It’s a watery New year’s Day morning: the estuary is enveloped in yellow, grey and green mist as the sun comes up and fingers the water. The raindrops on the windows smear the views of Glin across the way. It is very quiet for Labasheeda. Not even a tractor wheel to be heard tearing around the corner.

It’s the start of a new year.  Given the wars and populist protests of 2025, it’s hard to imagine what 2026 might bring other than more anger, anxiety, and poverty. All across the world, countries and people seem to be either spiraling out of control, going up in smoke or getting buried in landslides, earthquakes, tsunamis. Every page I turn, or wavelength I tune into brings death and despair until I look up and remember to smell the roses, literally.

Last summer, in my new garden, I planted rose bushes, buying most of them from the Vandaleur Garden in Kilrush. Vandaleur is a favourite place of mine. One of my roses has flowered gorgeous pink flowers until now. So, this Christmas, I decided to decorate my lovely new home with vases of roses, yellow, pink, red, white and they give me real pleasure, when I look up and see them.

This year, I had a wonderful Christmas, shared between Miltown and Labasheeda with Roisin and Jack, Joe, Jerry, and my little scamps, Aine, and the baby, Aiobhin. (She is a dote) They are my granddaughters and they bring me such joy. How I love to wrestle and tickle, hide and seek, read and tell endless stories, rock and soothe. They are my roses who physically prod me, shout for my attention, demand to make me happy.

Neighbours and new friends also came to visit this Christmas, bringing wine, chocolates, with tales of Estuary swimming, fishing expeditions, house renovations, and new Labasheeda projects. And we got invited to visit their homes too to hear about their children, jobs, life stories. I have never felt so welcomed in a place as I have here in Clare. Labasheeda is not only a bed of silk, but a bed of roses.

Last night Jerry and I brought in 2026 with Jools Holland, as we usually do. I noticed that the audience is getting older and dare I say it, a little more ragged. Indeed, there were two old university friends having the craic with Jools. It was the usual banter around resolutions and predictions. However, no one dared predict what might happen in 2026 and few had New Year resolutions. I have though. My plan is to look up and smell the roses, wherever they are and whatever shape they take. I am fortunate enough to have planted myself in a rose garden.

May all your own rose gardens blossom!