{"id":395,"date":"2020-09-11T09:31:49","date_gmt":"2020-09-11T13:31:49","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/wanderofwanders.com\/?p=395"},"modified":"2025-08-26T10:42:29","modified_gmt":"2025-08-26T14:42:29","slug":"thoughts-on-bravery","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/wanderofwanders.com\/index.php\/2020\/09\/11\/thoughts-on-bravery\/","title":{"rendered":"Thoughts on bravery"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image size-full\"><img decoding=\"async\" src=\"https:\/\/wanderofwanders.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/famine.road_-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-393\"\/><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">It happened again just the other day. I was off on one of my local adventures, bound and determined to find the ruins of a castle I\u2019d seen peeking through the trees, across a field, up just ahead if only I could find it. As I walked, I heard the loud rumble of an engine unbound by the muffle of a hood. Not long thereafter, the most unusual sight greeted me. A middle-aged man on a four-wheeler \u2013 half fire-engine red, half spray-paint gold \u2013 drove my way, a laughing three-month-old baby sitting on his lap. We waved and he stopped the engine, certainly to the gratitude of the birds around us, to engage in a friendly chat. He told me a bit about himself (the four-wheeler by the way was the calming charm, he said, for each of his four children at this youngest child\u2019s age when they were a bit out of sorts. And did I like the gold look?). I shared some of my story \u2013 my retirement, my move to Ireland in general and Corofin in particular, my love of the land. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYou came here by yourself,\u201d he said, not a question so much as a bewilderment, as if he wasn\u2019t quite sure he\u2019d heard right. Yes, I said. \u201cAnd you say you didn\u2019t know anyone when you moved,\u201d once more a bewilderment. That\u2019s right. And then I listened again to the same three words I\u2019ve heard often this past year. \u201cYou\u2019re very brave.\u201d Or very crazy, I laughed, which has become my pat, somewhat flip response. As we went our separate ways \u2013 he down the one-lane road with the contented baby, me with his instructions in my mind headed for the ruins \u2013 I ruminated in a bit of bewilderment myself. What are the chances that an Irish father of four on a rural road in North Clare would say precisely the same words as some of my family, friends and acquaintances back in the states? And what did it mean, really, bravery? Did I have it? Was I a fraud? Did I have something else? Was it as alluring? <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The fact is, I don\u2019t feel as if I have been brave. It is true that I left the familiar contours of my known world behind \u2013 the hometown where I had lived nearly all my life, good and satisfying friendships, family who nourish me \u2013 to move to someplace new. Since coming to Corofin, I have felt acutely the juxtaposition between living in a town in the states where, Cheers style, \u201ceverybody knows your name\u201d to living in one in Ireland where I am pretty much a stranger. I would be lying if I said that isn\u2019t a bit unsettling. But really, people move all the time of their own volition, start afresh. In and of itself, that is not brave. There is a touch of additional adventure, I grant you, when that new town is in a different country. But I\u2019ve not moved to Machu Picchu or Mongolia. English is spoken here, although I grant you, I do wonder about that sometimes when a townsperson talks rapid fire and I\u2019m left in the dust, having to say, \u201cexcuse me?\u201d However, I am reminded that more than one visitor \u201cfrom away\u201d has probably been just as bewildered when listening to a born-and-bred Mainer. You get the drift, though. I\u2019ve not had to hone rusty Italian or Russian skills. Again, not particularly brave. It is true that I am generally not a fearful person, and maybe that\u2019s closer to the nub. I am comfortable in my own skin, and find that most people are just going about their lives and intend me neither harm nor unwarranted great good cheer. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">No, bravery is something altogether of a different sort. It is more profound, a test of character met and conquered, a fortitude. Several weeks before I met the father and baby, I spent the better part of the day climbing Mullaghmore, one of the hills in the Burren. The trailhead wanders off from a flat, rock-strewn surface barely recognizable as the road it once was. This is the image that accompanies my blog post. Here is a \u201cfamine road,\u201d a road to nowhere built by starving Irish people during The Great Hunger, An Gort Mor. These roads are scattered throughout Ireland, the result of a government plan to pay Irish people to build roads as a means of putting money in their pockets to buy food. It is not my intention, at least in this blog, to delve into this policy from a political perspective. It is a fact that workers, already starving, built roads in order to make a pittance with which to buy nonexistent or highly overpriced food. Rural Clare was disproportionately hard hit by the famine, with record unemployment rates in the years prior to its onset. The first recorded death in Ireland was a widow from Corofin and the last, a man from Ennis who died of starvation in 1851, according to one account.\u00a0 In the Burren in particular, the 1841 census recorded that 85 percent of the houses there were \u201cfourth-class\u201d structures, defined as \u201call mud cabins having only one room.