Lockdown. This time on an island.

Here on Inis Meáin, we’ve been blessed that there have been no cases of COVID-19. But with that blessing came a heightened vigilance and responsibility to keep the virus out – something that just got a lot easier with most of us confined to the island’s 5km x 3km. Literally and figuratively, we’ll all be in it together.

I don’t know what to expect from a lockdown here. Level 5 won’t differ hugely from 3 or 4 and yet the other night, I felt a premature loneliness creep up on me. There will be long nights and there will be uaigneas – to claim otherwise would be folly – but having seen how decent the islanders are and how well they look out for each other, I know I’m in a good place.

I have great notions and ideas of productivity (again) and I’m going to start with this blog, and go back to weekly posting rather than when-I-think-of-something-to-say posting.

Much of the government’s Plan for Living with COVID-19 doesn’t apply to Inis Meáin; we are, after all, okay on the gallery, café and gatherings-of-more-than-200-people fronts.

However, like everywhere else, COVID’s non-viral effects are felt here. Mass is gone back online again. The island’s lovely pub, Teach Ósta, wound down once Level 3 restrictions were introduced (there weren’t many interested in October outdoor drinking) and is closed now for the next six weeks. Given the importance of music on this island and role of pub as host, the pre-COVID pub is a big loss to the islanders. Furthermore, there’ll be no evening class run in the winter, nor can there be the whiff of a book-club. Even the little potluck among five of us couldn’t survive the cull. In a place with so few gathering spaces, what COVID closed or cancelled is sorely missed.

This time around though, the factory is still going and so too are the schools. And the shop will stay going also so, mercifully, I’ll be okay on the crisp front.

Those closures or cancellations aren’t notably different from everywhere else in the country. However, we don’t have that weekly trip to Aldi or SuperValu to dress up for (don’t lie, you know you do) because the shopping comes to us, either via cargo boat or on the evening Aran Ferries boat… though I guess we could dress up to go down as far as the pier if the going got tough…  

All that said, having remained COVID-free thus far, right now there are fewer places in the country safer than Inis Meáin. With the virus kept away this long, there is a responsibility on everyone to keep it that way. And the people coming and going from the island are pretty careful – not because they actually think they’d catch it – but because nobody wants to be the one that brought the virus to island after picking it up going for posh coffee in Galway.

Most people here took it handy on the popping-to-Galway front, myself included. And that has stood to me because it gave me time to settle in here instead of racing off the island every weekend. I pottered around, went for walks, got to know more people. Got used to my own company, to amusing myself with very little, to embracing the slow pace of life and adjusting to the stillness.

I started cooking, doing a bit of baking, scribbling here and there, taking the time to sit down with some Irish-language literature. And going on wee walks, picking blackberries for cakes and pies, exploring some more.

All good training for the next six weeks.

And to balance out the solitude, the sea swimming has been, and will be, a godsend; a chilly, choppy, challenging godsend. The sea takes with it concerns and complaints, it keeps the cares of the world at bay, at least for a while. It is something we all cherish, as it will sustain us through the next few weeks. And so too will good long walks, which we’re also blessed with here.

Lockdown on Inis Meáin; bake, eat, swim, walk. Repeat.

And so, the fun begins at midnight. This lockdown will be hard, it will take work to keep the chins up. And rather than just doing a bit here and there, we’ll have to be focused in structuring our time, whether that means making more times for ourselves or, in my case, less.

Nobody’s buying the well-meaning pep-talk, and the celebrities telling us we’re not alone will ring a bit hollow second time round. It will be actions, not words, that will speak loudest this time.

And here, on Inis Meáin, the islanders are solid on the action front. There is a tradition of solidarity, borne of only having each other to turn to, and it continues to this day. In other places, there is a reluctance to offer a hand for fear of being seen to interfere but the people here don’t beat around the bush like that. Three different people rang me last weekend offering to pick up my shopping from the pier and run it up to me. The bag of potatoes or onions pulled from the garraí is always left out for me to take whatever I want. There’s always someone offering a lift, with little heed on how far out of the way the second last house on the island is. Actions, not words.

Invaluable to one like me; new to this place and living alone.

It’d be easy think that the one with the confidence to write a blog has no need or heed on being looked in on. Or that the busy-looking millennial hasn’t time for people checking in, seeing how they’re doing. Or that the successful one in Dublin is far too much of a high-flyer to need reaching out to. But everyone appreciates being thought of; nobody is too busy and important for that.

That said, ring your granny first; we all need it but she likely needs it that bit more.

So, yeah. There we go. Lockdown II; the sequel nobody wanted. It sucks. But it is what it is. Check in on people. Shoot them a text, leave them a voice note. Write letters. Give someone a Wispa. Send them buns. Unlike last time, where grand gestures were the thing to be doing, this time it’ll be the small gestures that will haul our tired and weary asses through the next six weeks.

After which, please God, we can go back to our real lives where we spend our time talking about all the things we’d do if only we had the time….

Stay safe.

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