Martha Geaney's Blog

I’m grieving and have been for the last six years. I’ve been a caregiver for my life partner and my mother. I lost both of them this year – only a few months between each one’s passing. But my grieving began when I realized the two I loved the most were passing in front of my eyes. They were dying each day and I was dying with them.

My mother was much more realistic. When I commented once on how sad I was about her and Bill. She replied, “What do you expect? We are getting old.”

Bill was another matter because he didn’t remember most of our life together. I would mention things and he would say, “I don’t remember that.” I’d reply, “Don’t worry, I will remember for you.”

Being the child of Irish parents, you’d think I’d have this grieving thing down pat by now. But no, I don’t. The Irish way might involve wearing black and having the Month’s mind mass one month after the passing of the loved one. The Irish way might mean going to the cemetery every week tending the flowers and the grass. The Irish way might mean crying and weeping years after the passing of the loved one.

There’s a certain melancholy that goes along with being Irish. I cry when I hear O Danny Boy or someone has bag pipers at a funeral. The melancholia stays with me, always lurking, always reminding me that because I’m Irish, sadness is part of my history and culture. I have grown to accept that part of my heritage but I’m curating my melancholy my way.

I may be crying when no one is looking but I’m also planting my feet in nature, on this earth. I gaze at the moon, relish the sun rises and sunsets. When I lay awake at night thinking about my loves, I savor the light filtering through the shutter slats. I snap joyful pictures paired with snippets of song lyrics that communicate how I’m feeling. I’ve instituted “Cryless Monday”; I refuse to give in to the tears on Mondays.

I’m running with my puppy, Turlough. I’m letting go of grudges and looking for forgiveness especially my own. The more I open up the more I realize so many people are grieving – those who lost time during the pandemic or lost a loved one.

Being the child of Irish parents, you’d think I’d have this grieving thing down pat by now. But no, I don’t. And I don’t think anyone else does either. But we all keep trying mixing the melancholy with life and we keep going. For the Irish in spite of our melancholy nature are quite capable of grieving and enjoying life at the same time.

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Killarney, Florida

If you haven’t been able to get to the Killarney along the Wild Atlantic Way in Ireland. You might try visiting Killarney, Florida. Yes! Florida has Killarney!

On a recent day trip to Winter Garden’s History Museum, I was surprised to see a series of orange crate labels depicting shamrocks and the word “Killarney”. Here are some of the pictures from the room where a myriad of orange crate art is on display.

So What’s the Story?

According to the museum’s docent, Zip Code 34740’s community was founded in the 1800s and named after Killarney, Ireland. Apparently the Irish folks who settled in the area were reminded of the home place in Killarney.

Killarney is unfortunately unincorporated and there is no exit from the Florida turnpike to Killarney. The post office opened in 1887, closed in 1902, reopened in 1926, and closed again in 2003. According to the docent, people used to drop their Christmas cards to the post office just for the postmark, that said “Killarney, Florida”.

In the spirit of the Killarney Luck image: “May the luck rise up to meet you! Whichever Killarney you happen to be in. Cheers!

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“Matthew Sumner liked the five-hour walk around the island best of all: the danger of ‘Beware of Cliff Edges’ signs that warned of falling to the rocky inlet below, the steep climb up Knockmore mountain, the view of Inisturk and Inisbofin islands from the peak, the small lakes, the potato lazybeds, and the Abbey Church.”

-Prologue excerpt from “Death on Clare Island” by Martha Geaney

Clare Island’s Circuit Walks

One glorious summer morning, I set out from French Hill cottage to Roonagh Quay to catch Captain O’Malley’s ferry to Clare Island. Clare Island is a beautiful part of County Mayo – guarding the entrance to the mouth of Clew Bay from the Atlantic Ocean.

Unlike Matthew Sumner, I chose one of the shorter circuit walks that took me as far as the Clare Island Lighthouse, the Abbey Church, and past the famine potato beds.

