A cocoon with a view, p.1
A Cocoon With a View, page 1
A Cocoon with a View
Alice Taylor
Dedication
For Mike, and unseen family,
friends and neighbours who beam
rays of light and comfort
into my cocoon
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
The Invisible Visitor
Home Alone
Panic Buying
Days Like This!
Confusion in the Cocoon
Let’s Light a Candle
Easter Visitors
Beauty in the Eye of the Beholder
Cocooning Conversations
Flowers of Freedom
Bhfuil cead agam dul amach?
A Swift Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest
Sanity-savers in the Cocoon
May Day in the Cocoon
About Alice Taylor’s other books
Recent Books by Alice Taylor
Copyright
The Invisible Visitor
Back in the last weeks of February, which now feels like a hundred years ago, we here in Innishannon were busy planning what was termed ‘The Big Rake Off’ of the dead grass on the long, sloping bank beside the road coming into the village. It was to be our first step in the creation of a long wildflower meadow, or bank in this case. The main aim was to sustain our bird and bee life on this curving, sloping hillside where, to mark the Millennium, we had planted many trees, and beneath them had continued to cut the grass on a regular basis. But now we were changing that approach. The new plan was the creation of a long, winding curve of beautiful wildflowers waving in the breeze – and brighten up the lives of the thousands of drivers daily whizzing by into and out of West Cork. We planned a large gathering of workers on a sunny Saturday morning to get the wheels of this plan in motion. This long bank enjoys a south-facing, sunny location, so was the ideal place for a parish picnic that was planned as part of The Big Rake Off. The event brings to mind the lines of Thomas Gray:
Alas, regardless of their doom,
The little victims play!
No sense have they of ills to come,
Nor care beyond to-day.
Happily unaware of forthcoming events, we were totally focused on creating our wildflower bank. To get something like this going you need a ‘meitheal’, a word which prior to arrival of the coronavirus was a foreign language to anyone under forty. When I used it, my daughter would tell me, ‘Nobody in today’s world knows the meaning of that word.’ Amazing that the coronavirus has resurrected it simply because we are now one great meitheal, united in fighting this invisible enemy.
But before this virus turned ordinary life on its head, we were in the process of rounding up a meitheal. To round up a meitheal you need to alert all potential helpers that their presence is required on a specified date. In our village, the first step in achieving this is the Village Pole, which very obligingly stands on a corner right in the centre of the village. On it, all clubs pin their posters of future plans and hope that passersby will get the message. The second channel of communication is the church Newsletter, from which the church-goers will hopefully spread the word. Then on to the local press, which for us is the Southern Star and the Examiner. We seldom make the main Examiner itself, unless we have done something to upset the nation or said something newsworthy. But we are extremely grateful to get into their weekly supplement, The County.
Have patience with me now as I will eventually get to the point! I regularly need to say the prayer: ‘Lord, give speed to my tongue to get straight to the point!’ But, sure, now we have lots of time because no one is in a hurry. That is the biggest thing about living in cocooning territory – there is no hurry.
To get into The County, Ailín Quinlan is our conduit and she invariably comes to our rescue. So, after a long conversation with Ailín about The Big Rake Off, the chat turned to other things, which led to a discussion of another nature, and to fill you in on the source of this discussion I need to take you back to the previous Sunday – a small bit of meandering, but I’m getting there, I promise!
That day on my way to the wood I walked through the village carpark, which, due to the recent opening of our new playground, has drawn a lot of outsiders into the village. Because we are a small village accustomed to saluting each other, the newcomers are also acknowledged. This is the way with rural living!
However, on this particular day my sometimes absent brain was switched on and I began to observe some blank faces wearing masks of non-acknowledgement pass me by. Well, I thought, what is all this about? Is this new or has it crept in stealthily without my being aware of it? A dog trotting behind one stony-faced couple wagged his tail at me – I was glad that at least the dogs had not lost their friendliness! Thinking about this new shift in our culture, I walked over the bridge across the river Bandon on my way to nearby Dromkeen Wood. As you walk over this bridge there is a lovely view, both up-river to Bandon and downriver to Kinsale, so I leant over the bridge to watch the water and soak up the view. Down below on the river bank was a pretty blond girl accompanied by a beautiful blond dog. They were both elegantly turned out in almost colour-coordinated outfits. Very impressive! The dog was having great fun jumping in and out of the water, but the pretty owner was so immersed in her mobile phone that she was totally oblivious to the dog and to her wonderful woodland surroundings. I waved down and received a puzzled frown in return. The dog wagged his tail and barked.
Finally I got to the wood. In there the atmosphere was completely different. People were smiling and friendly, the children and dogs running around and obviously having a great time. Was it the wood that was having this effect? Or do a different kind of people visit woods, I wondered? I simply don’t know!
So I told Ailín about my experience and we discussed the situation, wondering if we Irish were losing our sense of connectedness and friendliness. Was it simply slipping away without us even noticing? She too had noticed the change and so she rang the main paper and asked if they would be interested on a feature about the matter. And they were! The editor felt that a lot of people were noticing what we were talking about.
