Live Local Connemara

22/01/2026

When you walk into Coyles of Connemara, don’t be surprised if you bump into someone you know. Whether they’ll be buying coffee or renewing their dog licence is another matter, however.

This local food grocery and coffee hub shares a lively space with Clifden Post Office, right in the heart of the town. Even if you don’t run into a familiar face, the chances are you’ll have made a new friend before you leave. This is a zone where chats and giggles are encouraged, as is a little good-natured slagging over music choices or sporting allegiances.

‘Community is very much at the heart of what we do,’ says Alice Coyle, who opened Coyles in June 2024. Having moved home to Connemara from Cork just before Covid, Alice noticed the difficulty in accessing locally grown food compared to ‘the Food Capital’ down south.

As a response to this, she set up Neighbourfood Clifden, a Connemara chapter of Neighbourfood’s nationwide network of online markets connecting local growers to local customers. Every Thursday evening in Clifden, you could collect your crateful of real sourdough bread from Renvyle, craft beer from Spiddal, raw honey from Cashel, fresh fish from Cleggan, as well as local eggs and organic vegetables.

With Neighbourfood proving to Alice that a market clearly existed for real local produce, a ‘bricks and mortar’ version just had to be explored.

‘I believe food is a real driver of community,’ she explains. ‘The business of growing veg, rearing heritage breeds, or baking real sourdough bread from scratch is not a highly profitable one. You don’t have the economies of scale, for starters, so you must charge more, and that is hard for customers to take on, especially with multinationals charging so little nearby. But when you shop local, you don’t just spread the love—you get some in return. That money you spend will eventually find its way back to you in some shape or form.’

That shorter supply chain, Alice says, brings with it a reassurance about not only where your food is being sourced, but by whom. You may even know the producer. You can trust they care a lot more about your health and that of the planet than any profit-driven factory farm a million miles away. Real people producing real food, and without any of the chemical pesticides, growth hormones or cheap fillers that corporations use to maximise profits. Call it passion, call it a type of madness, these food producers are driven by something other than just money.

But passion alone does not pay the bills, as we all know. If these sound like the kind of community heroes you want to support, make a habit of popping into Coyles off Clifden Square once in a while and spending with intent. If it’s not the bread that keeps you coming back, it’ll be the earthy-tasting spinach, the indecently chocolatey brownies, the mad-looking Letterfrack mushrooms, or simply the promise of locally roasted coffee and a chat with a familiar face.

Coyles is open 9.30–4pm every day, except Mondays.
Follow https://www.instagram.com/coyles_of_connemara/ on Instagram for news and updates.

24/12/2025

Between Island And Shore. Maryanne Ryan reflects on the Christmas traditions that connect her Aran childhood to her Clifden home.

What is your earliest memory of Christmas on Aran?

Going to early Mass on a pitch-dark Christmas morning, young and old walking together in small groups, breath visible in the cold air. I remember the stillness—the only sound that of footsteps on the road as we made our way to Church. With the starlit sky above and the sea breeze in our faces, you felt a deep island sense of calm and peace, something that stays with you all your life.

Are there any small traditions or rituals you keep? Nollaig na mBan, lighting the twelve candles, or something of your own?

I’ve always loved the ritual of Oíche Chinn Dhúiche Lá Déag—The Twelfth Night. It’s a simple but meaningful tradition. If I’m not on the Island on that night, I still light the twelve candles in my home in Clifden. It simply connects me back to Aran, to the people and memories that mean so much to me.

How did Christmas on the Island differ from how you celebrate it now in Clifden?

Christmas on Aran was always different—I would regard it as unique. The islanders hold their culture and traditions with great pride and that sense of identity is woven through the celebrations.

There’s a strong focus on community, faith, and togetherness that makes Christmas there feel truly special. Here in Clifden, things are a bit livelier, but there’s still that same warmth and spirit—I just try to keep it simple and meaningful in my own way.

Tell us what you have for Christmas dinner at home in Clifden?

Christmas Day dinner is a family get-together with no fuss—just good food, laughter, and everyone chipping in. We stick to the traditional meal, but it’s really about the company rather than the menu. The kitchen is full of chatter, a bit of music playing, and the familiar comfort of being surrounded by the people you love.

What matters most to you about Christmas?

What matters most is time spent with family. It’s about creating lasting memories for the younger generation—the grandchildren gathered around, full of excitement, the laughter, the stories being told. Those are the real gifts of Christmas—the moments that stay with you long after the decorations are packed away.

And finally—what makes Christmas in Connemara special?

Connemara is a beautiful part of the country and Clifden, where I live, is a vibrant town with a laid-back vibe. It has that lovely balance—small-town warmth with a great community spirit.

There’s a cheerful energy about the place, especially at Christmas. People take the time to chat, to check in, to share a smile. You feel that genuine sense of belonging—something that reminds me a lot of Aran, in its own way.

Déanaim fhéin iarracht anois a bheith in Árainn ar an oíche dheireanach de Shéisúr na Nollag, “Oíche Chinn Duí Lá Dhéag” nó “Oíche na gCoinnle Beaga”. Lastar dhá choinneal déag ins na fuinneóga i ngach teach le titim na hoíche an oíche sin. Bíonn an radharc sin an-dríochtúil le feiceáil le dorchadas na hoíche. Tugann sé siar mé “Ar Bhóithrín na Smaointe” agus ar mo óige in Árainn le linn na Nollag.

