Through My Eyes, In My Words:

The Land and Landscape of Ireland

Taught by Joseph J. Martin, associate professor emeritus of English, and Jack Truten, visiting assistant professor of English

Karen Ruggles of Easton, Pa., intends to double major in art and English. She is involved in the development of America Project as a writer/photographer working with visiting artist Sekou Sundiata. Ruggles says photography is a “strong hobby, if not a subtle obsession.” She has a campus job as a photographer and has breathed life back into Photography Club. She plans to travel more with the college “not only because I love to see different countries but also because the Ireland course was a marvelous experience.”

By Karen Ruggles '08

Early for a college student, my gaze finds the horizon distantly waking itself. I am given cliffs, one beyond the other—disappearing as they drift into a morning haze. They balance on the mist, forgetting the world. As my feet draw them closer I see their sudden drop, as if a large hand scooped out the Earth with an open grip . . . like a child does with sand. In between the fingers where knuckles would bend, cliffs formed in succession, each with an equal share in depth. Where the thumb joint met the palm you would find a tower—the perfect place. It boldly overlooks the bay, falling asleep to ocean waves and tourist chatter. Crawling out to the drop, I lay flat on my stomach and attempt a horizontal pull-up to confront the definition of steep with my eyes. Having a birds’ eye view of the cliffs made them instantly higher. The sun, rising higher, paints pastels amongst clouds. Light bounces off the water 700 feet below and dances with the shadows cast by the rocks. You could see, if you dared to inch further, the white of upset water knocking on the rock far down, bumping and curling to give the water its own fingerprint. The wind blows my hair upward to clear my view and make me nervous. Tearing my eyes away from the mystifying drop, I stare ahead to the fresh morning sky. The domino cliffs were still fading in the mist, but waking themselves. I blinked heavily and allowed a smile to smudge my face. These are the things dreams are made of: a mist forming, suddenly, into cliffs, the sun peeking from behind clouds, and an embrace from the wind. Submerged in the feeling . . . If you can smile like this, you have been to Ireland.