Clare Island Shrouded in Mystery and BeautyPotato Lazy Beds dating to the 1800s

Along the walk, I observed the ridges where, the potato lazy beds, which date back to the Great Irish Potato Famine, were set. During the famine, Clare Island lost half their population due to death and emigration.

The lazy bed method entails planting seed potation within a few inches of the soil top and no more than 12 inches apart. On Clare Island, the planted seed potatoes were covered in seaweed until harvest time. Prior to the famine, the potato crops were sufficient, along with fish, and other whole foods like eggs, milk, and oatmeal to maintain the population. But during the Great Irish Potato Famine, Clare Island lost half of its population to death or emigration. The potato ridges remain today as a reminder of great tragedy amidst great beauty.

Lazy Beds Origin

Contrary to the connotation associated with “lazy”, the lazy bed approach allows for growing in areas where space is limited and for easy harvesting. The “lazy bed” term arose in Ireland among some famers who considered this method of farming “lazy”.

Smart Potato Farming

Nowadays, lazy bed potato farming is considered a smart method of utilizing space and saving time. And, if seaweed isn’t available, the beds are covered with hay/straw mulch.

And so, we’ve come full circle.

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This is the week! When everyone who has a hint or trace of Irish ancestry dons something green. But did you know Irish history indicates that there was more than one Saint Patrick. What? No, no, no.

I was shocked and disappointed when one of my Irish uncles told me there was probably more than one Saint Patrick. What did you say? Patrick existed but there were others in Ireland who also preached conversion to Christianity. But what about the snakes?

As someone who grew up holding my father’s hand at the St. Patrick’s Day parade in New York City, I was devastated. I’d bought the entire story including the one about St. Patrick chasing the snakes out of Ireland. But you know I’ve never seen a snake in Ireland so I’m holding fast to the fantasy.

And, what about the ancient pilgrim path that begins on Saint Patrick’s Causeway in County Mayo and ends at the summit of St. Patrick’s Mountain otherwise known as Croagh Patrick? That! That I can tell you is real because I walked the 26 mile Pilgrim Path one summer day. You can read my guest post about The Pilgrim Path and Croagh Patrick over on The Irish American Mom web site. Here’s the link to the post: https://www.irishamericanmom.com/the-pilgrim-path-or-tochar-phadraig/

And while you are there, take a look at the wonderful recipes that you can pursue as you set your table for St. Patrick’s Day.

What about it anyway. However you celebrate. Whomever you claim in your ancestry. I hope you find joy and peace in knowing or having faith in that little piece of Irish you claim on St. Patrick’s Day.

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William Murphy, CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

We know and love Halloween as a fun loving time of year. In my neighborhood, here in Florida, the adults play a game called “I’ve been boo’ed”. You create a bag of Halloween treats and then secretly place it a neighbor’s door. Then the neighbor creates a treat bag and passes it along. And so the game goes until the entire neighborhood has been boo’ed.

But do you know that Halloween traditions originated in Ireland? And most of them were created as an answer to preparing for the harsh winter season the unexplainable. In the blessing below, goblins, spirits, and overall scary characters are named.– but you wouldn’t want to encounter any of them. For example, the Will o’ The Wisp was believed to be a eerie, ghostly light covering the marshes at night, all meant to mislead you in your travels.

The Jack O’ Lantern that we know as a cheerful, smiling pumpkin is derived from a story about a trickster named Jack who couldn’t die. Even the devil wouldn’t take him. So, Jack roamed Ireland playing tricks and being overall disagreeable. People carved turnips and placed them in the window to ward off strangers or evil people like Jack.

Culture Vannin, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons

And so, here’s the Halloween blessing again in 2022. And, if you do encounter the Puca, may it be good luck. Happy haunting, my friends.

At all Hallow's Tide,May God keep you safeFrom goblin and pooka andBlack-hearted stranger,From harm of the water And Hurt of the fire,From thorn of the Bramble,From all other danger,From Will O' The WispHaunting the mire;From stumbles and tumbles And tricksters to vex you ,May God in His mercyThis week protect you.

