Coming Home

(Warning:  Very long post.  My apologies.)

 

 Whenever we leave home and go somewhere, we usually leave something behind and forget to bring it back with us.  Yep, we all do it.  Don’t deny it.  On the other hand, we often bring other things back with us.  Souvenirs, dirty laundry, art, a new t-shirt, a refrigerator magnet, sand between your toes; that sort of thing.  Hopefully we pay for those things, well, except for the sand and the laundry.  But there are other things we bring home.  And I’m not talking bedbugs.  Yucky.  No, I mean intangible things.  Memories.  Friendships.  Impressions.  Experiences.  We come home with these things as well.

We recently returned from 3 weeks in France, Scotland and Ireland.  We accumulated some beautiful memories and some amazing experiences.  Out of  the few tours we took and all our shopping for souvenirs and keepsakes, we found that what left the most lasting impressions were not things bought or tours paid for.  It was  the people we met and the little unusual things we did that were the best experiences, and there were SO many!  Here are just some of my favorites - 2 from each country.  (It was SOO hard to decide on just two!)  That said, here we go!!

Jessica (bun hair) and friends

**Escargot in Paris with 4 young ladies.  While in Paris we met up one evening with our daughter Jessica, our niece Jessica, and 2 of their friends.  (Yes, our daughter was in Paris bombing our vacation.)  Besides being super fun to meet up with our girl and her friends friends halfway across the world, we also got to treat them to a real french dinner - on condition that they try escargot.  (Snails, folks!)

Escargot for dinner anyone?

I have to tell you, it was absolutely hilarious watching 4 squeamish girls tackle some snails!  Dan led the way, downing his little morsel with no problem.  Time for the girls to eat there little slimy things.  Besides “Ewww!” and “Oh gross!”, comments included, “OMG!  I can see it’s antennae!” and “I think I felt it’s head!” and “Where’s the water?!”  Absolutely delightful on every level.  And memorable.  We parted ways a little bit braver with big smiles and a slight aftertaste.

Dan at the Carcassonne train station

**Witnessing my husband’s return to Carcassonne France.   39+ years ago, Dan served a 2 year mission for the church in southern France, his favorite city (and his longest assignment) being Carcassonne or “La Cite”.  Our 2nd morning there, we opened our shutters to a marching band on the cobblestone lane below our apartment. It was thrilling!  But on our first morning there, a Sunday, we went in search of an LDS church meeting to attend.   We found one, now a thriving ward instead of a tiny branch.  This was also thrilling, but in a different way.  Seeing him reconnect with those few individuals whom he had known “way back when” was especially touching.  It was an emotional reunion and I was so grateful to witness it.   I saw Dan in a whole new way that I’d never experienced before.  And it made me love him more.

Isle of Skye

**The Isle of Skye with Harish and Clemencia.   When making our travel plans, we decided to use Airbnb instead of hotels.  We wanted to get to know the real people of each country.  Harish and his wife were an Airbnb couple who hosted us for 2 nights.  Again, tea and cake were served as soon as we got there.  What an amiable tradition, to sit down as new friends and talk about life over a cuppa.  Harish was semi-retired and from South Africa/London, and Clemencia was an artist from Peru.  They had lived many places in the world and had a multi-cultured experience in life.  While Dan and Harish talked about world events, Clemencia and I talked about books and art.  I was inspired by this little woman who was so full of color and life.  

Old man Storr on Skye.  Killer hike!

Although we had such different backgrounds, we found much in common and embraced those commonalities as we visited, as well as appreciating our differences.  Our second and last night there, they invited us to eat a home-cooked dinner with them.  It was one of my most treasured memories, sitting around their kitchen table, in the twilight of evening, talking of this and that.  We were sad to say goodbye and promises were made to visit again, maybe next time we will be the hosts.

Crofting huts in Gearrannan

**Gearrannan Blackhouse Village and Andrea.  High on my list was a 2 day visit to the Isles of Harris and Lewis and a few nights at Gearrannan.  The blackhouse village is a group of authentic old crofters huts from the 1800’s that have been renovated for tourists.  They are made of 2 ft thick stone walls and thatched roofs.  They were nicknamed ‘blackhouses’ because they had no windows and the cooking fires inside blackened the walls.  The village is set on the green hills overlooking a small rocky bay by the ocean.  I can’t tell you how healing it was to be there in this ancient place, exposed to the harsh elements of cold wind, rain, and quiet solitude. 