So Ailín wrote her piece and on Wednesday I was the page-three girl, but with all my clothes on; perish the thought of the alternative! I was not aware that the article had appeared that morning, but on my way to Mass a friend greeted me with a big grin on her face: ‘Ryan Tubridy was talking about you this morning.’ ‘Oh my God! What was he saying?’ I asked in alarm. ‘That we’re not saluting each other in Innishannon!’ she laughed.
But the feature rang a bell with a lot of people and many radio stations countrywide called me to discuss the matter, and it became apparent that from all around the country people were noticing our fading friendliness. Sometime later the Today Show from RTE TV made contact and it was arranged that I would go into their station in Cork to discuss the matter with Maura and Daithi.
In the meantime the coronavirus was stealthily advancing in our direction and on Thursday, 12 March 2020, before I left home, the researcher Nessa McLoughlin rang to ask if I was okay to travel. That made me aware that we were sailing into uncharted waters.
The discussion with Maura and Daithi that was supposed to be about our fading friendliness focused instead on the incoming treacherous tide that was steadily creeping in our direction. I came home on the evening of 12 March and after coming in my side door, which is the one we all use, I locked it! Locking that door was a strange feeling because when I am at home I never lock it. To me living behind a locked door would feel a bit like being in jail. And who would want to live like that? What kind of a life would that be? I was about to find out. An invisible enemy stalking the country had to be locked out. For the first time ever I was about to find out what life was like behind closed doors.
Home Alone
Am I cocooning or self-isolating? In today’s climate both words mean the same thing, but it’s amazing the different picture each word paints in our subconscious. Isolation brings to mind punishment by solitary confinement, whereas cocooning paints a picture of self-caring and nurturing. Cocooning comes from the natural world of butterflies and beehives, and the dictionary defines it as to ‘envelop in a protective and comforting way’. Wouldn’t that terminology make anyone feel better! So, maybe we who are advised to do so, may choose to think of cocooning instead of isolating. Perception is everything! In the brood chamber of the beehive the baby bees are cocooned until they are able to fly and fend for themselves. The caterpillars self-cocoon until they are ready to fly high as butterflies. But the difference between us and the baby bees and butterflies is that cocooning is their natural habitat, preparing them for progression into the wider world, whereas we who were flying high now have to go into reverse and fly backwards. Can we butterflies be transformed into contented caterpillars? Possibly not an easy process as we may be about to find out in the days ahead. But for the moment it’s ‘One Day at a Time.’
Those of us who are not cocooning are caring and sharing – from a distance. You may recall the popular song ‘From a Distance’, which people can now sing with a pleasant smile if and when someone is not maintaining the advised distance. The beautiful words of this song are both disturbing and prophetic, describing the beauty and bounty of a natural, peaceful world where we love and cherish each other and God is watching us from a distance. It tells of peace, hope and brotherhood, where all live in harmony. But then we blew it and the writer wonders why. That song is really an anti-war song, but it mentions marching to
We have been parachuted into a scary new place and we are all endeavouring not to be overwhelmed. But if we over-think things, that is exactly what will happen. Our thoughts could so easily overwhelm us. The coronavirus may attack our bodies, but if we let it invade our minds too it could destroy our sense of wellbeing, which could well make us paranoid. So we are involved in two battles: the physical and the mental.
Now is a very good time to be living on a farm, as out there is the calmness and healing of nature and the animal world. A few years ago a young farmer who was on the grief road after the death of his wonderful wife told me that the animals helped him to endure and survive those brutal first days, weeks and months of bereavement. Animals and nature can stoically absorb our tumultuous emotions and erratic upheavals, and help to centre and calm us.
One morning recently on RTE radio’s ‘Sunday Miscellany’ there was a beautifully written and very wise item by a man about doing mindfulness with four donkeys. I laughed out loud listening to it. The storyteller, because that is what he was, had read Jon Kabat-Zinn, the top guru on mindfulness, so he knew what he was talking about. He told about standing with his four donkeys in a shed on a wet day looking out to sea, and how the absolute solidity and mindfulness of the donkeys was total. It was one of the most hilarious and riveting moments that I had ever listened to on radio. It made for mesmerising listening and was full of deep wisdom. Radio moments like that are golden, especially when you are cocooning.
But we are not all lucky enough to be on farms, or to have donkeys, so it is good to have a garden or to be within the prescribed access distance to a wood, river, seaside or quiet by-road, and many roads are now a lot quieter and safer for walking.
Some years ago we had a retired hospital matron working with us helping run our guest house, and whenever a crisis occurred she would simply stand back and calmly say, ‘Now, what’s to be done?’ And a plan of action came into play. She was accustomed to handling emergencies.
So, in the present circumstances it’s a case of ‘What’s to be done?’ And undoubtedly the first thing to be done is to do exactly as we are being told. Our government and health services are doing an amazing job, and the best and only thing for each one of us to do is exactly as they are instructing, which is changing from day to day. They have our best interests at heart and want us to survive to tell the tale.
