Gilding the Lilly

As if having the opportunity to walk the Kerry Way wasn't enough to qualify me as a dirty-rotten spoiled brat, I've tacked on a few days afterwards to transform what was sure to be a grand adventure into a Monumental Escapade of Epic Proportions. MEEP for short.

Do you recall when I blogged about a charming older man we (Doug, Lauren, and yours truly) had the privilege to meet  - the one resembling Yoda in all the greatest of ways? Mr. Kilroy is his name and he is uncle to a Mr. Joe Reid, owner of the Black Oak Inn in Newport, Mayo, Ireland.

Joe was kind enough to try to help me reconnect with Lavelles and introduced me to his uncle, "Padder" as he's affectionately known. I was so taken with him, mesmerized by his appearance and manner of speaking that I neglected to write down anything he said. He could have read me the phone book and I'd have been spellbound. I've kicked myself a thousand times for not taking his picture, but I was afraid to appear rude. (Can believe it? It does happen from time to time.)

Padder suffered a heart attack when he was 92 (he's now 95) and rode to the doctor's office on his bike!! "It was all downhill," Joe had explained. Well, then, it wasn't such an amazing feat, now was it?! Images of the man have floated in and out of my imagination since that awe-inspiring meeting. I suppose I fancy him a surrogate Grandfather, never having met my real ones. Nothing lasts forever and I feel a compelling need to see him again. "I want to see you when I come back to Ireland," I told him last year when we parted. "Will ye bring a spade or a shovel?" he asked. In spite of the devilish twinkle in his eye, the melancholy sentiment stuck with me. Every time I think of Padder, I remember that comment.

So, there you have it. I can't go all the way to the Motherland without seeing the cute old man who captured my heart. Who knows if I'll have the opportunity again and we all know there are no do-overs in life. I won't miss the chance to sit and listen to his buttery brogue again. No way.

I extended my trip by a few days and rather than walk the last day from Kenmare to Killarney, which is by and far a reversal of the first day's walking, I'm going to cancel the last day's hike in favor of getting a cab to Killarney. From there, I'll rent a car and drive 172 miles to Wesport...plus some because I'm sure to get lost without Lauren as my able-minded navigator. I've already spoken to Joe and he's promised to arrange a longer, more planned reunion with Padder...most likely over a few pints. When I've filled my heart again with his adorableness, I'll dash over to Wesport to visit again with Christopher Anthony Lavelle, owner of Lavell's Bar. He's quiet in a way that reminds me of my Dad.

Finally, I'll drive 160 miles to Dublin airport to return the car. I'll drive through the middle parts of Ireland I've never seen and stop off to check out every castle, abbey, and graveyard along the way. MEEP will be a whirlwind of a trip, but I plan to cram as much as possible into each and every day. Like Padder, I'm not getting any younger and I don't want any regrets.

An beoir, le do thoil! Go raibh maith agat! (A beer, please! Thank you!)

Daydreaming

I was going to walk several miles this morning, outfitted with my fully loaded pack, but a nasty front blew in and it's too damn cold out there! I know those of you in the northeast suffering with multiple feet of snow don't want to hear it, but for us - this is cold. It's only 55 degrees and the wind is blowing like hell. I'm staying inside with a nice cuppa. This morning's flavor is chamomile and lavender. I'm on my third cup and still can't feel my toes.

The chilly weather (and my aversion to it) sent my thoughts across the pond to Ireland. My ultimate pipe dream is to buy a small farm there, preferably in Kerry. I'd love to take care of an old stone house and couple of small barns. I've scoured the real estate websites...there are dozens for sale that would be perfect. I want to raise a few heifers and some chickens, have a couple of goats and sheep, and at least one donkey named Owen. Boozy and Bear would love it, too. Doug...well, probably not so much.

From there, my mind turned to Minard Castle in Annascaul, Kerry. It's where I had an inexplicable but exhilarating experience. Unfortunately, we could only spend a short time there because we were walking thirteen miles to Dingle and didn't have wiggle room in the itinerary. Built in the 1600's, it's like something from a dream - at least the kind that I have. Perched on the edge of the sea, it's nestled among boulders worn smooth by the rough waves. The ruins are nothing short of breathtaking. When it was time to go, I reluctantly followed Lauren up a steep hill behind the castle, I looked back frequently, teary-eyed and heartbroken about having to leave. It was then that I looked across the water to the Iveragh Penninsula, although I didn't know it at the time. I was unaware that I was gazing upon what would be the location of my next walking adventure. When I'm there in June. I hope to look across the bay and catch a glimpse of my beloved, majestic castle. I wonder if it's velvety whispers can be heard from such a distance?

