Category: Ireland

Travel-inspired meditation…Blog 138

Welcome to the start of my meditation journey! As someone new to this practice, I’ve often felt hesitant about diving into the unknown world of meditation—perhaps out of fear of what I might discover. However, my curiosity and the need to slow down my constantly racing mind have finally led me to embrace this new experience.

So how does mediation relate to my travel learnings? A great deal! In fact, I discovered that mediation actually created an opportunity for me to think back and dwell on some very special times in my life, from recent travels all the way back to my childhood. Let me elaborate.

In the meditation session, the ‘guide’ used imagery to walk us through a 30-minute practice:

Body like a mountain, Heart like the ocean, Mind like the sky.

Mountain, ocean, and sky…nature in all its beauty. However, what do these three images mean? I had to go back and do some research on this (remember, I’ve only been to one class so far). This is what I learned.

Body Like a Mountain: Symbolizes strength and stability, encouraging a grounded posture in meditation. Now, to go along with this was the imagery of a strong back and soft front. This speaks to balancing resilience and vulnerability, promoting courage and an open heart ready for connection and compassion. (Quite lovely!) Heart Like an Ocean: Represents depth and emotional openness, fostering boundless compassion and acceptance. Mind Like the Sky: Signifies spaciousness and clarity, allowing thoughts to come and go freely.

What was especially wonderful, was not having any issue calling up mental pictures of each of these – all from my life. 

Mourne Mountains looking over the Irish Sea. (Thanks Pexels free photos)

During the meditation on body like a mountain, I vividly recalled climbing the Mountains of Mourne in Ireland as a young girl. I remember walking through the beautiful heather as it gently danced with the breeze coming off the Irish Sea. The vivid purple colours amidst tufts of green provided a soft cover between the rock surfaces. Of course, it would have been impossible to not allow the visual of a great deal of Irish Hare droppings to enter my mental scrapbook of memories. As a family, we would do day hikes on Slieve Donnard and Slieve Binnian (Slieve is Irish Gaelic for mountain). My grandparents lived in a small fishing village called Annalong…a view of the Mourne Mountains out their front door, and the Irish Sea out the rear. This was the playground of my father’s growing-up years.

Cabo Finisterre, Spain

The practice continued, and I was ready to stay in the memories of heart like an ocean for the rest of the day! If you know me even a little or have read previous blogs, you will know that the ocean is my happy place. Not surprising since I was raised in a seaside town called Bangor in Northern Ireland. There is something about being by the ocean that puts life in perspective. Sitting on a sandy beach or perched on rocks along the water’s edge can transport me to places of pure calm and peace. But the presence of the mighty sea can also unveil deep emotions that have been squashed, finally forcing their way to the surface, longing to be acknowledged and processed. A visit back to Annalong a few years ago provided a memory refresh of long-ago days sitting on the Black Rocks, just five minutes from my grandparent’s home. For me, however, there was more climbing than sitting – a successful day of rock climbing called for several bandaids (plasters as we called them), on scratched and bruised knees and shins.

Our travels have blessed us with many more open heart memories of moments sitting and walking along the ocean. Carvoeiro, Portugal;  Cape Finisterre, Spain; Greystones, Ireland; Tofino in British Columbia; the South of France, and the beautiful Greek Island of Naxus to name a few. All call out to my heart refusing to be ignored, requiring a response to whatever bubbles to the surface.

Last but not least, a mind like the sky. Who doesn’t need clarity in their life? But how many of us actually make the time, and space for clarity to work its way through the noise of our endless thoughts. The focus this required for me was the most challenging. As already noted, I have one of those minds that is always thinking, planning, worrying, and just plain busy! The idea of seeing a thought, acknowledging its existence, then allowing it to pass by without stopping for a visit is easier said than done. Again the visualization really helped (not conquered – helped). Think of days lying in a field of daisies looking up at a clear blue sky, relaxing on a warm, soft sandy beach, or dressed in warm winter gear taking a break from making snow angels with your grandkids to notice the shape of the clouds amid a cobalt blue sky. Being transported back to such memories helped greatly in my endeavour to let the thoughts that started flooding my mind, pass by. But it took willpower to not reach up and grab them…I have some work to do on this one for sure.         

