Lockdown Project - Days 1-15
11th April 2020
With the announcement on March 27th that the country was effectively going into lockdown all of our worlds became a lot smaller overnight. The following morning saw most of us restricted to the 2km radius surrounding our homes for anything other than essential food shopping or medical appointments. While the measures may seem restrictive they are absolutely necessary at the moment, and for some of us at least, they even present opportunity. That's a word I'm slow to use in case anybody thinks I'm somehow enjoying the unquestionable suffering going on at the minute; I'm not (it pains me to have to even explain that but no doubt there'd be cranks jumping to the conclusion otherwise). It hardly needs to be said that this pandemic isn't something any of us would have wished for, but new diseases will continue to emerge as long as there's life on the planet, and all of us just happen to be alive at a time when a new one has landed on the scene. It might seem frightening and disruptive but it's here, and all we can do now is try to manage it as best as possible. And for the foreseeable future part of that management involves staying close to home.
Place is something that's interested me for as long as I can remember in some way or another. Why do different places feel different, why do we connect more with some than others, what role do culture, memory, history and the future, among so many other variables, play in the way we experience place? It's a never-ending list of queries revealing more questions than answers. I've loved the idea of getting to know a place well for awhile, particularly since I started reading Tim Robinson's books about ten years ago. His books delve deep into the places he moved between, mostly the Aran Islands and Connemara. Through his many talents, as writer, mapmaker, mathematician, folklore collector, historian and more, he wove together an incredible collection of books and maps that give a voice to landscapes like few other people have been able to do. That kind of deep connection to somewhere is something I've been seeking out since. The issue is that the world is too big and interesting. It's very difficult to dedicate yourself to one place in this day and age, where cars and planes can catapult us off into neighbouring counties and countries and traveling tens of thousands of miles a year is the norm. With my world suddenly limited to a 2km sphere surrounding my home it seemed a good time to start getting to know somewhere. All it will be is a weak scratching at the surface, but I decided to try to make a photo from this little bubble for every day of the lockdown, using it as something to give me purpose in the day as well as good reason to explore my locality. And that silly idea has made me realise how huge such a small place can be. Of course I'm very lucky with the 2km plot I happen to be in at this time. And the kind weather has been particularly helpful for keeping sane too.
It’s somewhat ironic to me that Tim Robinson and his wife both died from coronavirus recently, the same virus that brought on this lockdown in Ireland and subsequently put his ideas about place back in my mind. He hadn't finished writing. I can't imagine any of the other casualties of the disease were done with life either. I hope that you and all you know are safe and well and finding some silver linings as I have. The great thing about getting joy from the natural world is that it doesn't matter who you are or what you're doing or where you're at in life. It's for everyone to appreciate if they can find an interest in it. It's far more constant than the arbitrary things we base most of our lives around, like politics and economics and all the other alleged pillars of our societies that are dissolving across the world as the virus spreads. The seasons, the weather, the relentless drive of plants to grow and birds to migrate and an infinite number of other wonders are always going on outside of our internalised lives. These things offer perspective and fascination round the clock, if you can just tap into it. The flip side to all of that is that the destruction of the natural world is a near-constant worry if you care about all these things, but at least for now there's some comfort to be taken from the fact that our own species' impact is lessened somewhat. I hope the benefits of that will be realised and that change for the better will come once the threat from COVID-19 fades away.
Stay safe and mind yourselves. I hope these images from my little bubble in West Kerry bring something positive into your day.
March 28th
A flush of lesser celandines under an ash tree in my back garden. Obscenely yellow and a real harbringer of spring. A cheery enough kind of plant to spend time with during a potentially grim situation!
March 29th
The flower of St. Patrick's cabbage readying itself to emerge from a fold of waxy leaves. Before these few days I hadn't used my macro lens in a long time. It's an amazing thing to see the tiny details of plants up close. A magnifying glass will do the same thing of course but some of us have this strange desire where it's not enough just to see a thing and a photo has to be made...
March 30th
Sunset from the bottom of the garden, silhouetting Cruach Mhárthain.
March 31st
I've been renting the same house for almost four and a half years and despite being able to see this standing stone from the front door I'd never visited it. It was always put on the long finger, saved for a day when I didn't feel like driving out to one of the more obviously spectacular beauty spots around here. Well, now I can't do that anymore, and it's really making me appreciate what's close to home. This stone is huge, the second tallest I've ever seen but much wider than that one (Ballycrovane, in Beara, which I have read is the tallest standing stone in Ireland). Could this ancient monument standing a few fields west of home, that I can find no information about online be the biggest (by weight/overall size) standing stone in the country? It's certainly very impressive anyway.
April 1st
A bit of a lazy effort, a house sparrow on the house next door. A big colony of these noisy birds nest under the eaves of the roof here. On calm days it's rare not to hear them chattering away.