Having ascertained the correct amount of necessary information, I feel that an overload of unnecessary news could damage our sense of wellbeing. So, maybe better not to immerse ourselves in a constant flow of coronavirus news. Best to keep ourselves occupied, doing selected projects, as there is therapy in doing. I was listening to Patricia Scanlan talking to Miriam O’Callaghan on radio one Sunday morning, and she suggested making your bed each morning in the cocoon before leaving your bedroom. She was passing on a bit of helpful advice that had been given to her. It was a Sunday morning so I was relaxing in bed listening to the radio. But when I got out of bed I made it immediately and have done so every morning since. Thank you, Patricia, and Miriam! A very small thing in the bigger scheme of things, but we are living at a time when little things mean a lot. It is the little things that will keep us all sane and able to cope.
And people are doing amazing things. Every day we hear of kindness and goodness coming to the fore. How great is that! Families and friends are reaching out to each other and supporting each other. We can really be wonderful when we take the time, time to talk to each other on the phone, time to email each other and even taking the time to sit down and write letters. In these stressful times how lovely it is to get a letter.
There was a time when it was not uncommon to hear someone singing or whistling as they worked or even when out walking. We seem to have lost that one! It was a very cheery sound and wouldn’t it be lovely to hear it again? It would cheer us all up, both the singer and the listener – cheer us up and lighten our hearts. In Italy during lockdown they used their balconies to sing and comfort each other. The Italians may be better singers than we are, but we have plenty of good singers too – and even songs from the few crows amongst us would not go amiss right now. Or if you have an upstairs window, why not call down and salute the passersby, and if you are a passerby why not wave and call back up. Not normal behaviour, but these are not normal times. But even in normal times we all need friendship and connectedness, though so much more so now.
There are so many things that we plan to do ‘someday when we have the time’. Well, maybe the time is now. Kindness and generosity of spirit take thought and time, and now we have plenty of both. Maybe now is the time if there is a family rift or old grudge between people to let it dissolve and evaporate. How trivial are old sores in this new order.
Many years ago in Lough Derg I picked up a leaflet that I afterwards lost, but still remember the words:
We have careful words for the strangers,
And smiles for the sometime guest
But for our own the bitter tone
Though we love our own the best.
Ah! lips with curve impatient
Eyes with that look of scorn,
’Twere a cruel fate were the night too late
To undo the work of the morn.
How many go forth in the morning
Who never come home at night,
And hearts have broken for harsh words spoken
That sorrows can never put right.
On RTE TV recently there was a programme in which a woman told a story about a neighbouring couple who had not talked to each other directly for years. They addressed each other through the dog! And when the dog died they were in big trouble! Sounds hilarious, but how many families have had big fallouts over the years, and now children are not talking to parents or siblings to each other? Is now the time to make a move? Maybe best not to wait until the dog dies.
Matters that were convulsing the world just a few weeks ago are now totally eradicated from our consciousness. This new reality has focused us all in one direction: survival is the name of the game, and nothing focuses the mind like our own mortality.
But what a blessing that it is not the young who are in the greatest danger and also that we are facing into the summer months. The good light of summer will lift our spirits when we can go out into the great outdoors. And while out there let’s not block our ears and eyes to its healing, soothing, calming essence. Be there!
Cocooning and caring and sharing at a safe distance is the new order. By all singing from the same hymn sheet, following government guidelines and helping our wonderful health-care workers by caring for ourselves and those who need us, we will one day look back and be proud of how great we were during this crisis.
Panic Buying
For some reason beyond all understanding the panic buying of toilet rolls accompanies the early days of the corona virus. There is no rational explanation for this as diarrhoea is not one of the side effects of corona, but this panic buying of toilet rolls brings back echoes of the bread-buying frenzy that was part of the Big Snow experience a while ago. Some things are beyond all explanation or understanding. Though I doubt that this was what St Paul had in mind when he told us ‘understand it even though it is beyond all understanding …’
Now, I have to admit that I did my own share of panic buying. But for me it wasn’t toilet rolls but packets of sweet-pea seeds that were the object of my ‘have to have’ panic buying. You might well wonder why sweet peas. Have I nothing else to be worried about? But an explanation is forthcoming!
I must be one of the most well-placed cocooners in the county! My home is on the corner of the village with three large south-facing windows onto a busy street and the main road into West Cork, which scene is now changing daily. Over the stone wall of the pub yard across the road is a great view of Dromkeen Wood, which is now putting on its summer wear, and if I go upstairs that view gets even better. At the top of my stairs is an art room converted from two surplus bedrooms where I pretend to be an artist. I am not an artist but a putter of paint on canvas, and I hope for miracles to happen – and sometimes they do, but very rarely. More often than not it’s a case of blood, sweat and tears! And disasters! Nevertheless, up there I have moments of pure exultation and when inspiration fails I can look across at the wood and sometimes catch glimpses of the swans rising awkwardly out of the Bandon river and winging their way up-stream. In flight they are a majestic sight.