What I learned is that meditation can provide a guided tour through inner landscapes and unforgettable moments. Whether you’re a seasoned meditator or a beginner, curious like me, I invite you to give it a try. I’m looking forward to further exploring the strength of mountains, the depth of oceans, and the vastness of skies, all while discovering the hidden beauty in my everyday life.

Odeceixe, Portugal

Journeys Through the World: How Travel Has Shaped My Life…Blog 137

When I think about the top elements that have defined my life, travel has to be in the mix. You’d think writing about such a key part of my life would be easy, right? Not quite! How do you distil experiences from visiting 25+ countries over 65 years into one short blog? It’s an impossible task, but let me highlight some of those memories.

Early Adventures: From Annalong to Disney World‍

Imagine weekends in Annalong, that quaint fishing village in Ireland where my dad grew up. Fancy dress parades in lush English gardens of a grand old boarding house in the South of Ireland. Snacking on fish and chips at pebble beaches in Portsmouth and Bournemouth, England, while battling off hungry seagulls. As a young girl, I was thrilled when we “spotted” the Loch Ness Monster through the foggy waters in the Scottish Highlands.

After immigrating to Canada, despite tight finances, our family still managed to squeeze in vacations. My favourite memories are from beach front cabins where storms lit up the sky. We would huddle under blankets with umbrellas to guard against the leaky roof, giggling at the adventure of it all. And let’s not forget the epic trips to Disney World. Four days of mind-numbing drives were instantly forgotten as soon as we entered the magical realm of Disney, creating memories that will last a lifetime.

Lessons from the Road: Life is Best Shared with Others

Travel taught me that life’s best moments are shared. For example, several years ago, I had a free afternoon during a business trip to Halifax, Nova Scotia, and I decided to visit Peggy’s Cove. I sat there, mesmerised by the vast Atlantic Ocean. But something was missing—I needed to share it. Thank goodness for cell phones! For an hour, I used texting and FaceTime to share the experience with my family, magnifying the moment a hundredfold. Every country I’ve visited—25 in total—I’ve shared those moments with loved ones. And that’s taught me one thing…

Strength in Relationships: Bonding Over Shared Experiences

Travel strengthens relationships like nothing else. Picture this: climbing 462 steps to the dome of the Duomo in Florence, getting scolded for touching the beautiful frescoes, and then laughing about it for years with friends. That one moment, amid the grandeur and awe-inspiring architecture, turned into a hilarious, bonding story.

Travel isn’t always about joyful moments; sometimes, it’s deeply emotional. On a trip to Ireland, Google Maps accidentally led us down Shankill Road in Belfast, a place marred by the bloody history of The Troubles. The murals commemorating atrocities triggered tears and a panic attack. But it gave my shocked son and grandkids a firsthand account of what life was like for me growing up. Conversations that followed were deep and transformative.

Talking Travel: Bridging Cultural Divides

One of the best ways to connect with people is through travel stories. For seventeen years I taught culturally diverse classes in Post Secondary Institutes. Domestic students who have travelled abroad tend to be more inclusive. When we discuss where we’re all from and share travel experiences, barriers come down.

Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe

I fondly remember a conversation with a German student about my Berlin trip in June 2018. My son and I travelled for research on remote workers, experiencing everything from Berlin Cathedral’s grandeur to the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe. That common ground opened many doors for deeper connections with other students as well.

Embracing New Perspectives: The Finnish “Why Not?” Attitude

Travel opens your mind to new ways of thinking. My first visit to Finland for a Global Colloquium was a revelation. The Finnish “why not?” attitude permeated their approach to life. Why not have a picnic in The Esplanadi Park with a glass of wine? Why not jump into a frigid sea in February? These attitudes transformed my perspective, encouraging me to embrace life more fully.