Although I'd love to be able to call Minard Castle home, it's not for sale. I check often. There are, however, several castles and towers that are available for purchase. Ballymaquiff Castle, located near Labane in Galway, is one. It reminds me of Minard because it too is a tower house, as opposed to a full-blown castle. It's even older, built in the 14th century. Imagine being so fortunate as to care for something that ancient! Here's a view of the exterior.

It's only about forty feet tall and sits on four acres of land. The two stories are habitable, which I find absolutely amazing. It's charming circular staircases need a little TLC but they are still beautiful.

Like I said, it needs a little work, but then again... don't we all? Here's a hallway...just imagine the glass that used to fill that door's pane. Can you picture it? Now imagine tapestries adorning the stone walls. ("I've come to see the tapestries!" - a line from Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade.)  

At $223k, I think it's a steal, but I really prefer to live in Kerry. Unfortunately, I can't find any castles for sale in Kerry so I may have to rethink my plan. Live in Kerry on a farm or live in Galway in a castle? Life is wrought with difficult choices.

Until then, I'll have to be content visiting Ballycarbery Castle in June. It's a couple miles from Cahersiveen, which is five days walk from Killarney. She's not Minard, but she's a beaut and I look forward to getting to know her. For me, each castle, tower, and ruin has it's own personality, it's own feel. Does that make sense? I'm anxious to discover Ballycarbery's and wonder if it will be as powerful as Minard's. That one knocked me on my ass.

Was It Something I Said?

Why did I wait 47 years to learn to speak Irish? It's lyrical. It's poetic. It's a damn good time. In less than a week, I've learned a few greetings, how to ask someone how they're doing, answer same, ask where someone is from, answer same. I can ask someone their name, which translates as "what is the name that you wear". What a wonderful way to phrase it. I can also ask the time, answer same for the hour, quarter past, half past, and quarter to. If the time is anything else, I can't say it. I can count to twelve! Got forbid I want to order thirteen pints. I can also inquire about the weather and tell you that it's dry, wet, warm, raining, windy, or snowy. I can ask if you'd like tea or coffee or whiskey (esca baja, literally the water of life) and answer same. I can tell you that I like certain things and dislike others. All in all, a successful few days of learnin'.

One of my favorite things to say is thank you; go raibh maith agat. For the first few days, it sounded like "go row my yogurt" to me. It took some time to develop an ear. I'm still working on it. I've also learned some handy phrases like suigh sios agus lig do scith. It means sit down and take a load off.

It's my hope that when I hit Killarney, I'll be semi-conversational in Irish. Certainly, I won't be able to discuss politics or religion, but I don't do that here so I sure as hell won't want to do it there. However, I will be able to exchange pleasantries and - most importantly - ask kindly for a pint. I won't even try to speak it until I hit County Kerry. If I spoke it in Dublin, there wouldn't be many who would understand the dialect, even if they speak the language. There are three main dialects, Ulster (way up north) Connaught (sorta middle), and Munster (south west). I'm learning some Ulster and some Munster, although I'd prefer to learn Muster exclusively. Those who speak Irish in Dublin are probably not familiar with the Muster dialect and I'd make an ass of myself. Better to save the ass-makin' for Kerry.

I'm sad to say that I haven't learned any bad words, but I'm not going until June, so there's hope. If you know any, please feel free to share in the comments section below. Extra points if it's extremely vulgar.

When Lauren and I walked across England, we hired an outfit called The Sherpa Van to pick up our bags each morning and deliver them to our next night's accommodations. Because of that, we only had to carry what we needed for each day's hike (rain gear, first aid supplies, extra socks, emergency blankets, lots of water, hats and gloves, extra layers, and food. Don't be fooled, that's a lotta shit to carry on one's back.) In the van, we sent a suitcase of clean clothes and extra shoes, plus two carry-ons with laptops, chargers, hair stuff, etc. For our 16-day hike, I think I paid 200 lbs for baggage transfers. It was absolutely worth it. They even gave Lauren and I a ride from one town to the next when she was too sick to walk.

