Family Visitors and New Friendships

Six weeks now since we left our home in Chesterfield.  Each day, we consider the events, the people, the location, the home, my work, our experiences, and we wonder.  This has been a HoH (Hand of Heaven) experience to be sure.  Again, we feel this each day.

Last week, we joyfully received our first visitors from home when Jaina and Caleb arrived.  We spent a few days in Dublin together and then traveled to the west coast to visit Galway, the Burren, the Cliffs of Moher, and Tipperary, the place of Caleb’s ancestors. 

After spontaneously stopping (a Mahaffey travel practice) at another unmarked and unmarketed castle in a small remote town in County Clare, we took photos and clambered inside the castle.  Within a minute, I heard a “Halloo” a couple of times and thought we had been caught trespassing.  Back out I went with Caleb, and we met a man who informed me that the one spot on this stonewall-lined country road I had parked, was blocking his road.  I think I apologized several times but weaved into those apologies questions about the castle which was from the 1400’s.  This good man whose road I had blocked owned the castle which he informed us has been partially destroyed, on the sea side of the structure, by an earthquake in 1750.  He informed us of a similar one in nearby Ballyvaughan that was structurally intact. 

We bid farewell and soon stopped on the highway again to photograph what became our mantra based on our new experience, “At least one rainbow every day.”  We paused at the one intersection in Ballyvaughan, considered the instructions of the castle owner, and made a right turn.  That turn didn’t result in the fully intact castle somehow, but it did give us a less-traveled road across what is known in Ireland as “The Burren,” a geological phenomenon where very little grows due to the rock at the surface here.  It was just photo-perfect remote and wonderful. 

We eventually made our way to a woolen shop in a very small village called Doolin.  As I stepped back into this shop we had visited in March when Sumner, Riss, and Noa joined us in Ireland.  It was a little surreal to me as the place is remote and maybe once, if ever, one would visit.  And yet, here I was again with Jeanette and me-thinks I saw Sumner standing in front of that same mirror deciding which wool sweater to buy for the cold weather outside on our way to the Cliffs of Moher.

Our visit with Caleb and Jaina was short-lived but quickly followed by the arrival of Selah.  With Selah’s visit, all but one of our children has now been to Ireland.  This is something remarkable and rather unplanned—as if it was all meant to be—this return to ancestral homelands. 

Saturday morning, I went on a long walk out to the end of the West Pier in Dun Laoghaire (dunleary).  At my turnaround, I had walked half of my 5.3 walk along the sea.  I’m sure I smiled most of the time as I reflected repeatedly on where I was and what I saw and heard.  I’ll share just a few thoughts so that you might have a sense of my experience.

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As I passed by Seapoint Beach, people entered the cold sea to swim for five to 35 minutes. Their gear was piled up on the rocks of the swimming area.  Some dogs waited patiently (and some didn’t) for their owners to finish the frigid swim that seemed to accelerate for the Irish during COVID-19 when the nation was locked down more than most.  They found some freedom, escape, and connections to be in the water at the sea.  And it has never stopped.  It feels like it continues to grow in popularity.  Even this morning, with high tide, crashing waves, and cold wind and rain, people came to the sea and entered the water with little hesitation.  One man, maybe in his late 60s, was in a bright blue Speedo and walked casually through “the weather,” putting on his swimming cap (for a measure of presumed warmth, I’m sure) with no sense of expediency, walked down the stone ramp and jumped into the gray, churning sea.  Off he went. 

Way out by one of the buoys, maybe 200 yards out, I saw the head of another man swimming.  I stood high on the rock wall overlooking the swimming area and watched—he was alone and the water was dashing so hard against the rocks that I was getting saltwater in my mouth, standing 10-15 feet above the surface.  I looked back one more time as I was turning out of sight to see if I could find him, a 15-20 second scan of the water, and I was satisfied he was well on his way back to safety.

I eventually made my way onto the long stone pier and marveled at the many young people getting their sailboats in and out of the water for their classes this Sunday morning.  I saw a  group of young teenage girls lifting their boat off a rock wall as they finished their class. 

I saw a motorboat towing a line of six sailboats out of the harbor.  Each little boat had a little solo captain readying for their lesson.

I saw another three or four groups of sailboats and noted it was not unlike Saturday morning soccer practice on a field in Chesterfield Valley, where we live.  Instead of the field (or “pitch,” as they say here), it was the harbor.  Instead of a ball, it was their own sailboat.  The coach was in a motorized dingy, calling out instructions for their soon-to-be sailors, hoisting sails, talking them down, and so forth. 

A gray-haired man, and then a second, came by with wet suits on, standing on paddle boards as they rowed by.

I passed maybe a hundred people—mostly in their 20-80s, walking, running, cycling, sailing.  It was cold and busy out as per usual.

The green and yellow DART (Dublin Area Rapid Transit) trains rolled by regularly carrying people to Dublin Malahide or Bray. 

Finally, I passed an older gentleman with a tennis racket standing by the sea.  His dog waited anxiously in the seawater in a somewhat crouched position.  When the tennis ball went sailing out, the dog jumped into the waves from the half-submerged steps he was on.  There were big smiles on the faces of people walking past and going in the other direction.  I smiled as big as they did.

Last night, we took Selah out to Howth (drop the w and you might say it right) for dinner.  We boarded the DART at Blackrock and road the train to the end of the line out on the peninsula.  Soon we were back in the Howth Market where I approached a man I’d met before in August.  “I told you I’d be back.  Now, there are some little girls in Missouri that have some of your wife’s painted rocks.”  “I remember you and our conversation!” he exclaimed.  He recounted some of the things we discussed standing in this outdoor market on 19 August.  I brought Jeanette and Selah over and introduced them and we chatted about our visit.  I asked for his card and he wisely said as he embraced me, “There’s no need for a card when we can hug.  Come back before Christmas, and I’ll give you both a gift.”  It was yet another delightful connection made in this cherished place.

Before leaving Howth, we stopped into a place for dinner at this fishing village.

Soon, a young family was seated next to us. The couple had two daughters, maybe 9 and 13 years old. During our meal, I had a quiet feeling that has come far more to mom than to me. In fact, I don't recall ever noticing a prompting like this. I'm sure they have come, but I listening sufficient to recognize them.

It came as a few feeling but was clearly and instantly translated in words in my mind to this, "Pay for their meal." I heard it and understood it but didn't follow it. I kept sneaking glances at them, and then, they were done and getting up from their table.

The young father of maybe 40 stood next to me, waiting for his family to rise and I found occasion to speak with him. "You have a beautiful family." In an instant, I knew he was from another country and inquired about where they were from. In his broken English, he simply said , "Ukraine. Ten days in Ireland now." He described driving in a car through several countries, leaving Ukraine -  Romania. Poland, Germany, and France were included in his fast recounting of them coming to Ireland. He eyes were fixed and intense, and he struggled to communicate but did well. A daughter helped him on a word or two, and his wife remained silent with the younger daughter. We were assured they could speak English but were shy. I / we wished them well. His gaze was intense as ever, and as we he simply said, in very deliberate articulated English, "Well, Goodbye." At that point, his wife and youngest daughter spoke to us for the first time as they said a practiced English word, "Goodbye".

I could sense his protective efforts had included many sleepless nights he likely had in their struggles to stay safely together.

They departed and emotions stirred quickly as they do now again, considering their plight and millions like them. I pray our paths will cross again, that they will find a path forward that includes a community they can trust, and that God would remember them and their people.