The Indelible Marks of Travel

From childhood through adulthood, my travel adventures have left an indelible mark on my psyche, values, and life choices. My husband of 45+ years eagerly adopted my tradition of yearly holidays, and our children grew up expecting family adventures. No matter the budget, we always found a way to explore new places, laying a foundation for an even healthier worldview.

We’ve even introduced friends to the joys of travel. For our 25th wedding anniversary, we planned a Mediterranean cruise and ended up immersing eight people in this adventure. That couple we first introduced to cruising? They’ve repeated the experience more times than I can count!

Looking Forward: The Future of Travel

Me, my mum, and my gramma enjoying a vacation beach day.

But what if access to travel changes? The COVID-19 pandemic brought this possibility into sharp focus. In recent times, travel certainly has become more expensive, and due to World events certain locations are no longer desirable or even safe destinations. However, this new reality makes travel a more treasured experience than ever before.

So, why not take advantage of every travel opportunity that comes your way? With a more intentional and purposeful mindset, I plan to share life adventures with family and friends any chance I can!

This blog is an exerpt from my book “What if…? Finding new adventures through life’s obstacles”

Travel with all your senses…Blog 136

I really enjoy spring and summer. There’s something wonderful about the bursting forth of new life, the many shades of green, and the blooming flowers that turn so intently, yet gently to smile at the sun. Who can blame them after a long winter’s hibernation?

Green truly is my favourite colour. Growing up in Ireland, the Emerald Isle, may have left a greater imprint on my psyche than I imagined. Even now as I watch travel shows or movies that feature my homeland, there is something deep inside that calls out to me, an internal connection that can only come from deeply seeded memories of years gone by. Memories of times spent roaming among the purple heather on the Mountains of Mourne, walking along the shores of the Irish Sea and climbing the boulder sized rocks close to my grandparent’s home in the small fishing village of Annalong. Long days filled with picnics, swimming, sandcastle building and simply lazing at Tyrella Beach in County Down. And not to be forgotten, swimming lessons in the frigid waters of Pickie Pool in Bangor; the water was so cold it forced the breath out of my young lungs, propelling me to the safety and warmth of the edge of the pool where Mum crouched with a cup of hot cocoa. I just needed to reach her!

Green, as I sit writing this blog from my deck in Kelowna, BC, my eyes again get to feast on the many shades of green: cedar hedges, maple trees, manicured lawns, tree covered hills, grasses in patio containers, and of course herbs, ready and waiting to add an element of freshness to my morning smoothies (or to be eaten by my youngest grandkids before making it into the house).

I’m currently reading “The Heartbeat of Trees” by Peter Wohllenben. To be honest, it’s not the kind of book I traditionally read, but when you have grandkids who are committed to learning about and preserving our planet, they have a tendency to open your eyes and truly take in the beauty and creation around us. And to realise how much we need nature to live healthy lives.

Early in the book, the author speaks to how being in the forest, among those stately and life giving trees, can benefit our very health. He says:

“It’s a good idea to give your nose, palate, and gut a break every now and again by going out into the forest and spending a good long time there. Everything that flows over your senses when you are in the forest is exactly the kind of compound your body is made for. If you take along a snack of natural, minimally processed food without additives, then your time spent forest bathing will be even more beneficial.”

As you know, my blog, Probe and Ponder is all about travel and learning. Now, I don’t travel for the sole purpose of education, although that certainly is an amazing byproduct of travel. But I do want to be intentional about being aware of what’s around me, of utilizing my senses. What am I seeing, what am I hearing, smelling, tasting, and feeling through touch?

Those who know me well will confirm that I can only fully see something when my sense of touch is involved (yes, even having to touch those sacred fresnos and statutes throughout Europe!). Needless to say, I was thrilled to read Wohllenben’s reflection on research regarding how touching helps us think. I get it!

So, as you head out on your travels this summer, let me share a suggestion from “The Heartbeat of Trees”.

“The next time you are walking outside, try touching a variety of objects. The feather lying by the side of the path is just waiting to be picked up. Even the slippery rock covered with algae offers unusual experiences of contact and motion.”   