I started looking into something similar for my walk of the Kerry Way. No such luck. Although there's no organized service, I could pay each B&B/hostel to send my bags ahead...in a cab. The going rate is about e45/day. That's more than I'll be spending for most night's accommodations and breakfast combined. It's highway robbery.

Since I'm traveling alone and I'm flying home immediately following the walk, I've decided to carry everything I need on my back. The idea of that should make you cringe. Included in that pile of things to carry will be my laptop because I HAVE to blog every day (I already promised you that I would) and I'll want to skype my family. I really don't know how I'm going to 1) fit everything I need in my pack; and 2) carry it twenty miles a day over mountains. Maybe I should look into hiring a pack horse. Lauren's dwarf had this advice: "Go small and be dirty." Those of you who know Owen are not at all surprised by this. I have time to look for odor-resistant fabrics and practice hiking with a full pack.

You'll be pleased to know I've begun training....and not just the drinking of Guinness, either. I logged about fifteen miles last week and just completed another six today. I've a long way to go, but while I'm walking I practice my Irish. While walking the Old Rd today, I was going through everything I know - out loud. I was really getting into it and made a rather large arm gesture as I explained to an imaginary person that I don't like tea but would love a glass of whiskey. While gesturing, I whacked a man passing me on his bike. Then I apologized in Irish. He pedaled faster.

Was it something I said?

Preserving The Language; It's More Than Just Words

As you may recall, in June 2012, Lauren, and I walked 200 miles across England – from the west coast to the east coast, from the Irish Sea to the North Sea. You can read about that wonderful, eye-opening adventure on another blog; walkmyfatass.blogspot.com. Last June, we walked 111 miles around the Dingle Peninsula, in Ireland’s County Kerry. It’s about as far west in western Europe as one can be and it’s a world all its own. Like so many other people these days, I’d been tracing my family heritage, searching for information about my ancestors. After months of digging through Ancestry.com's church documents and sorting through faded black and white photos, a trip to the Emerald Isle seemed inevitable. I had an urgent need to walk the land my people had lived on. I wanted to find family. I found far more than I’d hoped for.

Without a doubt, one of the most moving experiences was hearing Gaeilge (Irish) spoken for the first time. It was on the train from Dublin to Tralee, the county town of Kerry. The computerized female voice that came from the train’s speakers gave instructions first in Gaeilge and then again in English. I was enthralled and almost hypnotized by the strange vowels and consonants. I heard it again, spoken more naturally and lively, in a quaint Tralee pub named the Abbey Inn. (Talk about great food, great beer, and atmosphere!) The lyrical language captivates me like none other. Unfortunately, it’s a pale shadow of its former self and restricted to a small portion of only seven counties along Ireland’s west coast.

So why is the language in danger of being lost? Its decline began under English rule in the seventeenth century. The crown viewed its use unfavorable, a serious threat to all things English in Ireland. In the late nineteenth century, Ireland lost a significant portion of its population to either emigration or death following the Great Famine. Thousands of English-speaking families moved onto Irish land and English policies actively promoted the adoption of the English language. I imagine that the most powerful force against Irish was the fact that the wealthiest and most powerful people spoke English. The ability to speak English was a necessity if one hoped for opportunities for advancement. As a result, the Irish language became associated with rural folk and became a sign of poverty and disadvantage. (Those damn Brits!) Between 1700 and 1900, Irish went from being the majority language of the island to a minor tongue spoken by disenfranchised groups in the West. (My people.)

We're truly fortunate that the language was preserved and no doubt have the efforts of many generations of stubborn (or were they tenacious?) Irish people to thank for it. I top my hat to them...and my pint glass, too.

Although the Irish government has instituted programs to preserve the language, the percentage of native Irish who speak it daily continues to decline. To many, the loss of Gaeilge would be a cultural calamity. I unconditionally count myself among them. I’m committed to help raise awareness of the threat facing the Irish language. I hope to see the Irish government dedicate additional resources to education and I hope to encourage travelers to visit Gaeltacht (Irish-speaking regions of western Ireland) to show support for the survival of the language of our ancestors. Two things: please don't go while I'm there, I want it all to myself and please don't go on some crappy group bus tour. Hire a car, ride bikes, or better yet, walk. The best parts of Ireland and the most gracious, wonderful folk can't be enjoyed from a bus window.

