August 21: Magic, Beauty, Goodness, and Flowers (Lisburn)
A rain storm rolled through a few hours ago, but has long since been replaced by blue skies and warm, white sun. The bright green leaves around me are unfurled toward the rays and sparkle with water droplets as the wind gently pushes through the garden. From where I sit at a little wrought iron table, I can smell the grass, the damp leaves, the fragrance of some unknown-to-me flower. Birds call to each other from the trees and bees and butterflies move flower to flower, occasionally stopping near my hands as I type — likely drawn to the smell of the fresh apple I picked off one of the trees for breakfast.
It’s a perfect morning. I hate to leave the serenity of this garden. I have a another bus to catch in a few hours - I’m slowly making my way down to where I’ll settle for a longer amount of time. I’ll be staying in Dublin tonight. But for now, I’m pretending I don’t have to rush. Pretending I don’t have responsibilities or places to be. How lovely life would be if we could truly move through it freely! Ebbing and flowing through space like the tides, drawn by natural rhythms, rather than being dictated by demands.
Yesterday ended up being such a lovely and spontaneous day. I arrived to the Belfast Eurobus station at around 9:45am, where Leslie was already waiting to meet me. We drove the short distance to Larchfield Estate, specifically to his and Ann’s private home, which is about a mile from the main house. It’s the most perfect home. If I could design a place for myself, it would be something like theirs. It’s a long house, but folded in on itself slightly, like a “[“. The short sides of the house are dark and quiet. The long side of the house is full of light and holds the dining room, which looks and feels more like a greenhouse, and the main seating room, which looks and feels like a library, with full bay windows and a window seat opposite the wall of books and artifacts collected from travels through history. The kitchen is between those rooms, at the heart of the home, with high ceilings and large glass doors that open up directly into the garden.
The garden… it is perfection in a place. Fragrant, vast, and a little overgrown, giving the illusion you have only just discovered the paradise for yourself. Small paths wind between the herbs, flowers, trees, and vegetables - in no particular order. In some places, you wind between the thick growth only to stumble into an open field or onto a wooden bridge cutting across a tiny pond. You can see it from the front of the house, too, through large archways that interrupt the structure, as if the garden and house were one. It is different from the garden I am in now, well-tended and organized, with sharp cornered stone walkways and patches of soft lawn; no, the private garden is magical. It has taken on its own form and grows freely in every direction, an inspiration in its own right.
Inside, Ann, Leslie and I settled into the library sitting room to sip coffee out of fine china and eat homemade ginger cake with fresh butter. They showed me pictures of Leslie’s old machinery factory in Belfast and talked about life during the Troubles. We talked about our families, exchanged pictures and stories, and asked after the difficulties of the last year. We talked until the coffee was gone and the sun had moved midway across the room. By then, Leslie and Ann had to get ready for their own journey - a birthday trip for Leslie, fishing in a river in Donegal.
Leslie drove me to the main house and left me in the care of his eldest son and daughter-in-law, whose own family was also visiting. I had figured I would stay in a small room up at Ann and Leslie’s. I worried once they were leaving that perhaps I should find another place to stay up in Belfast, so as to not put them out. But they insisted it was fine and led me around the estate, back through some iron gates and across a small grassy lawn toward a long stone structure. The cottages, they called them.
Oh my goodness; I do not have words for these beautiful cottages. All stone and wood, with modern amenities that look classic, and streams of light pouring in through the windows that look out onto these magnificent gardens. They are cozy and warm; they feel like stepping into the happy ending scene of a fairy tale.
I could have stayed in the quiet cottage and tranquil gardens for the rest of the afternoon but Sarah, Ann and Leslie’s daughter-in-law invited me to the main house for lunch. I wasn’t sure what to expect. I already had on the nicest clothes I brought; I hoped it would be enough.
When I got to the house, I was surprised to see everyone sitting outside around a small glass patio table, sharing homemade pizzas, wedges of squash, fresh picked tomatoes, and trays of meat. I immediately felt more comfortable. Kids chased each other around the porch, shrieking and laughing and fighting over who made the best pizzas. Two dogs came by to put their heads in my lap. Adults passed bottles wine around.
Needless to say, I ended up sitting at that table for the rest of the afternoon, laughing with Sarah and her sisters until all the wine bottles were gone and until the kids came back from their trip to the pond, covered in mud and laughing. Once everyone had cleaned up (and I had changed back into jeans!), we all drove across the fields — me in the back of the truck with the kids — to a door in the side of a stone wall, which conveniently opened up to the town pub. We spent the rest of our energy there, toasting and sharing plates.
I came back to my tiny cottage at the end of the day, giddy from all the wine, laughter, and the magic of new connections, of feeling welcomed again into someone’s family. It was easy to fall heavily into the plush bed in the quiet hum of the cottage and sleep soundly through the whole night.
There is truly nothing more astounding and energizing to me than shared connections. To believe that this whole last week was the result of a few shared experiences and short conversations last summer that turned into friendship is remarkable. I feel so fortunate, so overwhelmed with gratitude in moments like these. It is an important reminder in a difficult time that the world itself is beautiful, and people are good. There is so much light if we choose to see it and share our own.