Maryanne Ryan

image above: Seán Gaynor ‘A view from Inis Mór, Aran Islands’ 1950 courtesy of the Irish Capuchin Archives

24/12/2025

Letters Home: Memories of Home at Christmas, Ger Matt, Duxbury, Boston

Christmas in Connemara was always something special—a time for family to gather, with two weeks set aside for each other rather than work. I’d look forward to the stream of relatives and friends making the trip from England, and the house would soon fill with familiar faces.

The parties and sing-songs with neighbours were highlights, even though not all of us could carry a tune (not talking about the neighbours). Those traditions have travelled with me to Boston, shared with my wife, children, and loved ones. The singing voices are no better there, but the company is just as good. There’s nothing like going home or Christmas and having the craic with the Connemara locals.

I always enjoyed stopping in with Martin Leigh, who took me in every summer when I was a boy. They’d call it summer camp now, but back then, it meant drawing in hay with the horse. Martin was good to me, and I never forgot it. My old friend, the late Seamus Mannion, would join me in reminiscing whenever I visited home from America. We’d catch up, visiting Doonloughan and the villages in his travelling shop, and remember when things were simpler. I hope the Irish traditions will keep going in Ballyconneely and Clifden this Christmas and for many years to come.

24/12/2025

Memories of Home at Christmas
Ronán Noone, Weymouth, Boston

The first memory is Canon T hosting midnight Mass, and the choir breaking into “The First Noel” as it ended. The Canon would call on the congregation to join in. The town, in unison, sang. Their voices rolling over the pews, out into the Bens, across the bogs, rising to the heavens.

You could spot a family amid the rows of seats, dressed in their best, crumpled in beside each other. Your friends, your fancies, their fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters—for the first time, possibly the only time, every year—gathered together, pew by pew, as one town, in one space. The firsts and seconds in the choir measured their lines. Their voices lifted the carol into something ethereal, ringing in our ears as we slipped out into the black night.

On St. Stephen’s, you’d see the gang again, a gathering of heads who left and returned for Christmas, in the downstairs of Humptys. Walking around the town in the in-between days from Christmas to New Year’s—you could feel a buzz in the air. A crackling energy. Often the weather was rocky, then calm, and the smoke from the chimneys hovered like wisps of bundled dark air. The lights dangled, shimmering, rolling back and forth, latched between houses around the town. Someone would often say, “We should leave them up all year round. They make you feel happy.”

The dinner, always “the turkey”, and three days in the leftovers, before it was back to regular cooking. The RTÉ Guide sat on the side table beside the chair, beside the couch, in front of the TV, riffled through and stained. The family on Christmas night, locked in for Superman 1 or 2, or maybe it was Die Hard 1 or 2—whatever it was, it was talked about from the minute the Guide came out.

And then there was the call from someone you hadn’t seen in years, wanting to go for coffee in EJ’s—that turned into pints, that turned into laughs and memories and “so good to see you,” and “when are you off,” and “we’ll stay in touch.” Maybe you do and maybe you don’t. But that memory isn’t just you and the friend sitting on the high stool. It’s the whole, enveloping Christmas reconnection to everything that formed you.

15/12/2025

Our very first Maker is artisan furniture maker Paddy O'Malley.

Right now, I’m on a stone beach in Errislannan, looking for inspiration. I work with all found materials, and it’s not just me being cheap. I like the idea of making a really nice chair or table with things picked up on a beach and a couple of euro’s worth of cement. I’m from Aillebrack, in Ballyconneely, not far from the golf course.

When I was a kid, we didn’t just buy whatever we wanted. You’d make things from what you had or could afford. I would have watched my father cutting down bushes and branches and making lobster pots from them. It was like art. They were beautiful pieces. He was a fisherman, and I worked with him on the boat.

By my late teens, I had to get on with life. Construction paid well and could get you work wherever you were. But I was always making little pieces on my own. Slowly, they became more nature based. There’s nothing wrong with a straight leg, but a crooked tree branch might work just as well. It also ties the piece to Connemara.

I was abroad for 30 years working in construction. It paid the bills, but I wasn’t happy. I was in America, had remarried, and was approaching 50. I said to my new wife, ‘I’m not staying here,’ so we moved home. That was 14 years ago, and it was the best thing we ever did.

I feel very lucky. I’m 64, living in Connemara, doing absolutely what I love to do. This is my holiday, my retirement. I don’t want those things. I don’t put my work on the internet, but other people do. I just want to make stuff. If anyone wants to see my pieces, they’re in Provenance in Clifden.

Photo courtesy of Cliodhna Prendergast

15/12/2025

Over the past month, Live Local has been finding its way into homes across Connemara, celebrating the families, small businesses, tradespeople and services that make this place what it is.

A strong local economy starts with believing in one another. Whether it’s a tradesperson, a family-run shop or a local café, everyday choices here support jobs, strengthen communities and help Connemara thrive.

By choosing local, we invest in what makes this place special.

14/11/2025

Fresh off the press and ready for the post. The very first issue of Live Local begins its journey around Connemara next week.

11/11/2025