Catherine Drea: In spite of the miserable and the crotchety
'There’s something about seeing the word cancer, a word that dared not be even spoken when I was a child, that always makes me pause' - pictured are Stella White and Mary Power, helping with Daffodil Day in aid of the Irish Cancer Society in Waterford city. Photo: Joe Evans
After the 55 consecutive days of rain recorded by Met Eireann in Valentia Observatory, we were in heaven with a few days of sunlight.
The world and her wife were out on the Prom in Tramore, walking in the Anne Valley or doing the Cliff Walk in Dunmore East. With so much of our little planet in turmoil I turned to the late poet Mary Oliver, which set the tone for the day.
I decided to soak up the beauty of spring and turn away from the pain of war just for a while. The rest of the country seemed to be in harmony with that approach and the spirits of everyone I met were lifted by the green shoots and the cloudless skies.
On my way into the supermarket a woman stopped me and whispered, “Do you see that car parked there?” I did. “Can you look and see, is it an old person or a young person that’s trying to say hello to me from that car?” I looked and it was indeed an older person but sitting in the passenger seat staring blankly into space. I told her, “It looks like an older person?” “Well of course it would be,” says she, “those young ones wouldn’t be bothered!” I had to agree and we talked for a while about how great it is to have the chats, especially on such a lovely day, and how if the younger generations would only get off their phones the world would be a happier place.
But today the younger generation were also enjoying the spring and every outdoor cafe seat was filled by sun worshippers and wave-loving surfers.
On with me then through the day, greeting passers by and all marvelling at the heat that was in it. Later in the garden where there were piles of sodden weeds and grasses to be cleared away, I heard a woodpecker in the distance.
Woodpeckers are new to the rolling landscape here. Recently I managed to photograph a pair of them in the still bare-branched willow trees. It was the upright gait of them, clinging to the tree trunks, that caught my eye at first. While I had often heard their relentless hammering, I hadn’t until then seen them up close. They are remarkably small for a bird that can make such a loud drilling sound; black and white with a splash of ruby red on their heads and lower body.
I’m also waiting for the House Martins to return to their five or six established nests under the roof. That’s a day that would hearten a stone. It’s the thought of their long journey, which comes to an end under our very own roof, that moves me every time. With thousands of miles behind them on the long flight from Africa, they always seem so happy to have arrived and immediately get busy building and tending.
Meanwhile, the starlings have already gathered and are higher up on the roof, also revisiting nests from over the years. At first I thought it was a curlew calling but of course starlings are incredible mimics and it was only one of them.
Another day it was the call of a buzzard and I looked up into the sky to see if one was circling as they often do. But no it was just one of the starlings showing off his range!
Later a kindly man sitting at a table collecting for the Irish Cancer Society Daffodil Day stopped me in my tracks. It wasn’t just his smile or the overflowing box of daffodils. There’s something about seeing the word cancer, a word that dared not be even spoken when I was a child, that always makes me pause. I felt that he, too, had a story and a loved one on his mind.
I squished some cash into his collection box and holding back the tears gathered my bunch of flowers while he encouraged me to take more.
“Oh no that’s not enough, take another one or two, sure I have loads here!”
So I did. Walking home with an armful of golden daffodils I felt again the precious gift of the day and remembered more of Mary Oliver’s words.
Yes, even the most miserable and the crotchety would feel blessed with the turning of the year and the lengthening of the days? So you might think or hope? But, unfortunately the miserable and the crotchety are wreaking havoc on this brightening world that we are enjoying along with the grand stretch.
I’ve never been to Iran but have always admired the artistry of their Persian heritage and would love to have visited Isfahan and seen some of the jewels of their culture. I remember fondly an Iranian family who looked after us on a long journey from Strasbourg to Istanbul. I wonder where they are today?
Mary Oliver said that she was saved by the beauty of the world. As spring cheers up our days I hope the miserable and the crotchety will be saved by the continued celebration of it.
