A Mindful Walk along a Country Road

Thoughts on a guided walk in County Kerry, Ireland, that focused on the multiple ways in which plants take care of us

Fall doesn’t come as quickly or as spectacularly in Ireland as it does in places with more severe temperature changes and larger numbers of deciduous trees. Much of the country remains green all year long, and the changes that do occur are gentle and gradual.

However, now that we are at the end of October and Samhain (Halloween) is almost upon us, you can see that the wildflowers have mostly disappeared, the ferns are turning brown, and the bright red berries of the hawthorns, guelder rose bushes and holly are becoming prominent.

As I’ve written about before (A Walk in the Dunes and One Story about a Rewilded Garden), since moving to the southwest coast of Ireland, I have become a meanderer. Nature here—when given half a chance—grows in a wild profusion of wildflowers, grasses, shrubs, trees, ferns, mosses and more, and whenever I go for a walk, I seem compelled to identify, understand and connect with each one.

This is one reason why a nature walk that Gerhard and I participated in last Saturday was particularly fun. It was sponsored by the Cork Nature Network, whose mission is “to protect and promote Ireland’s wildlife through education, conservation and research to restore a healthy ecosystem for all species and habitats in Ireland.”

The ostensible purpose of the walk was admirable: to gain a better understanding of the critical role that peatlands play in carbon storage, biodiversity and climate regulation. Thanks to timing and the weather, however, it turned into something a bit simpler.

To get started, around ten participants met in the parking lot of the Catholic Church in our local village, Cloghane. Our guide on the walk was Albert Nolan, who hails from Tipperary. Albert had never visited this part of Ireland before, and he had been told that the walk to the peatlands would take us about 20 minutes. He then explained that he was a meanderer, and that he would likely discuss many of the plants, insects and birds we would pass along the way. (Which sounded wonderful to me!)

And so we headed out along a small boreen (a narrow, one-lane country road) just outside of town.

The weather was cloudy, but dry as we started out. As promised, Albert stopped at numerous places along the way to talk about the different plants and insects we encountered—including the guelder rose berries in the picture below.

Although I have been trying to identify plants for several years, I suddenly realized how dependent I am on the flowers for identification. Now that the flowers are gone, I failed to recognize many of the plants—like St. John’s wort and tutsan—that Albert was pointing out.

I have recently been reading a delightful book by Robin Wall Kimmerer called Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge and the Teachings of Plants. In one place she writes that in some Native languages the term for plants translates to “those who take care of us.” I think the Irish would wholeheartedly agree with this interpretation.

Just one example of many is shown in the following video, where Albert talks about the ways in which hawthorn trees benefit human beings.

Albert carried a butterfly net, and at one point he swished it through some bushes. As we gathered around, he pointed out all of the little insects that had been captured within it and talked about how important the really tiny ones are because they form the basis of the food chain for the larger insects, who feed the birds, and so on.

He also told us that some plants that grow in really poor soils—like those in a bog—have developed the capacity to catch and consume small insects.

The walk to the bog/peatlands that were the ostensible focus of the event took us quite a bit longer than 20 minutes. Once we arrived, we left the boreen and started walking in the bog itself, which was rough and uneven. I quickly became afraid of falling and hurting my arm again—which I broke just two months ago—and rain was also beginning to fall. So I retraced my steps to the boreen and began walking back to Cloghane alone.

Unfortunately, this means I missed Albert’s comments on peatlands. In any case, the rain was becoming more insistent by then, and the rest of the group soon headed back as well.

We all got into our cars at the church and drove five miles down the road to Halle le Chéile, our local community center, where we were warmly greeted with hot tea and delicious homemade scones spread with butter and strawberry jam. Just as we arrived, the heavens opened up and rain POURED down!

By the time we had finished talking and eating, however, the rain had become a fine mist, so we had a fortunate ending to a wonderful fall day.