In other words, experience the forest, the seaside, the mountains the way you did as a child. Or, perhaps, rather than getting frustrated with the slow, exploratory ways the little ones in your life go for a walk, take a moment to look at the tiny bug walking along the sidewalk, explore the many beautiful shells strewn across the beach, stop and smell the wildflowers on the mountain side, help them gather the ‘nature’ they encounter along the way and bask in the moment shared with those who have not yet lost their sense of wonder. 

Pics by me

A climb to remember by Gracie Sawatzky… Blog #126

I am so thrilled to have a guest blogger for this post, my second oldest granddaughter, Gracie. She is a talented writer and painter, and I know you’ll enjoy hearing about one of her favourite travel adventures.

Hello! My name is Gracie and I have spent the past ten years travelling around Europe with my parents and siblings. Though we certainly haven’t been everywhere nor seen everything, we have seen so much that has inspired us! One experience that sticks most in our memories was a summer we spent up in the Alps, camping in a tiny French town on the southern tip of Lake Annecy. Beautiful and deep, the lake filled the valley and up from its shores the mountains and hills rose to the sky over which wonderful and beautiful cloud displays crowned the peak of the mountains. 

It was at the foot of these mountains, in the valley, that we spent our time looking up at the mountains from below and watching as the paragliders left the mountain ridge and descended slowly down in circles and curves. We wondered how the view would look from up there and heard people tell of a hike you could take to reach it. We love to explore, especially by foot, so on one of the cooler days we started out for the trail. 

The early-morning sun was only just starting to show its face over the peaks. We started off through the village, passing houses with their stone bases and dark wooden walls. The whole village was filled with the smell of fresh bread from the local bakery. We passed gardens over whose walls the flowers flowed in all colours, swaying and filling the air with heavenly fragrances. Behind us the sun’s rays moved slowly down the slopes; the cool of the morning would soon depart leaving a heat that was less enjoyable to hike in. After leaving the village we walked along dusty paths through the fields and crossed over the main road through the valley. On the other side it was cooler, for here we walked through the damp woods to reach the foot of the mountain. As we approached the base of the mountain, the path separated into minor trails, all leading to lovely places along the shores of the lake. But our trail lay up the mountain, and so we started on the broad trail that zig-zagged its way slowly up the slope, over which the sun began to flood with fresh light and warmth. At first, the trail was easy, the way was straight and clear, but gradually it narrowed. Around us, the forest grew up the slope on our right and down the slope on our left. 

As the morning passed, and we made our way up, the trail grew busier; some people passed on by up the mountain, while others descended, though from where exactly, we weren’t yet sure. The air was cool and we felt energetic and enthusiastic. The people we met were of all sorts, some went by without saying anything, others smiled and said good morning (or “bonjour; everyone bonjour’s in France), and a few had some comments about the journey and the destination. But not all were seeking the top, there were those coming down to enjoy a dip in the lake at the bottom. 

Painting by Gracie Sawatzky

By midday, we reached the halfway viewpoint. Here, people would turn back. After this, the path began to become more challenging. There were tree roots and mossy stones to clamber around, slippery leaf banks, and a few steep places, where my dad was absolutely convinced we were all going to fall to our death! We were getting tired but it was still fun and interesting, but we were all getting pretty hot and sweaty; the coolness of the morning was quickly becoming a fading memory. In patches through the treetops, one could catch glimpses of the surrounding view, but only glimpses, for the woods were thick, and one was always weaving in and out of the rolling. 

