An Sceachóg

An Sceachóg

I have been acquainted with grief recently.

This month has been a bit of a misty one. May is probably my favourite month, it is the time of year I feel most excited about the crescendo of biology during mid-Summer not so far off. Unoriginally, the hawthorn in bloom is my calendar, but it is precisely this display of dazzling floral white across the landscape that connects me so deeply with my sense of place and with my ancestors, Namely, their reliance on features of the landscape that rooted them to their home, like it still does for me.

This May was different however. The blooming sceachóg coincided with the loss of a loved one. The symbology forever changed. Thinking about your distant and intangible ancestors from time long before us and how they beckoned the hawthorn to bloom every year in a celebration of Summer, in one thing. It is another to lose an ancestor so close to your heart and so engrained in the fabric of your existence, literally and emotionally. Grief is strange to me, fortunately, but I believe very strongly that my connection to the natural world, foreshadowed by this loved one, granted me the strength to find beauty even in death and loss. It’s all very raw. So, despite my broken heart, the may flower will still forever remind me of my ancestors, even more so now. I will bring it with me, like Summer herself.

I’ve been reminded why I walk this path. Of course, developing my career in ecology for the purpose of conservation and protecting our biodiversity is the main point of trodding this route, but it is not the whole point. Really, it is the pure art of it all. The art of discovery, practice and learning. It is more than binomials and results, it is the fulfilment of destiny. This is what I think and let’s face it, that is all that matters. As long as the bloom returns every May, I’ll never stop learning or grieving.

Thugamar fhéin and samhradh linn