April 2nd
Dog violet close to home. No matter how early you are it's always hard to find a really fresh looking, perfectly symmetrical violet. This one wasn't too far off, and I thought the white grasses alongside were nice. I wonder why it’s called dog violet, looks like it's got a pair of hare's ears to me.
April 3rd
Some tiny goats on a nearby farm.
April 4th
Looking back towards the townland I live in from the Cosán na Naomh, an old pilgrimage route from Ventry to Mount Brandon. This is one to come back for on a winter evening with better light and snow on the mountains.
April 5th
An outhouse that looks like it could do with some better roof reinforcements. One of the few wet days recently, and a north-east facing gable revealing what way the wind was coming from.
April 6th
A gorgeous cul-de-sac near Imileá, near the edge of my 2km limit. I've been cycling down and back along this short stretch of road every other day, as part of a series of loops I can cycle from home without going too far. The warm winds of the past while have been wafting the amazing scent of gorse flowers all over this little road, and the willow borders arching over the small streams are greening up fast.
April 7th
Gallarus Oratory under a very bright moon. It's always tricky to present night photos as you saw them in real life but this doesn't look too bad on my monitor at least. It was more than bright enough to not need a torch, apart from the one inside to light up the doorway of course.
April 8th
Mount Eagle and Cruach Mhárthain from the hill behind my house. I like the perpendicular lines here, the verticals of the rushes and the fence posts and the distant radio mast and the wavy horizontals of the hill contours. This was such a pleasant day that I spent the night out on the hill, watching little fog banks creep in from the sea and seeing the watery orb of a pink moon floating up through blue mists beyond Dingle after sundown.
April 9th
Sunrise from Lateeve Hill. I woke up in the mist, not able to see much beyond a few paces. I packed up and had nearly decided to head back down for home when the mist began to clear in patches here and there. For the next hour I stood mesmerised by constantly changing scenes around me, going from full immersion in the cloud to clear views like this, of the rivers of mist flowing in the valleys while the sun rose over the mountains. Absolute magic.
April 10th
A mean-faced goldfinch takes an aggressive stance on one of the feeders outside the kitchen. Goldfinches seem like contrary enough birds if you watch them long enough, quick to chase another bird off a feeder even when there's an empty one nearby.
April 11th
I know today isn't over yet but I'll be happy if this morning's photos are all I get from the day. With slack winds and fog forecasted I got up early and made the 45 minute walk to the top of the hill again. Once again the summit was clouded, but after an hour of sitting sheltered from the wind trying to meditate (it seemed an appropriate place to practice) the breeze died and I opened my eyes to see shapes appearing out of the gloom. After a few brief glimpses of the sun and the surrounding hills all wrapped up in mists, the cloud base lowered again. I've been on this little hill before but generally forsook it for the bigger mountains in the area. Never before have I been so thankful to have it behind the back door.
Click here for the next entry in the series.
Place is something that's interested me for as long as I can remember in some way or another. Why do different places feel different, why do we connect more with some than others, what role do culture, memory, history and the future, among so many other variables, play in the way we experience place? It's a never-ending list of queries revealing more questions than answers. I've loved the idea of getting to know a place well for awhile, particularly since I started reading Tim Robinson's books about ten years ago. His books delve deep into the places he moved between, mostly the Aran Islands and Connemara. Through his many talents, as writer, mapmaker, mathematician, folklore collector, historian and more, he wove together an incredible collection of books and maps that give a voice to landscapes like few other people have been able to do. That kind of deep connection to somewhere is something I've been seeking out since. The issue is that the world is too big and interesting. It's very difficult to dedicate yourself to one place in this day and age, where cars and planes can catapult us off into neighbouring counties and countries and traveling tens of thousands of miles a year is the norm. With my world suddenly limited to a 2km sphere surrounding my home it seemed a good time to start getting to know somewhere. All it will be is a weak scratching at the surface, but I decided to try to make a photo from this little bubble for every day of the lockdown, using it as something to give me purpose in the day as well as good reason to explore my locality. And that silly idea has made me realise how huge such a small place can be. Of course I'm very lucky with the 2km plot I happen to be in at this time. And the kind weather has been particularly helpful for keeping sane too.
It’s somewhat ironic to me that Tim Robinson and his wife both died from coronavirus recently, the same virus that brought on this lockdown in Ireland and subsequently put his ideas about place back in my mind. He hadn't finished writing. I can't imagine any of the other casualties of the disease were done with life either. I hope that you and all you know are safe and well and finding some silver linings as I have. The great thing about getting joy from the natural world is that it doesn't matter who you are or what you're doing or where you're at in life. It's for everyone to appreciate if they can find an interest in it. It's far more constant than the arbitrary things we base most of our lives around, like politics and economics and all the other alleged pillars of our societies that are dissolving across the world as the virus spreads. The seasons, the weather, the relentless drive of plants to grow and birds to migrate and an infinite number of other wonders are always going on outside of our internalised lives. These things offer perspective and fascination round the clock, if you can just tap into it. The flip side to all of that is that the destruction of the natural world is a near-constant worry if you care about all these things, but at least for now there's some comfort to be taken from the fact that our own species' impact is lessened somewhat. I hope the benefits of that will be realised and that change for the better will come once the threat from COVID-19 fades away.
