“Will we put a blanket on the windscreen?”

This question was posed as I helped an Irish friend remove a few centimeters of snow from the exterior of her car. We’re well into what is known as Storm Emma, and chance would have it that I’m back in Ireland for the worst snowstorm since 1982. In honor of the white season, the local radio has created questionable rap songs about the snow and even better, Christmas FM has resumed on the radio as the majority of the country stares out the window in amazement.

As a New Englander, it’s comforting to experience snowfall in March while living so far from home. Of course, none of this weather could have been foreseen—right down to my cancelled flight back to London. But all told, the opportunity to sit quietly and listen to how Irish snowflakes fall makes me feel strangely homesick yet simultaneously at home. Being in the comfort of people you know well will do that to you.

Yesterday morning when the foul weather first started to get interesting, we made our way north from County Clare to County Galway. I piled in a car with two American friends whom I don’t see very often. Like me, they have been to The West several times before, but, as is the case with us all, their knowledge runs in different directions. I asked them if they’d ever been to The Flaggy Shore. Or if they were familiar with the famous poem penned by Seamus Heaney. They were not.

So in mid-morning as we left The Burren, it was an overcast day and still in the early stages of Storm Emma. The current state of the snow cover across the limestone rock rendered our windshield attempts at photography unremarkable. Our ultimate destination was just outside of Galway city, but first a diversion to the Flaggy Shore had to be built in.

As we turned off the N67, the weather started to degrade. On account of the wind and heavy cloud cover, the sea had plenty of unwelcoming chop. The Galway Bay sky was devoid of the iconic clear day stretches of thin, puffy clouds that are held up by a pearlescent blue frame. Instead, everything was colored in varying hues of slate—a Cape Cod Day, as my father might call it.The three of us—the two others are actually pilots—of course know different things about different aspects of the world. They may not have been familiar with the poetry or beauty resident on a more pleasant day here in County Clare—but because we are all friends, this ensured that our detour to the stormy coast was not in vain. Today we’d still be collectively enchanted by similar, and indeed wintery things.We came upon Linnane’s in New Quay, now deserted with only a solitary boat banging up against the pier. Despite the lack of life support, our driver took one look at human-free surroundings and veered off the road until we stopped just short of the perilously pictorial “Park at Your Own Risk” sign. Like little kids we jumped out of the car to get a closer look at the boat, the lobster pots sitting empty on the pier, the seaweed bound up in the rocky shore. For the three of us, the ordinary was indeed extraordinary.

It’s been some time since I’ve been back to The Flaggy Shore, and as we traveled further down the road it was clear that the Minister for Tourism had put in some additions. The unmistakable squiggle of the Wild Atlantic Way is now cast in a metal signpost that stands next to a tribute to Seamus Heaney. The poem is written there for all to read in full comprehension. We pulled off the road again, ignoring the impolite wind mixed with snow that whipped around our faces and through insufficient clothing layers.“This is amazing!” said my other companion as we stood on the shore, blinking away the driving snowflakes and breathing in the gorgeous Atlantic air. We stood outside until just until the point of freezing, which lasted no longer than a few minutes. It ultimately took about two hours to make the short journey Galway as we found ourselves stopping to explore the Martello Tower, stone guardhouse ruins and even old tyres fashioned into Minions are transformed as hurling players.

“You’re not getting the Beast from the East—it’s more like the Best from the West.” This was observation put to us by a chocolate shop café worker as we stopped to pick up takeaway coffees. It was true. Even though the effects of the big storm were still rather unremarkable out here in Connacht, we found plenty of unexpected people, poetry and places to make everything feel special.So again we are halfway through the storm and our cars in the driveway here in Galway have been brushed off as we are ready for the next wave to arrive. As a Cape Codder, it doesn’t seem so scary, and for all of the jokes we’ve seen about Irish people fighting each other for the last loaf of sliced pan, I’d say that most folks are responding quite calmly to this unusual situation. Many of us have opted for a walk into to town, confident that the only businesses remaining open would be the pubs.

As for myself, coming out here was already special. Our group, a mix of Irish and American, all gathered to celebrate some noteworthy personal achievements. As it was, the reunion would have produced fond memories—but I now must tip my hat to Emma as she managed to shut down the airports and have us all stay just a little bit longer. As I write this, a cup of Irish Coffee has been set down in front of me. I can still hear the wind blowing outside, and it sounds very much like the soundtrack we had in full exposure during our child-like adventures on The Flaggy Shore.

Being snowbound in Ireland is rather a gift in itself. It provides a rare pause in a world of hurry where we get little time to process the simple yet precious things that we experience everywhere on any day. In this way, confinement in such a landscape is good for that—to be surrounded by friends who are so caring about you and everything around them that they’ll volunteer to wrap it all up in a blanket as protection against the elements.

I have no idea what the snow tally will show when the Beast From The East finally takes its leave for another 30+ years. As nice as it all has been, I know that we Yanks need to leave our Irish friends so that we can all resume our normal everyday jobs. It’ll be a bittersweet departure, but it’s one now laced with a stormproof reassurance that we’ll all be out here again before too long. We’ve got more weather adventures to experience, and more coastline that will be begging for comparison.