The afternoon wore on and one felt like the world was mostly trees and a never-ending path. The most tired simply focused on each step and the most ambitious sought out ways to traverse the more intricate ground below and above the path (we resembled goats, much to my dad’s fears, as I’ve already mentioned). Now, when people passed, one had to stop and move aside, for the path was narrow. Soon, the path no longer zig-zagged up but began climbing in a steady upwards direction. At every bend, one half expected to find an opening, and at every rise one felt the altitude rise ever so gently. Soon faces began to look fresh and smiles of encouragement spurred us on. Some of the nature changed and signs dotted the path here and there to herald the (what we assumed to be) end of our hike. Then, at last, the tree line broke and up a few well-worn steps brought us out into the open above their tops. Our feet were aching and our legs exhausted, but it was all quite quickly forgotten when one turned around and saw the great expanse of mountain, sky and valley below! The lake was now far below, and on its surface, the boats left white lines, yet seemed to hardly not move. We spotted familiar landmarks and watched the cars along the thin line of the road. The valley was patched like a quilt of green: forests, fields, farms, and villages. Looking down we saw the slopes rise from the very and over their top peaks we saw more slopes beyond, rolling on into the misty distance. Behind, the mountain peaks rose from the green mountain pastures into the misty clouds sailing fast not far above. Across the pastures the sounds of bells could be heard, their ringing mixed with the lowing of cows and baying of sheep. In the tiny village at the top of this mountain, the many visitors bustled about buying cheese as well as other alpine articles of interest. The paraglider jumped off and tired hikers and cyclists (there was a road to the top as well) parked and rested, gazing off at the view. The air was lighter and fresher, it felt like another world far up there, and rather exhilarating was the fact that we had reached here, not by car, not by bus, but with our own legs, and all that we felt had been well worth the climb! 

That was a few years ago now, but the memory of that day has never left us, nor the inspiration and motivation of where we could reach on our own two feet. We had reached a beautiful view of the Alps, the heavens, as well as rolling hills and valleys. We saw life moving slowly below, we saw the clouds within reach, encircling the rocky peaks above the tree line, and we saw those peaks rise and disappear in the distance as they climbed higher. 

‘Maynooth’ by Gracie Sawatzky

Now I take those memories of ours and photographs from my mother, to create pieces as I work on growing my skills in drawing and colour theory. If you are interested in perhaps purchasing this piece or looking at others you can contact me at gracie.art@icloud.com

A travel legacy from my Dad…Blog# 123

This Sunday is Father’s Day. A day when we traditionally honour our dads and those men who have had a significant impact on our lives. For some the memories are not something deserving focus or release from long, shut away memory vaults. My heart hurts for those of you who had to suffer such pain.

For others, Father’s Day is an opportunity to reflect on past memories, and turn back the hands of time to consider how our dads have left their imprint on our lives. I’m one of the fortunate ones; while my dad wasn’t perfect, he certainly loved his family and did the very best he could. My father passed away July 2021 after suffering several years with vascular dementia. 

While he still could, I loved taking Dad for coffee where we laughed, and at times cried together at shared memories of the past. He always asked the same questions. 1. How’s Rob (my husband)? How are Ian and Jennifer (my brother and sister)? How are all the kids?

The next question? Have you travelled anywhere lately? This would immediately lead to a lovely walk down memory lane as we chatted about vacations taken as a family. You see, my dad loved to travel, and he passed his love of travel on to me. 

Growing up in Ireland, many of our holidays were to the South of Ireland, England, or Scotland. In our coffee chats, a favourite holiday that often surfaced in our conversations found our family of five riding a pony and trap around the Gap of Dunloe in Killarney, Ireland. 

Gap of Dunloe (thanks Unsplash)

I was eight. We were surrounded by lush green beauty dotted with deep purple heather that abounds across Ireland. Amongst the heather were herds of sheep, meandering along with no thought of destination. We pasted many lakes, and jaunted along the River Loe, taking it’s time to weave from one lake to the next. I remember the surrounding majestic mountains (ok, big hills), poised and ready for the Cavalry, soon to appear rescuing me from the monotony of riding in that slow, rickety carriage! 

The Cavalry never came. While the carriage was good for my parents and new born sister…and I think my brother was happy with it…it simply didn’t cut it for me! I so desperately wanted to ride a horse, untethered, free to wander and explore. Not go at a snail’s pace! But there I sat, taking in the beauty, and not sporting a bad attitude at all!