Stay safe and mind yourselves. I hope these images from my little bubble in West Kerry bring something positive into your day.
March 28th
A flush of lesser celandines under an ash tree in my back garden. Obscenely yellow and a real harbringer of spring. A cheery enough kind of plant to spend time with during a potentially grim situation!
March 29th
The flower of St. Patrick's cabbage readying itself to emerge from a fold of waxy leaves. Before these few days I hadn't used my macro lens in a long time. It's an amazing thing to see the tiny details of plants up close. A magnifying glass will do the same thing of course but some of us have this strange desire where it's not enough just to see a thing and a photo has to be made...
March 30th
Sunset from the bottom of the garden, silhouetting Cruach Mhárthain.
March 31st
I've been renting the same house for almost four and a half years and despite being able to see this standing stone from the front door I'd never visited it. It was always put on the long finger, saved for a day when I didn't feel like driving out to one of the more obviously spectacular beauty spots around here. Well, now I can't do that anymore, and it's really making me appreciate what's close to home. This stone is huge, the second tallest I've ever seen but much wider than that one (Ballycrovane, in Beara, which I have read is the tallest standing stone in Ireland). Could this ancient monument standing a few fields west of home, that I can find no information about online be the biggest (by weight/overall size) standing stone in the country? It's certainly very impressive anyway.
April 1st
A bit of a lazy effort, a house sparrow on the house next door. A big colony of these noisy birds nest under the eaves of the roof here. On calm days it's rare not to hear them chattering away.
April 2nd
Dog violet close to home. No matter how early you are it's always hard to find a really fresh looking, perfectly symmetrical violet. This one wasn't too far off, and I thought the white grasses alongside were nice. I wonder why it’s called dog violet, looks like it's got a pair of hare's ears to me.
April 3rd
Some tiny goats on a nearby farm.
April 4th
Looking back towards the townland I live in from the Cosán na Naomh, an old pilgrimage route from Ventry to Mount Brandon. This is one to come back for on a winter evening with better light and snow on the mountains.
April 5th
An outhouse that looks like it could do with some better roof reinforcements. One of the few wet days recently, and a north-east facing gable revealing what way the wind was coming from.
April 6th
A gorgeous cul-de-sac near Imileá, near the edge of my 2km limit. I've been cycling down and back along this short stretch of road every other day, as part of a series of loops I can cycle from home without going too far. The warm winds of the past while have been wafting the amazing scent of gorse flowers all over this little road, and the willow borders arching over the small streams are greening up fast.
April 7th
Gallarus Oratory under a very bright moon. It's always tricky to present night photos as you saw them in real life but this doesn't look too bad on my monitor at least. It was more than bright enough to not need a torch, apart from the one inside to light up the doorway of course.
April 8th
Mount Eagle and Cruach Mhárthain from the hill behind my house. I like the perpendicular lines here, the verticals of the rushes and the fence posts and the distant radio mast and the wavy horizontals of the hill contours. This was such a pleasant day that I spent the night out on the hill, watching little fog banks creep in from the sea and seeing the watery orb of a pink moon floating up through blue mists beyond Dingle after sundown.
April 9th
Sunrise from Lateeve Hill. I woke up in the mist, not able to see much beyond a few paces. I packed up and had nearly decided to head back down for home when the mist began to clear in patches here and there. For the next hour I stood mesmerised by constantly changing scenes around me, going from full immersion in the cloud to clear views like this, of the rivers of mist flowing in the valleys while the sun rose over the mountains. Absolute magic.
April 10th
A mean-faced goldfinch takes an aggressive stance on one of the feeders outside the kitchen. Goldfinches seem like contrary enough birds if you watch them long enough, quick to chase another bird off a feeder even when there's an empty one nearby.
April 11th
I know today isn't over yet but I'll be happy if this morning's photos are all I get from the day. With slack winds and fog forecasted I got up early and made the 45 minute walk to the top of the hill again. Once again the summit was clouded, but after an hour of sitting sheltered from the wind trying to meditate (it seemed an appropriate place to practice) the breeze died and I opened my eyes to see shapes appearing out of the gloom. After a few brief glimpses of the sun and the surrounding hills all wrapped up in mists, the cloud base lowered again. I've been on this little hill before but generally forsook it for the bigger mountains in the area. Never before have I been so thankful to have it behind the back door.
Click here for the next entry in the series.
Comments
By Betty: Thank you... By Sally Warmington: Thanks Richard for sharing your reflections and lovely images! Warm wishes from Melbourne Australia, stay safe and well. 😊 By Nuala lordan: Beautiful By Susanne Magee: This is absolutely gorgeous, Richard. Beautiful, thoughtful writing and images, as always. An inspiration for the strange time that's in it.