Celtic Pooka

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The “month’s mind” is a tradition still practiced in Ireland. Basically, when a loved one has passed, a requiem Mass is celebrated one month after the passing. And, the family usually gathers together after the Mass for tea and words of remembrance for the loved one.

I, for one, love this idea of family coming together to remember and celebrate the “one who is no longer with us”. And, I don’t believe we have to wait for someone to pass away to celebrate them when they are not with us. For example, in my Star O’Brien series, Maggie O’Malley always lights three candles whenever she is in a church. She tells Star that the third candle is for the “one who is not with us”.

My County Mayo born mother passed away in August at the age of 92. Although we live in the United States, I recall that my mom had a Mass said for my father thirty days after he passed away. The house was filled with family and friends of my parents, enjoying a meal and a drink in his memory. And, in August when my mother passed away, her nephews, nieces, and cousins in County Mayo had a Mass said in her memory. And, with today’s technology, my brothers and I, here in the US, were able to join in the celebration using Church TV. The Reverend Chas Guthrie celebrated the Mass in the parish where my mother attended church with her parents when she was a child. And, something that Father Chas said during his sermon has stayed with me, “…with memories we have roses in December”.

In our hectic world and life, it can be so easy to forget those who came before us. I guess that’s why I like this tradition of the month’s mind — to not forget, to hold their memory close to our hearts. And, to celebrate our loved one’s life. I know I am so proud of my parents and the life they created for me. And, if God allows, I will always have roses in December.

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When the universe sends you a barista named Crow and a yellow butterfly. This is the story behind the beautiful yellow Origami butterfly pictured below. Yesterday, I was tired, sad, and on my way to visit my mom (who is in rehab due to a broken hip). It's been a tough time for her.

Just before I got into my car, a friend suggested I go get a coffee, a sweet, and take some time to center myself. So, I stopped at a Starbucks in Leesburg, Florida. And ordered a tall Pike. What happened next seemed to be just what I needed.

Yellow Origami Owl

While I waited, at the counter, for my order, one of the baristas walked up to me with the yellow butterfly in her hand. “Here,” she said, “it's an Origami butterfly. I make them all the time.”

“Thank you, I really needed this today,” I replied. Then, I took my coffee and my butterfly over to a table where I propped the yellow paper art on my bag and took the picture. But that wasn't the only kindness to occur.

While I was contemplating the butterfly, drinking my coffee, and steeling myself to visit my mom. The barista walked over to my table and said, “I'm on my way home, but if you like, I can teach you how to make an Origami butterfly.”

I explained that I had an appointment to keep and thanked her. That's when I asked her name. “Crow,” she replied. And, with that she left.

Crow and the Origami butterfly provided a brief moment of wonder and joy. I finished my coffee, gently carried the butterfly to my car, and went to bring some joy to my mom.

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I'd never heard of a lock nut key until a few weeks ago when I was in County Mayo, Ireland. I inadvertently drove my rental car over a large tuft of grass, which sat in the middle of a country lane. Unbeknownst to me there was a large stone, most probably knocked from a stone wall by a farmer's tractor, lurking under the seemingly innocent ball of grass. Bam! Shredded front tire.

I immediately rolled the car to the side of the road and wondered what I'd do next. I didn't think my Florida American Automobile Association card would work here. Luckily, a farmer came along who gave me a lift home. Long story short, a tow truck came the next morning and took the car to a local garage for the tire repair. But, like all good mystery stories the saga didn't end there.

No! The rental car did not have a lock nut key so the garage wasn't immediately able to repair the tire until they contacted another garage that had a master set of lock nut keys. It pays to have friends in rival businesses.

Finally, a happy ending. I had my car back in time to go for a coffee with my kind cousin who picked me up and took me to the garage when the car was mended. But all of this excitement came at a time during my trip when I'd just learned of issues at home. My mom fell and broke her hip; my partner came down with covid and suffered a fall which ended in a trip to the emergency room. And, here was I thinking I needed to abandon my trip and return home wehn the lock nut key incident occurred.

