An Irish Summer + 3 Favorite Green Art Prints
Me after hiking for miles through this gorgeous valley park.
The summer I turned 21 was, to put it simply, magical.
I traveled to Ireland for a summer of studying abroad with my best friend. Who wouldn’t want to do that?? That summer shifted so many perspectives, drove other values and truths further into my heart, and ultimately showed me the adventure and magic of a country that was so old and steeped in history that you could literally feel it. I had the time of my life!
One of the classes I took was called “Travel writing” and, as you may have guessed, we wrote about our travels.
Below I’m sharing one of my pieces from visiting the beautiful Gougane Barra. Gougane Barra is a scenic valley and heritage site in the Shehy Mountains of County Cork, Ireland.
Sweet, Sweet Ireland.
When I was To imagine Gougane Barra one must think postcard for a moment. Think scenery from Lord of the Rings. Think otherworldly. As my group’s bus enters the national park, chills go up my arms. Closing in from a distance are the Shehy Mountains, green in the most unembellished sense of the word, and bolder than the sky. To our right is the source of the River Lee, tranquil, reverent, and the home of a small island where Saint Finbarre took his hermitage long ago. On the foliage-laden Island sits a small, white chapel— a young, dreamy-eyed girl of seventeen tells me it’s “the only place in Ireland to marry.” Apparently, it’s a place to say good-bye as well; a procession of mourners fills the chapel honoring the life and death of a young man. I look on from a distance as a sad beauty comes over the place, and Silver Birches become friends of grave stones.
This lake side chapel was other worldly beautiful.
Walking deeper into the forest, a strange thing occurs to me: I hear such a solid silence that it is actually musical. It is fairy music: resounding off white and red fuchsias, pine needles strung as harps, echoing footsteps of percussion, and the hum of a waterfall. As we hike higher up the mountain there is only more evidence of the magic here: purple foxgloves, sun-splashed streams, and green bog moss that could have been the bed of kings.
At the top of the mountain, we’ve reached Irish heaven. Between the chill of the wind against the light sheen of sweat on my body and my exhausted quads, I know I’m victorious. My friends high-five and break out into bold, heroic poses on a boulder. This is a moment for the giggling and dancing of child-like, endorphin-filled, adults.
Simply stunning.
Off a ways, in a sheep-filled meadow, I sit and immerse myself in the beauty. The meadow was the ocean, seemingly dropping off when it met the sky. Voluminous white clouds, so fat and puffy, could have only been the product of the purest volcano. Rocks the size of fallen giants are covered with vegetation.
All around me I feel Irish. Not that I am Irish, but that the spirit of the Irish people is tangible. I see it in their earth and smell it in their mountains. I hear it in their laughs and taste it in their air and rain. I’m touched by it in their churches. I will carry these memories back to Texas with me, but they could only be made here. Forever I will cherish this place. Sweet, sweet Ireland.
In honor of Saint Patrick’s Day today, and my Irish summer, I’ve rounded up 3 Art prints that remind me of Ireland!