My first solo distance walking adventure will certainly be a physical challenge, but more than that, I hope it will become a vehicle to enlighten people regarding the importance of protecting Ireland’s language, and as a result, its culture. It’ll be a true honor and privilege to walk alone among the stones and hills that shaped my ancestors into the hardworking, steadfast people they became. I will glimpse into my past and in doing so, perhaps find my future.

Until then, I'm taking a stab at learning the beautiful language of my people.

Slan.

'Tis Official!!!

Well, then, 'tis official. I'm walking all 135 miles of The Kerry Way solo. Yep, it's true. I'm pretty gull dang excited about it, too.

I spent a few hours yesterday afternoon booking quaint accommodations for each of the ten nights it'll take me to complete the circuit. One of them, the Druid Cottage, dates back to the 1800s. Its name refers to the bronze age druid stone circle found on the edge of Kenmare, which I plan to visit on my way through the village. The heavy stone walls and the traditional half front door are charming and I suspect I won't want to leave once I've spent a night there. There are other accommodations that have just as much charm and others with far less. Since I won't have my trusty walking companion with me, I don't feel the need to stay in the nicer places along the trail. I'm saving euros for evening pints by staying at a couple borderline dumps. In fact, at one of them, I have to rent my bath towel! What do you expect for 18 euro a night?!

Once the accommodations were well in hand, I set to finding the least expensive airfare. Not easy. Although there are four airports closer to the Kerry Way than the one in Dublin (Kerry, Shannon, Waterford, and Cork), Dublin is slightly-to-significantly less expensive, depending on the carrier. Not to mention that the layovers through an airport like Shannon can be as long as eight or nine hours! It's only a four hour train ride from Dublin to Killarney where the Kerry Way begins and I look forward to the trip. Watching the countryside slowly morph from bustling city to the suburbs to farmland to mountains is stunning. And exciting. I truly savor traveling by train.

I booked a flight from Fort Lauderdale (20 mins north of Miami and far less crowded) to Dublin on Aer Lingus. Because you probably won't find this information on your Word of the Day Calendar, I'll tell you that the airline's name is an anglicisation of the Irish Aer Loingeas, which means Air Fleet. Try to work that into a conversation today and leave those around you absolutely unimpressed. I leave FL at a leisurely 3:45pm, which means I don't have to force myself from bed before dawn to fight traffic into Miami. Arriving at JFK just three hours later, I'll have a three hour layover before heading to the Motherland for the second time in my life. I'll hole up in a bar while going over maps and route plans for the umpteenth time. On the return flight, I sprang for the airline's private lounge, because after spending nearly two weeks alone on the trial, I won't be able to tolerate American tourists. I frequently pretend to be British while traveling abroad (something Lauren originally found endearing but now finds annoying) just to avoid being characterized as American. They're loud, rude, and ignorant. Yes, I know that's a generalization and unfair, but it's also true so there you have it. American tourists in Europe are total dicks. Except me. Duh.

I land in Dublin at 8:40am, leaving plenty of daylight for a pre-trail adventure. I plan to catch the first train to Killarney that I can connect with and once I arrive, I'll walk to my inn. It's not far from the station. (This is, of course, suspect. The Irish are notorious for being terrible at measurements. Never trust an Irishman who tells you something is a "short walk" or "just beyond the ridge". Likely as not, it's miles away.) Regardless of the distance, once I check in and leave my bags behind, I'll set off on foot to find Ross Castle, which is two km from town. It's a 15th century tower house on the edge of Lough Leane. I love castles and can't wait to step inside and press myself against it's stone walls. I wonder what it will tell me. From there, I'll set off to find St. Mary's Cathedral, which was built in the early 1800s. Its a neo-Gothic revival cathedral and is certainly worth a visit. After I've satisfied my curiosity about those two sites, I'll find a pub, enjoy a meal, and get to bed early. My first day's walk will be 15 miles and I want to allow time to stop and check out the ruins of the Muckross Abbey along the way. I can't pass up the chance to wander among ruins, even if it adds another hour onto an already long day.

Although it seems like I've got a good start, there's much to be done:
  -  I have to buy real maps. I've never used real maps on a walk; I relied on the good navigation sense of my girl or her dwarf. Since I will be alone, I would be foolish not to invest in real maps.

  - I need to learn to use a compass. It's not as easy as one would think. Maps are fairly useless if one can't use a compass.