Still, the memory brings a warmth to my soul. In spite of my dampened spirit, it was a trip to remember.      

Then there was the trip to Loch Ness in the Scottish Highlands where we actually saw Nessie! Yup, the fabled Loch Ness Monster. It was a damp, rainy day (of course). The fog was hovering over the lake creating an eerie stillness. Cars were pulled over to the side of the road. Dad, having as curious a nature as I, pulled over to investigate. Everyone was speaking in low whispers, eyes peeled on the lake. Then we saw her…Nessie appeared through the fog, cutting a trail through the placid waters. Head held high, her eyes glowed—I held my breath not wanting to break the spell. 

Then the film crew emerged through the fog and the spell was broken (deep sigh). Another wonderful shared family holiday. 

I have so many memories that continue to feed my love of travel. This excerpt from my memoir (coming soon, I hope!) paints a lovely picture of what travel looked like for our family. 

Imagine weekends heading to Annalong, the small fishing village in Ireland where my dad grew up. Fancy dress parades in the English gardens of a grand old boarding house in the South of Ireland. Eating fish and chips on the pebble beaches of Portsmouth and Bournemouth, England, all the while protecting the yumminess from hungry seagulls. After immigrating to Canada, even though finances were tight, our family still managed to vacation in beach front cabins that provided front row seats to weather that lit up the sky, causing our hair to stand on end, while we giggled at the sight we must have been lying in bed with umbrellas protecting us from the effects of a leaky roof in much need of repair. 

From storms to heat that had our virgin Irish skin running for cover, were the trips to Disney World when four long days of mind-blowing boredom on unending highways were immediately forgotten when our eyes feasted on the magic that would create memories never to be erased.   

I don’t remember a year passing without a family vacation, something my husband and I continued with our kids. Travel can be to far off lands, or to nearby campsites. It can be for multiple weeks, or a couple of days. Near, far, extensive, short–travel creates a lifetime of memories and opens up a whole new world. And, from my experience, it’s best shared with those you love. 

So, Dad…thanks, you made travel happen for our family and modelled values that continue to guide the lives of your off-spring; you opened our eyes to a big, beautiful world. You are greatly missed.

Warning, time to recalibrate…Blog #103

I love the sea (just ask my family and friends). Not only in a way that some people enjoy a seaside vacation, or playing in the sand, or jumping waves…although all that is fantastic. My love, my fascination, my attraction to the sea is so deeply rooted in my psyche, it’s hard to put into words. I love the smells, sounds, sights, and yes, the feeling of that sea salt on my lips and skin. Every chance I can I head to the ocean. It’s my happy place, my go-to when life gets overwhelming or doesn’t make sense. Being by or on the sea births certain emotions, an inner peace, an awesome appreciation, an addiction that produces a visceral reaction every time I get to be in its presence. 

It’s why I choose to spend 8 months of my extended study leave in Portugal and Spain…by the ocean.

Annalong Harbour, Co Down, N.I. by J. Hinde. This is what Uncle Artie’s boat would have looked like.

I grew up by the sea in a beautiful town called Bangor in Northern Ireland and loved to visit our grandparents who lived an hour down the coast in Annalong, a small fishing village. What I loved about both places was the location…right on the Irish Sea. My Uncle Artie was a fisherman, his ‘office’ was a fishing vessel on the wild Irish Sea, an area that is notorious for having some of the roughest seas around Britain. Our family vacations, whether in the South of Ireland, England, Scotland, or Ibiza were always by the sea.

Today we had another amazing experience that has added to my rich memory bank of adventures on the sea…this time a different part of the Atlantic Ocean, off the shores of Albufeira, Portugal. To celebrate our 4th grandchild’s 13th birthday, the 10 of us joined with 8 other travellers for a 3 hour expedition in search of dolphins (which, to our delight, we found!), then to cruise the coastline as we marvelled at the many caves and spectacular beaches, many of which are only accessible by water. Even though it was a rather cool, damp day (very Irish), the experience was breathtaking and exhilarating.

