From the moment we entered Dingle we knew this was going to be a very special experience. Now the word special can be interpreted any number of ways. It certainly was special that we found a self catering unit (for a very, very good price) that was within walking distance of the Village….this took on even more significance when we priced out the meals here in this tourist haven.  
Dingle is where our family came from. Which is really why the experience was special. Before I left Canada I did some research. Though it wasn’t easy I found that our family had flax fields here not far from town. My great grandmother and her daughter Mary, my grandmother, left from Cork to meet my great grandfather after the famine years. I can only surmise that they survived those difficult years because of the fact that they grew not only potatoes but flax on their plot of land. They owned a few acres so did not have to rely on the landowner to decide their fate. Judging from the number of sheep in this area I can probably safely say they had some of those as well!The Dingle cemetery plots date from the late 50’s… 1950’s. When I asked about earlier graveyards I was told that there was a famine grave yard next to the old hospital but they weren’t aware of others. Of course, in speaking with them I realized that most families had births and deaths at home. If you owned a plot of land then you would have been buried in the family plot. I remember my grandmother telling me that she had her babies at home. I suppose that after the terrible years of famine and the years when Catholicism was outlawed, it took time to change age old ways.In 1829, the year of Catholic Emancipation, a church, convent and school were established in Dingle. The Sisters at the Convent were instrumental in helping the local people survive the famine by feeding several hundred people every day. The sisters also started an Industrial school for girls in 1851. It is safe to say this is where my great grandmother learned to sew and tat lace (she supported my grandmother and herself as a seamstress after her husband passed away in America).Through my research I found my great grand parent’s marriage record at St. Mary’s Church in Dingle but could find no record of my grandmother’s or her little sister’s baptism…. there was no museum here to investigate further…. I was told that the information they had was what they got off the internet. When I return to Canada I will investigate further. Driving around the Dingle Peninsula was both a spectacular and introspective experience. At each turn we would be overcome by the scenery. Whether it was the sheep that dotted fields that were many shades of green (with grey rock ‘fences’ thrown in) or the ocean crashing on to rocky cliffs or rolling surf on to vast sandy beaches….each turn made us stop to take yet another picture. When you see the unforgiving landscape you wonder how anyone could make a living here. You also wonder how anyone would wish to return once they had made their way to the New World…however, I still remember sitting on my Grandma’s knee as she gently told me stories of the home she remembered. Of the leprechauns playing in the moss covered forest, and the songs that her Mother sang to her.Here, in Dingle, I have completed my full circle moment as far as my family is concerned. We did not meet any long lost relatives…. Though Dorth had a good visit with a Griffin on the Quay…but we did get a sense of how they lived.The self catering unit we rented is set on a hillside overlooking the bay of Dingle. As we look out the living room window we gaze upon a scene that would not be much different from what our ancestors saw. Look past the electrical wires and turn your ears off to the sound of motors. The sea is the same, the hills are the same and I venture to say the rocky fences are the same. Life here is a little slower. When the tour buses leave it is quiet. It is the way life should be. Fish boats still off load their daily catch., shepherds still use dogs to corral their stock, children laugh and play enjoying the sun when they can. Even the famine villages we passed, skeletons of a life once lived, give you a sense of what our family went through. They survived the famine but so many of their friends didn’t. What better reason to begin again in a land that offered opportunity, new beginnings and hope for the children. So, by the end of the three days we spent in Dingle, we have taken hikes, driven miles, clicked hundreds of pictures, listened to music and did some souvenir shopping. We leave tomorrow, continuing our journey north towards the cliffs of Moher. This is the land my Grandmother loved….the place she shared with her grandchildren. There will always be a piece of me here in Dingle no matter where I travel.