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I always think there is something very comforting about the rhythms of an Irish summer. For me summer begins with the bluebells, which remind me of the May altars in our small, two-teacher primary school. If I close my eyes I can still smell their fragrance and feel the crisp, clear morning air that we associate with the beginning of summer.
School sports days, community games finals and the GAA keep parents busy while the ever-constant hum of championship hurling and football is a fixture on Sunday afternoon radio.
The June bank holiday marks my parents’ anniversary and means a visit back to Wicklow. Then State exams begin and there is always someone to send a good luck card to.
All the farming talk is of first-cut silage, shearing sheep and the variability of the Irish summer weather. As June slips into July the children are off school and days at the beach beckon. If I was well organised the picnic included roast chicken sandwiches along with freshly baked scones and queen cakes. If I was in a rush then it was bananas in bread rolls.
No summer would be complete without attending at least one of those great voluntary efforts – the county shows. I was at Tullamore on Sunday and was bowled over by all there was to see and do.
I was judging in the bakery marquee and most of the classes had over 10 entries and there wasn’t much to choose between them. You’d have to marvel at the commitment of people who spend hours not alone intricately icing a cake or putting together an afternoon tea tray, but then delivering them safely and on time to the show.
Over in the horticulture marquee the potted plant classes were among the best I’ve seen. And as for the dahlias, well they were out of this world. I’ve no doubt the display will tempt many more people to grow them.
The show is a great way of catching up with old friends and meeting new people. There’s always someone with a problem to tell me about and if it can’t be solved, at least talking the thing out is a help.
The poultry marquee is my absolute favourite thing at Tullamore. You can’t hear your ears with all the noise, but the show-off cockerels are something else. I keep promising myself a couple of silkie bantams and guinea fowl, but not just yet.
Unfortunately, Tullamore always coincides with Pattern Sunday in my home place and that’s an event I never miss. Ballycoogue is a tiny crossroads community perched high above the Avoca River. It consists of a school, church and community centre. Small it may be, but it’s blessed with a vibrant community group, keeping everything looking well and producing lovely booklets on the people and the happenings both past and present in the half parish. It’s a place to catch-up with the friends and neighbours I grew up with, the people who, next to my family, are closest to my heart.
Before we know it the All-Ireland’s and the Rose of Tralee will be the television and there’ll be the rush to buy school books and uniforms. Another summer will have slipped quietly away, leaving behind a new set of memories that form the story of our lives.
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