a post-conflict society, and a predominantly Catholic community, and that’s not an easy place to have an accent or a faith perspective like mine. A friend peeled back the unspoken layer the other day and we talked about our cultural differences, and how growing up in Belfast has shaped her perceptions no matter how she might like that not to be the case. It was enlightening and affirmative, and I was so appreciative of the chance to talk about the things no-one really acknowledges, but which I suspect impact on my life here every single day.

So anyway - it lifted my spirits no end when the sun accosted us this afternoon. I was just turning into the drive after running some errands when on a whim, I pulled off a sharp u-turn and headed back along the coast road. It’s not warm enough to be outdoors for long, but the light was beautiful and I realised the boys were on the verge of dropping off to sleep, which is much needed if their behaviour is anything to go by. So I drove along the coast out to a viewpoint and the scenery worked its usual magic and reminded me why I can’t seem to leave this town, even for a better school or the chance to drink decent coffee on a more regular basis. We came close to committing to a move and I’m surprised and relieved that we decided not to. I’ve realised that it’s largely the landscape of this place that makes me feel like I’m in the Ireland of my childhood associations. And there really aren’t many places that I know of with landscape quite like this. And, true to form, when the sun casts its lingering rays of light across the glens and basks everything in a lazy shade of gold, there really is no place I can imagine I’d rather be.

Which is just as well, as I’ve just turned in the boys application form for school. I put his little brother’s name down for nursery at the same time, which means I could be redundant for half the day from September! Zack is so desperate to go to nursery school like his brother – I can’t imagine him tolerating being at home full-time for another year until he’s officially pre-school age.  Which just leaves me wondering how I’ll fill my days from then!