6 Things I Miss About Ireland

The many colors of green

Of all the places I’ve lived outside of Ireland, including Italy, France and various locations around the States, Indiana is, in my opinion, most reminiscent of the aul’ sod. Once you drive a few miles into the countryside, with its rolling fields, tall grasses and uncultivated nature, you could almost be back home. 

In place of tumbledy-down Irish cottages, however, you will see various extremely American Edward Hopper-worthy barns.  You’d never think yourself in Ireland though, simply because the color palette is entirely wrong; it’s a sun-bleached, straw-colored version that could never be mistaken for the amazing, shimmering blindingly green vision that is Ireland, only truly appreciated once you’ve been away from it for a while.

Country walks

Even though the countryside itself is beautiful, the idea of walking in it doesn’t seem to be a part of the American pastime. I do see walkers and joggers out and about, but they are always obediently following a man-made purpose-built trail or path.

As anyone who knows me can attest, I’m not a fan of making plans, so the notion of needing to get in my car, drive to a suitable spot, park and then go walking on a manufactured path or trail is just not compelling to me.

Kerrygold

So good that the dairy farmers of Wisconsin actually prohibit its sale in their state. My love of dairy might be hereditary (my grandfather owned his own dairy, Denver Dairies, which later became one of many dairies that was brought in under the Premier Dairies umbrella), and I even have a print of the glorious golden stuff from Monika Crowley’s Domestic Series on my kitchen wall. (Next up, I’d love her Sudocrem print – feel like it sums up my life pretty well right now.)

Having recently found my four-year-old snacking – nay, gnawing – happily on a raw block of butter still in its wrapping I can happily say that I am passing on the legacy.

Coffee shops

They just don’t seem to exist here! I never thought there was anything strange about the idea of meeting up for coffee and a cake (in fact, doesn’t that seem to make a LOT of sense?!) until I moved to the States. 

During my college years, many the afternoon was whiled away at Queen of Tarts on Dame Street, where I loved the cozy nature of meeting up for a sweet treat and a chat. Coffee shops – a main-street staple in any halfway decent Irish town or village – are sorely lacking here.

Even Starbucks, always quick to spot a consumer trend, only started stocking sandwiches and pastries relatively recently, and demand must not be overwhelming (when ordering a croissant to go I have actually been told. ‘we’ve sold our croissant’. SINGULAR . . . WHAT?!!!)

Here, coffee chains are less about settling in for a long-winded chat in good company (especially since there is rarely more than one comfortable chair) and more about efficient conversion and subsequent explusion of customers.

Family and friends

More than anything, people are what I miss about Ireland. In a recent Irish Times article, Russ Parson, ex-food critic for the LA Times, and new inhabitant of Waterford, commented on the “connectedness” of Irish people, and this is truly the amazing thing about Ireland. 

When I first moved away, the anonymity of living abroad came as a huge shock to me. Meeting new people, I was surprised to find how cautious I felt, before finally realizing it was because I had absolutely NO WAY of knowing who these people were. Was I safe? Was I wasting my time with people I would have nothing in common with and ultimately not like?

In Ireland, no matter who you meet, someone in your social circle has an acquaintance who knows the cousin of the sister of your future date’s second cousins’ ex-flatmate’s work colleague. There’s a comfort to this – not only in knowing that this person is, in a way, “vouched” for, but also if you go missing (!) you’ll be tracked down.  

Avoca’s mushroom soup

(I’m sensing a theme here.) When asked to describe this, my American husband said, ‘Uh . . . heaven?!’ Enough said.

The featured image is by Irish artist Monika Crowley, from her ‘Domestic’ series

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