I am writing this on Wednesday evening as I return from the funeral of an old friend who died in the way that has come just too much the norm in the last while. The erosion of childhood memories leaves one deflated. There has been much death since the turn of the year, twenty per cent more this year that for the corresponding period last year.
For me, it is timely that Spring has happened upon us this week. I have a zest for early Spring — something that I have probably taken with me from childhood. As a child in Ballinrobe, I always had a great sense of the potential for hope that comes with the arrival of mid February. We had three wooden lake boats for fishing on Lough Mask, and every winter, they were upturned in our garden and allowed to hibernate against the harsh winds and rain while the fishing season remained shut. And then in late January, the boats would be turned again and the process of getting them ready for a new season would begin.
The old and weathered paint would be stripped off with scrapers and gas torches, gaps in the wood were filled with Isopon and putty. The ribs of the boat would be checked for cracks and if needed, new ribs would be created, heating them until they bent in a rubber pipe, and then bolted in with copper bolts and washers.
When it was all sanded down and washed, it would be time to apply three coats of thick gloss, normally blue, with a different colour picked every year for the top board. The seat knees would be varnished, the floorboards and oars put in place, and the engines, a three or four horsepower Seagull that you’d start with a knotted rope, would be geared up and ready for the lake.
With the lake fishing season almost upon us again dates wise, my thoughts this week went to those activities, but not so much for what they were, but for what they represented. For us, the boats on the lake would shape the excitement of the Spring, the summer, the autumn. With anglers coming far and wide for my late Dad to gilly them, to guide them to the best places to fish, to avoid the rocks, to advise them on flies such as Green Peters and the Golden Olives, dapping and trolling.
This year so far, we have all lived through what has been a torrid opening month in Ireland. The country has known shock and sadness at deaths on the roads, deaths within families, and deaths at the hands of others. We have all felt a collective pain that quickly rid us of any New Year happiness vibes.
Now, with the sun setting a bit later, and the morning brightness sneaking in our windows a bit earlier, we can allow ourselves to emerge from the months of darkness and generate new hope that tomorrow might be the best day ever.
In winter we plot and plan. In Spring, we move. Welcome back to a world emerging.