Once more I was transported to that special, happy place. A feeling of wonder and insignificance in such a vast body of water, and yet deep peace and contentment. It really was one of those transcendent moments.

Even though, or perhaps because, I grew up by the sea, I have a very healthy respect for the power it holds, and the need for warning signs that guide ships and small vessels to safety. Warnings that can be relied on, depended on, warnings that are constant.

Warning signs that if ignored can end in catastrophe. 

My Uncle knew what he needed to look for to avoid imminent danger on those days when the swell of the water threatened to swallow the vessel. Before the global positioning system (GPS) was created in the late 1970s, fishermen like my uncle depended on the beacon of a lighthouse to guide them to shore, steering them away from being dashed against treacherous coastlines. They knew they could trust the lighthouse, that it was reliable, constant, a lifeline to guide them into the safety of the harbour.

As my research continues to focus on leading in uncharted waters, I wonder what warning signs might be ignored by men and women who care so deeply about those they lead? I wonder if perhaps in their desire to feed and nurture others, they become too busy to notice their own needs, only to find themselves dangerously close to the rocky shoreline, having ignored their own warning signs?

Where is your happy place? Where do you go to hit ‘pause’, to recalibrate? Where do you go to get life back in perspective, to find balance, to get grounded? What refreshes and rejuvenates you so that you can continue to be the person those in your circle of care and influence draw on for encouragement, support, and leadership? 

I’m more than happy to share my sea with you…

Praia do Inatel, Albufeira, Portugal

Immigrants of 50 years!..Blog #78

It’s amazing how life happens, and great intentions get pushed aside. That’s what is happening to my blog…life! (be prepared, this is a long one!)

Bangor, N. Ireland (before my sister was born)

However, our family hit a milestone yesterday that simply screams for reflection. October 1, 2020 was our 50th anniversary of immigrating from N. Ireland to Canada. 50 years! I can hardly believe it. How life has changed over that time. And what a courageous decision for our parents to make – they sold everything and packed up 3 kids to fly across the ocean to embark on a new life. Landing in Ontario early October brought with it the most picturesque autumn colours…little did we realize that we were being lulled into the transition of Ontario winters.

I recall the first snowfall while living in Bracebridge, Ontario. We had never seen that much snow, 6 feet of pure glory (at least that’s what we kids thought). The downside was the freezing temperatures that came with that white wonderland; the gooey content in our noses froze shut as we walked what seemed like 10 miles to school.

There are so many stories I could share of the adjusting, adapting, re-learning, culture shock, missing family and friends back in Ireland. Still, it was the best thing that could have happened to us. That ‘starting life over’ decision made by Dad and Mum lay the foundation for such amazing opportunities for me and my siblings. We have all chosen different career paths, live in different parts of Canada, but share a common bond and love for all that Ireland instilled into the very core of our beings.

Obviously, this immigrant family of 5 grew over the past 50 years. Our parents started a clan of what now includes 3 amazing in-law spouses, 7 wonderful grandkids, and 15 of the most adorable great grandkids. Sadly, Mum developed early on-set Alzheimer’s and didn’t live long enough to meet any of her great grandkids…such a loss for her, and her grandkids. Dad hasn’t fared much better, vascular dementia and geographical distance presented a barrier we just couldn’t beat. He is now in a care facility.

Sadness and loss aside, life has been amazing! As I was reflecting on this major life re-direction, I was struck by the thought that while this immigration greatly impact my brother, sister and me, it might also have had an impact on our kids…so I asked three of the grandkids, ‘what difference do you think it made in your lives having a parent raised during their formative years in another country?’ I love their responses so thought I would share them with you (with their permission of course).     

Nanny McReady, mum, and me having a picnic at the sea.

