Tom Neilan is a spry 88 years old, with truly a twinkle in his eyes and a ready smile on a craggy farmer’s face. Wearing a worn workshirt and a cap soft with age, he seems to me as much a part of the land he owns and works as the sheep and cattle there. His farm, some 100 acres in all, surrounds the thatched-roof cottage where I have been living in quarantine since arriving in Ireland June 22.

I first met Tom on the one-lane road down the way, driving his ancient, rumbling tractor that I could easily have out-walked. I soon learned that he is a musician, well known in these parts and beyond for his talent on the melodeon and the bodhran. This part of western Ireland, he says, is known to have some of the finest musicians in the country, and he knows them all. His house was often the setting for evening ceilidhs, house concerts essentially, where a dozen or more musicians gathered. The ceilidhs have been put on hold because of COVID-19, but he looks forward to the day when he can invite his friends back in to play music. He tells me he’ll let me know when that day arrives.

“Shall I play for you?” he asks me one day. We sit in his tractor shed, six feet apart of course, and he opens a large bag he’s brought with him. He takes out a well-used melodeon, closes his eyes, and plays three short tunes for me. One starts with “On Top of Old Smokey,” a song he says he played so often as a boy learning the instrument that his mother shooed him out the door in exasperation. Next came the bodhran, its surface blackened from play. He flips it to the back and proudly shows me the place where it was signed by the great Irish singer and musician Christy Moore. Moore has played that bodhran, “and if you put your face to it, you can smell his sweat,” he said with an impish laugh.

I am transported. How lucky am I?

              Welcome to my world right now of chance encounters, long walks, small towns, mercurial weather and vibrant, earthy countryside. I am nearing my second week of quarantine here in County Galway, eight miles from the town of Gort, population 3,000. This is a place of one-lane roads that rise and fall, twist and turn, leading tantalizingly to those that look more like well-worn cow paths. It is a place where horse-drawn transport is not uncommon, a place of thick, vine-covered verge and field upon field of grazing cows, horses, donkeys, sheep. In your mind’s eye, when you think of Ireland you no doubt imagine a patchwork quilt of greens set apart by stone walls. This is where I am living right now – right in the middle of those wildly improbable shades.

This area of Ireland is called the Beagh, or birchwood, and gray and white birches are everywhere in profusion here. It is located in the lowlands of The Burren, coming from the Irish word Boireann, or rocky place. This is an apt description for an enormous outcrop of more than 97 square miles of predominately limestone. You can see it in the distance from here, gray hills rising from the green plains. According to local sources, 70 percent of all flowers in Ireland can be found there, and Arctic/Alpine and Mediterranean basin plants live side by side. I will be spending quite some time in the Burren and will report back.

              I would be remiss if I did not talk about the weather. “Weather” doesn’t quite get to it. This climate seems almost a living, breathing thing, leaving me with moments of frustrated incredulity as well as near wonderment. In my home state of Maine, there is a saying. “If you don’t like the weather, wait a minute.” This part of western Ireland raises that to an art form. You need not wait a minute; a second or two will do. Start with a lowering sky, as a rule, a clean ash gray. Sometimes that will suffice. Other times, the clouds wring out rain that is nearly always soft, rarely lashing, but often present. Moments later, you feel a shift, an imperceptible lightening, as the sun tries rather desperately to penetrate. Sometimes it succeeds. Then patches of blue – can it be true? – will appear. To be fair, there have been two or three predominately sunny days, predominately being the key word. Still, one feels the whim of an ancient god or fairy at work. I feel as if I must make, if not friends, then more than a passing acquaintance with this force.

I have made the decision to truly quarantine as the Irish government requests, and so I have no car. This would not be perhaps everyone’s cup of tea, but it has afforded me a unique and welcomed opportunity to see this part of Ireland on foot and bike alone. And so I close the door on my little cottage almost every day (weather permitting!) and take off for two, sometimes three hours, just wandering. I make myself small meals – soda bread toast and jam, chicken sourced from the farmer, local strawberries, Irish cheddar on crackers – and feel contented. And at night, for the first time in years, I sleep soundly and deeply and wake refreshed.

              Speaking of quarantine leads me to speak of COVID-19, if only for a moment. Ireland has one of the most exemplary records for containing the virus in the world. In a country of 6 million, as of early July, there have been 25,500 cases reported, and 1,738 deaths. According to the World Health Organization, on July 2 it was one of only 38 countries in the world reporting fewer than 100 new cases in the past seven days. It’s disingenuous to compare a tiny country with the US; however, the recent deluge of new cases – a reported 90 percent increase nationwide in the past two weeks — does provide pause for thought. On July 20, the Irish government is expected to announce a “green list” of countries doing as well as or better than Ireland in containing the virus, where travel reciprocity will be allowed. I predict the United States is not going to be on that list. I am a member of a Facebook group comprised of Americans living in Ireland, and so many are disheartened. A long-planned visit from mom will have to be canceled. A trip home is being reconsidered, because if someone is able to enter the US on a US passport, will they be allowed back in Ireland? It is discouraging for so many.

              But I leave you on a happier note. My friend Apache the horse is munching happily on his evening meal in the field. The ash sky that today leaked a gentle rain seems to lighten a bit, perhaps a harbinger that the gods will look kindly on me tomorrow. And I remain sure that I have made the right choice in my life. Happy July 4 from the Emerald Isle!

Tips for wandering

• If your travels in Ireland (when you CAN travel to Ireland) ever bring you to this part of the west coast, I highly recommend that you stay in my thatched-roof cottage. This one’s great for one or two people and there’s one next door that would do for a family. Helen Neilan, Tom’s daughter-in-law and my host, is a delightful woman who has gone above and beyond for me during my stay here. Go to Airbnb, and plug in Gort, Ireland. It will pop up under the title, Wild West Thatched Cottage in Burren Lowlands. And if you want to dream, take a look anyway.
• The euro is an interesting currency. This may be old hat, as they say, to those of you who travel to Europe regularly, but I admit to being nonplussed by the €1 and €2 euro coins. Paper money stops at €5. So, I end up with these copper-rimmed coins that actually have quite some worth. I try to remember to use them instead of always turning to bills for small purchases, but I will tell you it’s not as easy as it sounds for the uninitiated.
• Just one final thought: EVERYTHING is weird due to COVID-19. Everything.

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