\u201d The road policy didn\u2019t work, not surprisingly, and was abandoned altogether a year after it commenced. Hence, the many \u201cfamine roads\u201d that were abandoned along with it. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">When I think of bravery, I think about those who built this\nsingle road in the Burren. I can see them in my mind\u2019s eye, bone-weary people with\ndiscouraged, defeated faces, wearing clothes caked with dirt and ingrained with\nodor. Their lives in the Burren would have been unforgiving to begin with, a\nhardscrabble existence fueled by potatoes gone black and animals long\nslaughtered or sold. Here was a chance to make a pence or two, this road work,\nto feed the children already weak with hunger. I see them painstakingly moving boulder\nafter limestone boulder to clear a wide swath for a road they had to have known\nwas situated in a wildly improbable and impractical location. Yet they\npersisted, day after day. This, I think, is bravery: not knowing what the morning\nmight bring, but getting up anyway and getting to it because you must. It takes\ncharacter, an inner fortitude, to find this place within. I think refugees torn\nfrom homes they love have this bravery of which I speak. So too, I think of the\ndoctors and nurses who have known the risks to their health these last six\nmonths, known what they could bring home to their children, but go to the\nhospital nonetheless. When lives are disrupted by nature, or politics, or war,\nor disease, or any combination (dysentery and typhus were the primary causes of\ndeath during An Gort Mor, not starvation), and people find themselves facing\nthe impossible but face it anyway, that is bravery.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Perhaps, you may say, I\u2019m being a bit over dramatic. If that\nis my impossible exemplar of bravery, we most of us are found wanting. So be\nit. I found a road in the middle of nowhere leading nowhere, and this is where my\nthoughts traveled. The image I conjure in some strange way settles me. I chose\nto move to Ireland, and I can live here comfortably if not extravagantly. I\nknew enough about myself to understand that I would be fine. There will be travel\nin my future, if I remain healthy, to places not quite as accommodating as here,\nwhere I will undoubtedly have to dig a little deeper. But really, mine is a 21<sup>st<\/sup>\ncentury first-world life. When I find myself in some unfamiliar country and don\u2019t\nspeak the language, when I\u2019ve missed a train or can\u2019t make myself understood\nand I\u2019m tired and I feel overwhelmed, I will pause. I will think of those\npeople on that road. And from their bravery, find my own pale resolve.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>It happened again just the other day. I was off on one of my local adventures, bound and determined to find the ruins of a castle I\u2019d seen peeking through the trees, across a field, up just ahead if only I could find it. As I walked, I heard the loud rumble of an engine unbound by the muffle of a hood. Not long thereafter, the most unusual sight greeted me. A middle-aged man on a four-wheeler \u2013 half fire-engine red, half spray-paint gold \u2013 drove my way, a laughing three-month-old baby sitting on his lap. We waved and he stopped the engine, certainly to &#8230; <a title=\"Thoughts on bravery\" class=\"read-more\" href=\"https:\/\/wanderofwanders.com\/index.php\/2020\/09\/11\/thoughts-on-bravery\/\" aria-label=\"Read more about Thoughts on bravery\">Continue Reading<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1332,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-395","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v28.3 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Thoughts on bravery - Not all who wander are lost<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/wanderofwanders.com\/index.php\/2020\/09\/11\/thoughts-on-bravery\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Thoughts on bravery - Not all who wander are lost\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"It happened again just the other day. I was off on one of my local adventures, bound and determined to find the ruins of a castle I\u2019d seen peeking through the trees, across a field, up just ahead if only I could find it. As I walked, I heard the loud rumble of an engine unbound by the muffle of a hood. Not long thereafter, the most unusual sight greeted me. A middle-aged man on a four-wheeler \u2013 half fire-engine red, half spray-paint gold \u2013 drove my way, a laughing three-month-old baby sitting on his lap. We waved and he stopped the engine, certainly to ... 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Not all who wander are lost","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/wanderofwanders.com\/index.php\/2020\/09\/11\/thoughts-on-bravery\/","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"Thoughts on bravery - Not all who wander are lost","og_description":"It happened again just the other day. I was off on one of my local adventures, bound and determined to find the ruins of a castle I\u2019d seen peeking through the trees, across a field, up just ahead if only I could find it. As I walked, I heard the loud rumble of an engine unbound by the muffle of a hood. Not long thereafter, the most unusual sight greeted me. A middle-aged man on a four-wheeler \u2013 half fire-engine red, half spray-paint gold \u2013 drove my way, a laughing three-month-old baby sitting on his lap. We waved and he stopped the engine, certainly to ... 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