Well, readers, I have managed thusfar to avoid writing “The COVID Blog.” But I’m afraid that time has come to an end. Ireland is certainly all of its beauty and antiquities, its music and its lilting laughter. However, it is today also a country in trouble, with a strained health care system, weary people, and spiraling cases. COVID is not only the only conversation around (Brexit coming in a very pale second), it’s a damned depressing one. And while I’ve kept it at bay in my writing these last six months, the time has come to share some thoughts. Not because Ireland has it any worse than anyplace else, although per capita it might, but because COVID-19 has I think overcome the country’s gentle heart. Not because I do not believe we are all in this together, I do, but because I would by lying if I said this situation has not messed with this stranger in a land if not strange then at least unfamiliar.

A little background is important to put this in perspective. In early December, Ireland phased out of a six-week, Level 5 lockdown. Less-onerous Level 3 strictures were put in place and were expected to last until a reevaluation on Jan. 6. At the time, Ireland had one of the lowest COVID-19 rates in Europe in no small part because this tired country dug deep and found the resolve to stay home throughout the late fall as its government asked. Prime Minister Micheal Martin was mindful that in this most social of places, where family means everything, it would be important to have at least some limited semblance of the holidays even if only a few family members could gather. The country’s Chief Medical Officer Tony Holohan was less certain this was a good idea, but said he felt if people obeyed the restrictions that the country could manage.

And then all hell broke loose.

Not long before Christmas, cases started multiplying seemingly out of control, alarming and horrifying the country’s health care and political leaders. Just for instance, I chose two relatively recent days: On Dec. 15, 329 positive cases were reported, and the 14-day incident rate per 100,000 population was 94.2. On Jan. 6, as I write this, 7,836 positive cases have been reported; and the 14-day incident rate is 819. The positivity rate of those tested is a frightening 21.8 percent. And I’d better publish this today. The number of daily cases climbed by more than 2,000 since yesterday. Clearly, Christmas strictures did not go to government plan. And gee whiz, I get it. Asked to stay home for six weeks, people were ready to go shopping, meet friends and family. But as they say, COVID is the life of the party. And as if that weren’t bad enough, into this mix came Christmas coal in the stocking from the United Kingdom: a novel strain was discovered that spread the disease very quickly and easily, and of course with that porous UK/Ireland relationship, it wasn’t long before the strain started showing up here. Today, 25 percent of all cases can be traced to this novel strain.

The result of all this? This a country on coronavirus fire right now.

So it was surprising to no one when Martin announced that that Jan. 6 deadline was a pipe dream, and strictures as severe as or more severe than any imposed thusfar were to begin. In a recent speech, easily the dozenth to which I’ve listened, he was somber in a way that the others were not. “We are all weary from the bottom of our hearts of this disease and the impact it’s had on our lives. The next month as we face into these strictest controls in the depth of winter is going to be tough on everyone.” Today in new remarks, his language was nearly cataclysmic: “The personal decisions we make will directly affect how many more people get sick and how many die.” A clearly startled Holohan has practically begged everyone to stay home. Period. End of thought. End of discussion. Yes, the vaccine has arrived; yes, help is on the way; yes, there’s light at the end of the tunnel. Pick your trite metaphor. But in the meantime, hunker down and prepare for a siege. And in case the message needs repeating, this…means…you!

And so I join my fellow countrymen in staying put. This means we must not venture beyond 3 miles from home, means working hard to find someone to get your groceries if you’re over 70, means schools are closed until at least the end of the month, the pubs that have been closed since last March (with one brief respite) remain closed and restaurants are only offering takeout, that construction work has been halted, “click (online) and collect (in person)” from retailers is suspended, funerals limited to 10 mourners and weddings to six people. No hairdresser, cinemas, galleries or museums.

These strictures mark the contours of my life, just as they did through November and early December. Summer was less contained at Level 3 but still, no pubs, no festivals, very limited and only outdoor music &et. Here in Corofin, the community center offers weekly social dances and bingo, monthly markets, classes and who knows what else, but all have been suspended since before my arrival. I joined a local land trust, but all of its activities from monthly tea talks to volunteer opportunities have been put on hold. I am not a shy person by any stretch, but nor am I the kind who is altogether comfortable making small talk, so my opportunities for interaction have been quite limited. It is certainly fair to say that life here for me has been lived to one side. Don’t get me wrong. I’m delighted I’ve made one really solid friendship since arriving, and made another that is evolving but getting stronger. I have read posts on Americans Living in Ireland or Americans in Ireland (yes, two separate Facebook groups) from those who have lived here for years yet have real difficulty making meaningful friendships with Irish people. I walk out my door and into some of the most amazing countryside in the world, getting lost in the rolling hills, the thickets, the craggy boundary walls, the flowering plants that take root in the green verge even now, the bird song (!) in January. My fellow walkers are starting to recognize me and sometimes we stop for a brief (socially distanced, of course) chat. The folks in the local convenience store and the An Post postal worker know me by sight. So I am blessed in many ways. And, to top it all off, this old broad is going to be among the first to get the vaccine. Soon, I will be writing from those far-flung European hamlets and cities I intend to visit, I will be visiting my daughter in Rwanda, I will travel to all those places here in Ireland that have been shut down since my arrival. Ennis has, I understand, a world-renowned music festival, as does my tiny town here in Corofin (though likely not world-renowned).

In other words, all will be well. Eventually.

If you have a spare moment for prayer or meditation, the Irish people could sure use the boost, I think. This is a long way from over, the numbers are so alarming, the grit and determination to stay put is getting way old, the economy is suffering and under the double whammy of Brexit. This is a small country with few people, and I think they’re feeling the strain.

Thanks for listening. I needed this!