The myth of the Emerald Isle
From our UK edition
I’ve just been to the west of Ireland, perhaps the greenest place I have ever seen, and one of the most comprehensively stripped of nature too. Driving north from Shannon, you pass mile after mile of luminous green, almost treeless fields, until the road rises onto the dramatic limestone of the Burren. We were there to celebrate the marriage of my step-nephew (if such a thing exists) Isaac Ferry to beautiful conservationist Elizabeth Quartararo. The ceremony took place high above the Atlantic, at an ethereal spot beloved of Isaac’s late mother, my sister-in-law Lucy Birley. We reached the top on foot through an ancient hillside wood behind Mount Vernon, where Lady Gregory once entertained Yeats.