 - I need to start training. I'll be faced with two twenty-mile days. (The trail actually has three, but I was told about a small pub with a few rooms for rent on the outskirts of a town almost halfway between Glenbeigh and Cahversiveen.) The shortest day is 8 miles, but most are 15 or 16....and they won't be flat like Islamorada. I'll be crossing mountains and farmland and moors. I need to be ready.

 - I need to practice drinking Guinness. It's an important skill. Ordering a Smithwick's or a Peroni would be an insult to my Irish ancestors. I've gotta drink the black stuff.

Let's start with the Guinness. That sounds like the perfect place to begin.

To Be Continued....

'Tis back to the Motherland I'm wanting to go. I left the Emerald Isle six months ago and I've thought of it almost every day since, at least in passing. It really grabbed my heart and I am compelled to go back to continue my story.

I've decided to walk the Kerry Way. It's about 135 miles of semi-marked trail through Ireland's most spectacular mountain landscapes. It passes the foot of Carrauntoohil, the country's highest peak. I'll wander around dramatic peaks and glens, desolate moors, windswept passes, and mountain lakes. The biggest difference between this adventure and previous walking journeys is that one will be solo.
I'm doing it alone.

You're wondering why Lauren isn't going with me, right? Well,I'm pleased to tell you that our amazing girl has been selected to represent the State of FL at a Youth Summit in Washington DC, which is sponsored by the Smithsonian, The National Zoo, and George Mason University. It's an amazing opportunity for her and I'm beyond proud that she was selected to attend. What an honor! Then there's the ugly truth that she just doesn't want to do another walk. She's more than happy to join me Ireland...after the walk. Distance walking is just not her thing and if someone isn't stoked about walking 135 miles, you shouldn't try to convince them otherwise.

Successfully circuiting the Kerry Way will be a huge personal accomplishment. When we walked across England and around Ireland's Dingle Way (it's okay to laugh when you read the word "Dingle"), it was almost always Lauren who navigated us back on track when we got lost. I learned to just hand her the reigns and wait for her to figure it out. She always did. This time...I'll have no one else to rely on. It will be a monumental challenge and one that I'm eager to meet.

There's much to be done, but I'm already daydreaming about being there.

Lauren and I are mostly quiet walkers, except for when we break into a rowdy rendition of "The Bare Necessities", but I'm never really completely lost in my thoughts because I'm watching to make sure she doesn't slip/fall or I'm asking her if she needs food/water. I can't turn off my Momma Bear switch. While walking alone, I wonder how differently I'll experience the landscape, the scents, and the sounds. I like to imagine that I'll feel the presence of my ancestors around me as I climb mountain passes and trudge across lonely moorland. No, I haven't been drinking. That's just the way my mind works.

I hope you'll accompany me on this next big adventure. As always, I'll blog daily (when possible) and keep you apprised of the planning process until liftoff - which should be late June 2015. Rather than start a new blog, I'll journal about The Kerry Way right here. Although it was my original dream to walk across Ireland, I'll guess I'll just have to take it one chunk at a time. I plan to chronicle each of those journeys on this blog. Someday, I'll have walked through every one of Ireland's beautiful countys and found countless Lavelle's.

Imagine all the pints!

Time Travel

We're back in Islamorada, attempting to get our body clocks in sync with our surroundings.  Going East is always easy for me - the beginning of every trip always is - but coming back West is a bitch.  Reliving five or six hours (depending upon the time of year and if it's daylight's savings time) after being awake for eighteen hours is not fun, especially if those hours include flight delays and annoying American tourists.

I won't bore you with the details of our lengthy trip home because I'd come across as an ungrateful brat. Suffice to say it was typical airport stuff, but we finally caught up with each other in Miami (we were on different flights out of Dublin) and rented a car to come home.  I drove while Doug slept and Lauren talked/texted with the friends she missed while we were off trekking.

I wanted to drive on the left, but resisted the urge.

The highways were bright and busy.  I miss the twisty, green canopy-covered country roads of Kerry and Mayo.  There are no cows, sheep or donkeys for many, many miles.  I miss them, too.

At some point yesterday, after taking out the dogs - who are so happy we're home that they never leave my side...which makes for a very crowded bathroom - I needed to write.  I pulled my wheeled computer bag that I'd carried for three weeks over to my desk and unzipped the compartment that stores my laptop.  It was empty.  Frantically, I searched every compartment, finding all of them sans laptop.

