Week Six (halfway point!)
Hello!
Teo, Eliza, and Conrad completed their road trip and arrived at Ballymaloe last Friday at precisely the right time. I’d gotten rejected from a dream fellowship in Rome minutes before they drove in, and I’d just finished an arduous week of cooking and learning. It was such a relief to step out of the classroom and into familiar arms. We’re at the end of Week Six now, and I’ll confess that the novelty of life here has faded. My classmates’ and my moods have settled into shaky normalcy, and we spend much of our time considering what the hell we’re going to do next. Witnessing Teo, Eliza, and Conrad’s discovery of Ballymaloe last week served as a much-needed reminder of how special it is here, and how lucky I am to call it home for these twelve weeks. Although my sense of wonder has admittedly dulled since my arrival, I’m still the most consistently happy I’ve been in my whole life.
On Friday evening, the four of us dined at Ballymaloe House, thanks to Conrad’s parents Sarah and Hugo. (A thank you note is en route!) It’s a hotel and restaurant, and the interior feels like a home, with patterned wallpapers and thick carpets. The highlights of the meal were our cocktails—Walled Garden Martinis made with elderflower syrup, lemon peel, and Ballymaloe gin—the lamb Conrad ordered, and my monkfish, which was served on a rosemary sprig skewer. It was fun to dress up, forget my disappointment about Rome, and get taken care of for the night. My housemate Georgia picked us up after dinner, and we all went to the local Shanagarry pub together. There were a bunch of Ballymaloe people there, and a man was singing traditional Irish songs, so I feel like I gave them the full experience.
It was blustery and grey the next day, but Georgia and I rallied the troops to get everyone into the sea anyway. It definitely didn’t help my reemerging cold, but it felt necessary to have them brave the autumnal Irish water. When we all cooked together that night, I taught them how to make traditional soda bread and spread each slice with the appropriate amount of salted butter. If you’re gonna be in Ireland, be in Ireland, you know?
I spent most of Sunday crying, as I inherited the Hummon genes of hating goodbyes and having two rivers for eyes. You should see how Hummon family reunions end: everyone weeping and singing “God Be with You Till We Meet Again” in layers of harmony. I try not to be embarrassed about the crying gene because I know that it reflects the fact that I care a lot and come from a family that cares a lot, but I will say that it’s an exhausting way to live.
The Monday after my friends left was a perfect fall day—cool and lucid—and we students spent the morning foraging with Darina. There’s nothing like foraging to remind you of a place’s value. As we all stood by the south-facing wall of the school building, Darina asked us to call out any plants we could see that produced something edible. Peach tree, rosemary, nasturtiums, dandelions, and on and on and on. We must’ve been calling out names for ten minutes, reveling in the abundance of that one little corner of the planet. Wherever I end up settling in life, I’d like to be able to identify the nature that surrounds me. This past summer, we visited Aunt Rah and Uncle Brian in Maine, where we spent time with their dear friend Merrie Eley, a trained naturalist. Like walking with Darina, walking with Merrie is a delight; birds have names and trees have stories and everything is connected. I’d like to be that person.
I have so much more to say, but I’ll leave it at that for now and get some sleep. Perhaps I’ll write an additional post this week if I find the time! Thanks for reading!
Phoebs