In my sixty years I have faced many (next to) impossible tasks only to fail at some and excel at others. This is a task I am finding next to impossible. How do I describe the last three days?
That might sound trite but really, some things are better left within your heart than slashed down on paper.
My heart story begins as we left Dublin in a torrential rain storm. Black skies, heavy traffic and a sense of "what now"? We were on our way to with a historian who's joy in life is the Carlow area where my husband's family lived. Being a historian doesn't doesn't pay his bills but it is his passion... and what a passion it is!
We heard of Michael when we were visiting with family in southern England. I won't go in to details here, it is not the place, but I will say that his enthusiasm and knowledge (along with his jovial personality) made for a very, very enjoyable day.
Apparently he's hard to find and with his busy schedule it's no wonder. However, he was ready to pile us in his car and show us the area as soon as we drove up.
So, with introductions over Michael began the tour. As we drove through the city of Carlow past buildings and streets that were once owned, lived in & / or named after family, we began to really understand what it was like for this English family living in the Emerald Isle.
Shane's relatives came over with Cromwell, which isn't a very popular thing to say in these parts. In spite of being English they were fair and honourable people.  
Michael took us past the old Manor House (Shane and I were here over 40 years ago... brought back so many memories) pointing out the rock walls that encased the lands. 
  In one of the fields there is a rock foundation called Browne's Hill Doleman. The portal rock is centuries old and like Newgrange or Stonehenge it is a place with spiritual significance.  
All in all it was a day full of information, laughter, thoughtfulness and even good food. We ate lunch at 'Lennon's'. The Restaurant has recently moved from it's original site, in the town home of the Browne family..... more connections.
We left Michael and drove to another family site, Browne-Clayton's Folly. A Folly is something that has no purpose and costs money to create. In this case it is a copy of a Corinthian column. This has a long story attached and involves Egypt... Napoleon... and a conquest or two. Won't bore you with the details... suffice to say that it is the only Corinthian column you can climb up (on the inside) and that is located in Ireland. Met a delightful old Irishman on the lane where we parked. He couldn't hear but he could tell a good tale (over and over) about the Englishman who built that crazy pile of rock. We had a good laugh, especially when Shane pulled out his passport to show him that he was, indeed, related to that crazy Englishman. The end to a perfect day.... or it should have been....
We decided to drive toward Waterford for the night. Found an extremely rude desk clerk in the Waterfront Marina Hotel. Thought we would treat ourselves after driving past a most unlikely B&B on The Mayor's Walk.... seedy area for sure. Anyway, with the rude welcome we all had the feeling that Waterford was not the place for us. In any case... the crystal is not made here anymore, or so we were told.
So.... back on the road we found a terrific B&B in Carrick on Suir. Quiet, peaceful and overlooking a castle. Perfect end to the day.
So that was the end of the first of three amazing days.  
Next day we left Carrick on Suir heading for The Rock of Cashel. Rising above the Tipperary Plain this was the seat of royal and priestly power for more than a millennium. Seat of the Kings of Munster, my sister and I were soon to learn that our grandmother's family, O'Callaghan, have a connection to these very kings. It was cold and windy up on those rocks, with a view to die for and history to boot. Unfortunately there were no narrow windy staircase to go up so we had to push on.
Next stop was the Cahir Castle which did have narrow staircases, move views and the lovely River Suir running past. Now the family that owned Cahir also had a strange desire to build a 'cottage orne' which simply translates to another kind of folly which is, in some way, useful. The thatched cottage is a quirky example of country home. Set within a couple of kilometres of the castle this holiday home is designed to blend in to nature and purposely has no two windows matching. Even the eaves are of different sizes and design. What you can do with your time when you have money to spend.
Now we come to really, really narrow windy staircases and the piece de resistance..... The Blarney Castle.
Shane and I were here over forty years ago and it has changed. Years ago there were no formal gardens and no "pay for a picture" posters as you entered. I don't remember the stairs being so narrow or so long. Most castles give you a place to step out and catch your breath... not the Blarney caste. My sister was determined to make it to the top so off we went.... round and round, huff and puff, round and round and voila.... up at the top we found ourselves. Now the blarney stone is just that... blarney.... but we blew it a kiss and carried on our way, but not before stopping to look at the view. Blue sky and sunshine.  
Took a walk through the gardens where I found myself looking for leprechauns. My love of leprechauns and, as my children will tell you, my love of telling leprechaun stories, began here forty years ago. This garden with moss covered stones and ancient trees, reaches in to your imagination drawing the stories out. My grandmother told leprechaun stories and I remember cuddling up in her lap and nodding off to sleep as she spoke of the wee ones and their antics.
That brings me to day three.... We spent the night at a B&B near the Blarney Castle and headed off the next day to Cobh (pronounced Cove). This is the place where my Grandmother and her mother (and sister) sailed off to North America. As I entered the train station my spirit felt so strongly the presence of my grandmother. With tears in my eyes I looked upon a statue (one of many) in the museum. This statue showed a woman with a young daughter and a baby in her arms waiting to board the ship. My grandmother had a baby sister that died at sea. As I looked at that statue I thought of the hardship my Great Grandmother undertook. She was leaving all she knew and loved to meet her husband in north America. With two babes she left Ireland never to return. She arrived with only my grandmother and, I am sure, a very heavy heart knowing she had buried her baby at sea. Can you imagine the turmoil you would fee? Would you blame yourself? Would you blame your young husband who insisted this is the place to make a new life? Or would you just square your shoulders and make the best of it. Probably all of the above, I think.  
The museum in the train station was very well done. It depicted not only the famine ships and later migration but the Titanic, as this was it's last port of call before setting out across the Atlantic. (as a side note there was a Costa Cruise ship in port... this is the line that went down in Italy and lost power and drifted in Greece... kind of fitting).  
Walking along the waterfront you can easily imagine what it was like for the emigrants. The stores are different but the store fronts are much he same. We went to a museum of emigration as well. Between the two of them, their memorabilia and their old photos, you can easily picture what life was like in those difficult times.
With tears shed we headed off to tour through the area, crossed over by ferry to south Cork and headed down to Kinsale where we ate a hearty fish lunch and discussed all we had learned.
Stunningly beautiful part of Ireland, especially with the 'Brilliant' sunshine we had.  
Tomorrow we head south west towards the Ring of Kerry.  
Tonight I will think of Grandma. How would it feel to be five years old, loving and losing your baby sister, afraid to leave your home and enduring weeks of rocky seas? Impossible to imagine. All I can say is I have a new respect for what they went through.... a new understanding and a sense of pride.