Aw feck and shit, too!  I must have left it in Customs.  At Dublin Airport, I had to remove the laptop once while going through security and then a second time while going through Customs.  I must have forgotten to put it back the second time.  What if some bad guy took it and is savvy enough to pull personal information out of its memory?  Credit card numbers, our home address, information about the kids, SSNs?  The list running through my head was endless.

Dougie and Lauren were still asleep, doing a better job adjusting to the time change than me.  I knew I needed to call Dublin's Customs and Immigration Office immediately.  I sat down at my desk to look up the info online...but my laptop wasn't there.  I may have had tears in my eyes.  Thankfully, Dougie recently allowed us to upgrade to big girl phones, so I grabbed my iphone and found the number.

I spoke to a very kind man who said my laptop hadn't been turned in, but suggested I call at a more civilized hour.  I'd failed to consider it was 2:30am in Dublin.  I filed an online report for my missing laptop via my phone and waited.  I needed to stay busy or I'd go crazy.

I decided to make an Irish-inspired breakie.  I started with a vegetable tart and while it baked, I made boxty. While the tart cooled and the boxty fried, I made bacon, too.  As is always the case, just as the food is almost ready, the family woke and joined me in the kitchen.  Two nieces were with us - they'd stayed with Bear and Boozer while we explored Ireland.  It was a nice meal and helped to keep my mind off how bad things could be regarding my lost laptop.

Once Doug's belly was full and he'd had a cup of coffee, I broke the news.

"I've something to tell you and you're going to be really pissed," I said.

He waited.  He hears things like this from me often enough that he waits for more before getting excited.

"I left my laptop in Customs at Dublin.  I've already called to report it missing, but no one's turned it in yet."

I waited for a string of bad words and a few fist poundings on the counter, but instead he smiled.

"No you didn't.  I have it."

What!?!?  It was true.  The night before, he'd removed it from my laptop bag so he could order me a new battery.  (As of late, if I'm not plugged into a socket, the battery is good for only forty minutes or so.)  Talk about relief!  I hugged him tightly and sighed.

My laptop was safe at home.  My personal information was, too.  Do you know what else I was worried about?  I've begun two new novels, each one is upwards of 200 pages already, and I don't have them backed up on anything.  If my laptop had been lost, so too would those two books.  There's absolutely no way I could recreate them.  They'd be gone and I'd have been crushed.

As you can imagine, I'm so relieved and plan to back up both novels on multiple drives today.  Without delay.  Also on my list of to dos, is to mail a rum cake to Mr. John Doyle and his sister, the wonderful people at Camp Junction House for their extreme kindness to me and Lauren.  It's a small gesture and certainly doesn't repay them for all they did.  I also need to send off some thank yous to others who made our trip such a delight.

Between you me and the lamppost, I've begun to look at small farms for sale on the peninsula.  Just out of curiosity, sorta.  My head is still full of dreams of living on a small, clean farm with a few milkers, chickens, a donkey or two, goats and sheep.  I don't want a full-blown agricultural production, just enough of a farm to keep me busy and surrounded by hairy, four-legged beasts to love.  Imagine the fun Boozy would have with a donkey!!  Bear is a bit of a herder with us, so he'd probably love to boss around a few goats and sheep.

There are, of course, rules to be dealt with regarding Americans moving to Ireland to live and Americans buying property.  I've only just begun to research them, but I'm confident it can be done.

It's just a pipe dream for now, but one that makes me happy to chew on.  I'd love to return to the life my ancestors enjoyed - except I want indoor plumbing and heat.  Since there aren't many living, it's the best way I can think of to stay connected with those who've already moved on, including my Dad, who was also a farmer.  I don't need a lot.  I have more than I need.  I love Islamorada and its marine mammals, but Kerry and Mayo have a different kind of hold on my heart.

You can't escape your roots, I guess.  As a kid, I swore I'd never live on a farm or step in cow shit again. Forty years later, I can't think of a more wonderful way to live.  Convincing Dougie may be difficult, but I've done it before.  He understands how I feel about the Emerald Isle, at least to some degree.

Time travel is a funny thing.  I traveled through time zones and into the past.  I'm back in the present, but my mind is ever revisiting Ireland's old fashioned ways.  Before long, I'll have to answer that call to keep alive a way of life that may someday be gone.  For my Dad and all the Lavelle farmers who came before him.  For me, too.