Our last night there, we bundled up and went out
 to a little bench by the stone wall to watch the sun set over the Atlantic.  As we sat there waiting, a small group of women came out of the next hut to take a group picture.  Dan politely offered to take it for them.  There were several young women and one woman in her 40’s.  We took the pictures and the younger women scattered - most going up on the cliffs to witness the setting sun.  The older woman stayed, and for some reason, decided to confide in us.  With the raw emotions of grief, anger, hurt and disappointment, she tearfully told us of her husbands death by suicide just 4 weeks earlier.  At his request, she had come to the westernmost islands of Scotland, with her daughter, to scatter his ashes.  She had lost all her luggage, but not him, which she laughed and then cried about.  She battled with the “why” of it all, while being consumed with missing him, yet being angry at him for leaving her.  In the end, we hugged, and cried, together.  We exchanged addresses.  I pray she will find peace.  We will never forget Andrea from New Zealand.

**Ballymalis Castle and Kerry Woolen Mills.  Just a few days before we were to return to Dublin and fly back to the states, we discovered (thanks to my cousin) that I had ancestral roots in Killarney.  We were staying near there, so after a little research, we made a visit to Ballymalis and the Woolen Mill nearby.  The mill was still in operation after all these years.   Eagar was the last name of these ancestors and the woman at the mill confirmed that it had been owned by him in the late 1600’s and early 1700’s.  We then went about a mile to where the “castle” stood.  It’s really more of a “tower house”, but it was in a ruined state.  (It is being restored at present.)  Ok.  I know you are going to think I’ve lost my crackers, but here’s the part that left a mark on me.  As I stood quietly, contemplating these particular ancestors, who they were and what their life had been like, I wondered ‘what could I take away from this’.

Wicklow Mtns

More accurately, I wondered, “If John Eagar could stand before me right now, as my ‘umpteenth’ great-grandfather, what would he want me to know?”.  Would you think I’m crazy if I told you I got an answer?  Well, I did.  And I don’t care if you think I’m a nutcase, but I did get an answer.  It was a very simple impression, 7 words that came into my mind, and for me, it was profound and personal.  Not really what I would choose to hear, nevertheless, no way am I ever going to forget that one. 

**The Wild Atlantic Way.  In the southwest of Ireland is a little (meaning impossibly narrow) one - or one and a half- lane road that takes the adventurous traveler along the high cliffs and hills on the Atlantic side of the island,

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all the while driving on the WRONG side of the road!  It was exhilarating, frightening at times, and incredibly beautiful.  Never have I seen such a turquoise blue ocean or stood so high above the crashing waves.  At one spot, near the Blasket Isles, there was an old man playing the flute (or a version of a flute) as he sat on the cliff edge.  I was completed enchanted by his ethereal music. 

Sorry for the wind noises.

I decided to go closer, hopefully to talk with him.  I don’t know why I have this weird affinity for talking to strangers, but, there it is.  He was actually quite chatty.  He spoke of his music, his instruments, and his life by the sea.  With his weathered face, graying hair, simple clothes with eyes almost as blue as the sea, I felt like he knew what peace and contentment were.  Just as the wind and rain had scoured the rocks and hills, it had scoured away all that was superfluous in his life and had left him with a lovely simplicity.



I was reminded that we do not journey through this life alone. There are many ports and harbors, many people coming and going.  We are affected by all of it, to some extent.   And by that same token, we affect others, for better or for worse.  Not only do they leave imprints on us, we likewise leave an imprint on those we meet.  I wonder, what kind of imprint have I left?











In coming home, I not only brought a suitcase full of gifts and souvenirs and dirty laundry.  I came home changed, by the friends I met and made, by the little unexpected, but important moments I experienced, by the impressions felt and things learned.  I came home with a heart full of tender and lasting memories.

Coming home, I returned with much more than I left with.  For that I am richer, and so very grateful.