It happened on the way to Dublin...

Sunday was Dublin day.  My original plan was to drive to the east coastal town of Bray and catch the DART (Dublin Area Rapid Transit) to Pearce Station in Dublin.  It spits you out right at Trinity College.  My goal that day was to see the Book of Kells at Trinity.  I was convinced by the lovely Olive and other well-meaning Irish that taking a train from Ballinasloe would be the better choice.  The only problem I had was that no one ever really agrees how long it takes to drive anywhere.  You ask five times, you'll get five different answers.  So Sunday morning I picked a time to leave and missed the train. 

Blessed day, serendipity struck.

I love how all the signs in Ireland are in English and Irish.

I decided to go with my original plan to drive to Bray - a two hour trip.   No schedule, no hurry.  I loved driving.  Halfway there I saw this footpath sign.

It spoke to me and without hestitation I stopped.  This path was perfect - beautiful and scary.    

Beautiful because so many flowers were in bloom -


















and rivers were rambling


and fence stiles to be crossed. 

I then came to the Mill

Outside of the old mill

This walk was scary because as soon as I stepped into the old mill to check it out hundreds of crows flew straight up all around me.  It was fantastically terrible.  I nearly wet my britches.



There were so many more birds than this.  These were  the stragglers after I found my breath and my camera.



The paved area right behind him is the footpath.
You'll notice it continues around the house, through the gate.

  The thing with footpaths is that they often go through people's yards.  This one happened to go right by the front door and up the side of a home.  I felt a little awkward but continued ambling along the path for a good while.  On the way back, as I was walking past the front door, it opened and a gentleman of a distinguished age stepped out.  Being American, I immediately felt like I was trespassing and apologized.  He brushed aside my concerns and introduced himself as Paddy Hearny.  We chatted for a good while talking about how he used to lead hikes in the mountains of the area and me about my trip.  I told him how calm and peaceful and quiet my soul felt here.  He nodded and said my DNA recognized the soil.  
Was I looking for my ancestors?  he asked.
I said that the only person I was here looking for was myself. 
He smiled and said very simply and devastatingly, "Well, if you start looking for your people, you've got the look of the Kennedy's from up the road." 
My mom was a Kennedy.  Glenda Joy Kennedy.
I hadn't told him that. 

Our conversation ended a bit later with him telling me I should move here to be a tour guide as I am so nice and have such pretty teeth.  He walked with me to my car, gave me a hug and I continued my journey to Dublin.

"At the vulnerable age of thirty-five, Shannon lost her soul.  Nothing is worse;  no greater danger exists.  This was the point to which she had come in search of her lost best self.  If she could have explained clearly what she was doing, she would have said that she wanted to find the woman she had been.  If she could have described lucidly the essence of her journey across the Atlantic, she would have expressed the wish that here, in the country of her forebears, some ancient magic of ancestry might restore her.  Could it be that in the old land, of which she had so often dreamed, she might find, to begin with, hope?  But what she desperately needed to rediscover was belief....Find your soul and you'll live." 
Shannon by Frank Delaney p.3 (Again, pronouns changed to the feminine because it suits me better <grin>.  The main character's name is Robert Shannon - I left his first name out at the beginning.  Again, just to suit me. )