Shannon (mother of the youngest great grandchild): My mom was born in Ireland and due to that I have always had a fascination and a small sense of pride for the country. It had always been my dream to travel to Ireland and experience the culture myself. I have now been 3 times, with the most recent trip taking me to the city where my mom was born, Belfast. At that time, I heard a bit of the history which created so many questions creating the need for a conversation with my mom; it left me wanting to know more from her perspective. Since visiting there, I have a greater sense of pride for Ireland; even though I wasn’t born there I feel Ireland is part of me. Having had a parent born in a different country, which they love and have many fond memories of, means I have two cultures to celebrate.

Nathan (father of 6 great grandkids): My mother’s Irish-ness was revealed to me in subtle ways as I grew up. Despite many attempts, I could never get her to talk in an Irish accent, and I heard very few stories of what her years in Ireland were like. Even still, I knew that her childhood was a deep part of her, even if it was a secret part of her. I’d later learn how much she felt a need to establish a new identity once she arrived in Canada, and how that sadly meant suppressing some of the very things that made her, her. It would be many years before I’d come to see how deeply Ireland was part of my mum.

As an adult, I moved to Ireland with my wife and children. Mum and dad’s first visit allowed me to begin to get to know my mother’s ‘secret identify.’ Whether it was in the way she approached the Irish Sea with holy reverence, or the way she cherished Guinness as only an Irish born woman can, or even in her deeply emotional reaction as we drove through Belfast and felt the deep fear held in memory by the murals depicting the fighters of “peace.”

I suppose for me, without really knowing it, Ireland has always been a part of me because of her, and I knew this to be true the first time I took in the rolling green hills and wild seas myself. I felt…home? No, not home, but at least I felt like I belonged there, just as she always will.

Alicia (mother of two great grandkids, and oldest grandchild): Growing up I really didn’t think anything of the fact that my dad had spent his formative years in Northern Ireland. It wasn’t like he looked different, or even sounded any different than any of my friends’ parents. I mean, I guess the red hair (what was left of it at that point), and the freckles that cover about 98% of his body did stand out, now that I think about it. And then there were the odd expressions…I remember going to someone’s house with him, and he told my brothers and I to go “knock the door”. My smarty-pants (can I say smart-ass) brother inquired where exactly we should knock the door to? And then there’s the cutlery. Heaven forbid you eat a meal without a knife! How on earth could you get food on a fork if not for a knife? I jest.

In all seriousness, having a parent raised in a different country informs so much of how we were raised. Going to Grammar School in Northern Ireland created in my dad such a strong work ethic. Schoolwork and grades were always something so important and such a priority for us. Thankfully, he didn’t adopt the strict rules he grew up with in school, and thankfully he never implemented the Ruler as a form of punishment either. For my dad, growing up meant soccer, or more accurately “football”, and seeing him instill his love for that sport, as well as rugby, in my brothers and myself, is something that has fostered in us a love of sports, and competition. Being born and raised in another country, and then as a family choosing to leave that country and come to a new one, starting a brand-new life is such a huge decision. While that wasn’t my dad’s decision independently, but rather his family’s decision, it is still something that informed so much of who he is, and how he and my mom chose to raise their family. I see that through that uprooting, family becomes so much more important, something not to be taken for granted. And while, we may not have always lived close to family, we have always been intentional about being a part of each other’s lives. It was also always so fascinating to see my dad refer back to his Irishness, his lilt if not a full accent, when we were with his extended family. It was like we got to see a bit more of his true self. My dad fought hard not to stick out when they moved here, his aforementioned flaming red hair and freckles, as well as the fact that he was tiny after having been skipped ahead a couple of grades made him stand out. And so, he tried to blend in, tried to fit in, tried to lose his accent. And while, as a teenage girl I totally got that – that need to assimilate – as I grew up, it also made me want to stand out, to be proud of being half-Irish. Perhaps as a result of that, and my love of that accent, it has pushed me to really embrace my Irish heritage. I am proud of the choice that my family made to leave Northern Ireland, but I am also proud to be Irish.

We are a truly blessed family, and even though we are spread out across the globe, there is a deep love for each other and an immense gratitude to Dad and Mum for their sacrifice. And we are, and always will be, Irish at our very core.

The shore of the Irish Sea