When you are a mystery author, everything means something. Take the lock nut key, for instance. Without it and the quick thinking of the garage crew, I might have been stuck for days without a rental car to get around. By the way, every lock nut key has a unique pattern which is meant to provide security to the vehicle owner. So, what did this incident mean to me? I had to take a deep breath. I had to stay in place. I couldn't just respond to the emergencies at home. I had to trust that family members and friends on this side of the Atlantic would handle the situations. I had to let go. I had to practice some discernment and know that I cannot do it all.

So, in the end, a grass covered stone and the lock nut key might just have taught me to live in the moment. And, oh, one other lesson: always check your rental car for the lock nut key.

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Another Name for County Mayo

County Mayo is often called the Heather County. Ling heather can be found in abundance throughout Mayo's bogs especially in the bog of Céide Fields and in the Ballycroy National Park at the foot of the Nephin Mountain.

Pamela Norrington / Summit of Nephin https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/deed.enDid you know that heather comes in colors other than purple?

In addition to purple, heather may be found in white and pink. My favorite is the purple heather that I see whenever I ride along the narrow, regional road 310 from Castlebar towards Pontoon Bridge. As you draw near to Pontoon, there is a turnoff to the right which will take you through Parke and then to Turlough. My maternal grandmother, Maria Nolan Hughes, was born in Turlough. And, according my mom, Maria loved the heather which grows wild across the stone and rocky, boggy ground in that area.

Courage, strength, and heather

The purple ling heather is thought to represent beauty and strength. Strength means so much to me in the last few years. Not physical strength but the spiritual and moral strength to care for those in my family who needs caring.

Two years ago, my mother took the Claddagh ring from her finger that her mother had given to her when my mom left County Mayo at the age of 17 and presented the ring to me. My mom said “when I left Ireland my mother told me to have courage and strength. And now I am giving this to you and always remember courage and strength.” That ring had been my grandmother's wedding ring (made one of her brothers).

I have always loved heather and purple. Funny, I loved that color and plant long before I knew it was a favorite of my grandmother's (whom I never met). I love the color but I also love heather's strength: its ability to survive in the wild surrounded by craggy rocks and boggy desolation. So, I take my grandmother's and mother's words to heart and try to remember each day, during the caring, that courage and strength is my legacy.

Photo by Martha Geaney – Bit of heather on the road between Parke and Turlough, County Mayo

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The Mysterious Cuckoo

The first time I heard the mysterious cuckoo it was May. I was exploring the scenic route between Finney, County Mayo and Clonbur, County Galway near Lough Mask. I was intrigued because my partner, Bill, loves cuckoo clocks and several hung in our home in New Jersey. But this was the first time I'd ever heard an actual cuckoo's call.

The Cuckoo Summers in Ireland

The cuckoo arrives in Ireland from its winter home in Africa during the late spring and typically departs the Emerald Isle in August. Although, I’ve been told by some of our neighbors in County Mayo that the best months to hear the cuckoo is between April and June.

Not Everyone Hears the Cuckoo

I have heard the cuckoo many times since that first discovery, many, many years ago, along Lough Mask. If I happened to be in Ireland during the spring season, I’d purposely listen for the bird's call whenever I walked along Barney Road in French Hill, Castlebar. If I were lucky enough to hear the call, I got a great sense of joy…not everyone hears the cuckoo.

Very Few Ever See the Cuckoo

And, very few, have ever seen the reclusive cuckoo. The cuckoo usually looks for open country side and stands of trees where the cuach (Gaelic for cuckoo), can remain secluded just below the tops of the trees until it is time to roam the globe again.

Sheep in a neighbor's field on Barney Road, County Mayo. (Consolation prize for not getting to see a cuckoo).

Mysterious, isn't it?

Have you heard the cuckoo? And, if so, where were you when you heard these first sounds of spring in Ireland?

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