New Mayo forest to mark 200th anniversary of the Great Famine
by Sean Molloy
What if the 200-year anniversary of the Great Famine were marked not by a plaque, but by a living, growing forest?
On a bright spring morning in Cloonlavis, near Knock in County Mayo, volunteers from the Gaelic Woodland Project and Shareridge planted native oaks, alders, willows, birches, spindles and hawthorns around areas of reclaimed land bordering peatland.
“The Great Famine was a time of unimaginable hardship,” says Eoghan Connaughton, founder of the Gaelic Woodland Project.
“By 2045—two centuries later—we want this field to be a thriving woodland.”
The Gaelic Woodland Project began in 2019, fuelled by grassroots fund-raising and a nationwide network of volunteers.
Six years on, the charity purchased 12 acres of land that includes mineral soils, alluvial ground and areas of peat.
Now a 20-year restoration plan is under way: wet alluvial woodland in the lower ground, old-oak woodland on the rise, and a protective belt of mixed natives around the edges.
Critically, the bog itself will be restored, not planted—drains will be blocked to allow the wetland to recover naturally alongside the woodland habitat.
“Our aim is to create a functional forest ecosystem, not just rows of trees,” Connaughton explains.
“Different habitats mean higher biodiversity.”
A good habitat starts with the right genetics. Oisín O’Neill, a project director, gestures toward sacks of waiting saplings.
“Every one of these trees was grown from seed collected in Ireland’s last fragments of ancient woodland,” he says.
“Using true native stock protects future forests from imported diseases like ash die-back and fire blight.”
Turning those seeds into healthy trees takes nursery space and precise matching of species to soil.
That’s where Rossana Bacchetta of the Western Forestry Co-op comes in.
“In wetter pockets we’ve gone for willow, alder and birch—species happy with winter water-logging,” Bacchetta explains.
“Higher up, on drier ground, we’re planting oak under-storied with hawthorn and spindle. If you get the pairing right, restoration lasts.”
Enter Shareridge, the civil-engineering firm whose infrastructure portfolio runs from water networks all the way to public-realm spaces.
An energy review showed its Castlebar, Limerick and Annacotty offices emit about 20 tonnes of CO₂ each year.
Offsetting locally felt more meaningful than buying distant credits.
“Each mature native tree can absorb around 20 kilos of CO₂ annually,” notes Nikita Coulter, Shareridge’s Environmental & Sustainability Manager.
“Plant a thousand and, over time, you balance our annual office emissions.”
More importantly, Shareridge didn’t just sign a cheque. Coulter arranged a volunteer day that saw 15 staff swap keyboards for spades.
“We wanted people to feel the soil, see the site and understand how biodiversity net gain works,” she says.
That hands-on approach changed perspectives across the team.
“I’m going home with a whole new appreciation for what rewilding means,” admits John Maughan, better known for guiding Mayo to two All-Ireland finals than for planting trees, as he wipes mud from his boots and a few beads of sweat from his brow after setting what he reckons was tree number one-thousand.
“Eoghan and his crew brought serious energy to the day, and the craic wasn’t bad either!”
John’s colleague, Alicia McNamara, Shareridge’s HR Director, laughs from a nearby row, where she and another volunteer compare who planted faster.
“John might claim he set the last tree, but the women definitely out-planted him,” she says. “Seriously though, getting out of the office, feeling the sun and seeing immediate progress—there’s nothing like it for team spirit.”
Rewilding, insists Aaron Hegarty, another director of the Gaelic Woodland Project, must rise from the ground up.
“It takes a national community effort—clubs, schools, companies—tackling invasive species, raising funds, planting trees,” he says.
“Change won’t trickle down from above; it starts with people who believe they can make a difference together.”
That philosophy guides every step. Drains that once dried the bog will be blocked so the land can slowly re-wet.
Volunteers will return to install deer guards, clear competing rushes and monitor survival rates. Carbon-sequestration data will be shared publicly, and local schools invited to use the woodland as an outdoor classroom.
In about fifteen years, anyone leaving the county road will walk straight into a line of young trees. Birch trunks, soft with moss, will stand beside small pools ringed by alder, and big oaks will cover hazel bushes where wrens flit about.
Somewhere in that quiet green space, a small sign may note the 200-year mark since the Great Famine.
But the real monument won’t be the plaque; it will be the hum of life above and below the soil.
Connaughton often says “Forest speaks the language of renewal.”
In a land where memories of famine still echo, putting fresh growth in the ground tells a hopeful, alternative story.
For Connaughton, it’s about legacy as much as landscape: “We can honour the journey of our ancestors by restoring and gifting posterity their ecological inheritance.”
For Shareridge, the project is also a blueprint. “We build infrastructure,” Coulter reflects, “but we can also help rebuild ecosystems.
Linking carbon strategies to local, provenance-based restoration is something every company can do.”
The Gaelic Woodland Project will host more planting days over the next two years.
Corporate groups, community clubs and curious individuals are welcome.
As Hegarty puts it, “Planting hope in the ground is everyone’s job.”
So when 2045 arrives and Ireland pauses to remember the Famine, there will be something else to see: a young forest, rooted in memory, thriving on collective action, proving that today’s choices can shape tomorrow’s landscape.