So I’m learning a new language, things like please (le do thoil) and thank you (go raibh maith agat). I can order bread and butter (arán agus im). And I’m moved to tears about how feelings are expressed in this other language not as who we are (I am happy, for instance) but are “on us” just temporarily (happiness is on me).
Feelings are fleeting, like a cloudy (scamallach) day. As are these moments in my life. The window of opportunity for all of this is right now, and I am cherishing this almost-61-year-old me circling back to where my blood has been in order to plant new roots for my progeny’s future, at a time when options are needed more than ever.
I’m knee-deep (but don’t say knee to me right now because that sounds like naio, which is the word for nine) in Gaeilge (Irish), sampling both a master class online and doing Duolingo on my phone (today is Day 100!). Two hours a night, I head up to my older daughter’s old room (now my art studio, with a closet-turned-office), pop open my iPad and scribble hand-written notes in a small notebook.
I hope the listening, watching, speaking and writing will stick to a brain cell or two at a time in my life when I forget where I left my glasses. At a time when my husband and I allow each other to interrupt as our thoughts are fleeting as well, gone forever if we don’t say them when we think them. Note-taking (and blogging!) along the way is not just a joy but a necessity.
I’ve been at it for months now, while simultaneously gathering the documents I need to register my foreign birth, the first step toward dual citizenship. The final document arrived yesterday. That’s a whole story unto itself, and I’m saving that one for the book (Round Ireland with a Duck, the sequel to Round America with a Duck). It may come out next year (this next March 4 — march forth — is the 100th-year anniversary of when my grandmother set foot on U.S. soil — my grandfather, whom she had not yet met, crossed the Atlantic seven months later).
Concurrently, I’ve been road-testing a few new products (alpaca underwear, anyone?) that promise to go the distance, while physically and mentally training myself to go the kilometers as well. Six weeks in Ireland at three different farms (a horse and cattle farm; a castle with a walled kitchen garden; and a sheep farm) and four nights in Dublin (the Irish name of which is Baile Átha Cliath) is coming up fast. I already have a free pass to a literature museum, given to me by the Irish Embassy right here in Atlanta. My James Joyce books sit currently unread next to my bed, but there’s still time.
Speaking of time, I’ve been spending time digging in — keeping my farming/gardening skills as sharp as my tools. There have been two more WWOOF stays since Round America with a Duck — in a vintage 1970s Aistream trailer at a lavender farm on the top of Lookout Mountain bordering Georgia, Tennessee and Alabama; and in a tiny home on a goat and vegetable farm not far from Athens, Georgia. That’s a total of eight in the USA.
Physical and mental upkeep punctuates my days. Push-ups. Weight lifting. Monkey bars. And, of course my daily bike-rides-as-transportation. I’ve been at it with particular fervor for five years now, first for my scheduled departure for Peace Corps Uganda (derailed due to COVID); then for Round America with a Duck (and the two follow-up farms mentioned above); and now for Round Ireland with a Duck (and beyond).
Plus, I’ve been part of the food pantry harvest team at the community garden since I returned home last September; I just revived an additional garden at the actual food pantry; and, of course, there’s my home Sharing Garden (dead as a doornail right now due to loss of pollinators because most of my neighbors spray for mosquitoes) and my own personal garden, where I mostly weed-whack, it seems.
Top this all off with my DNA results, which just arrived and revealed a BIG surprise (I’m saving that for the book, too).
Add in the six Sundays of baking Irish soda bread variations for my 88-year-old mother and me until we finally hit the one that most replicated my Irish grandmother’s (we ended up with the egg, sugar, raisins and caraway seeds version, with half white and half whole wheat flour). I dedicated that project to my grandmother (whose mother died when she was a baby — she was killed in a horse-and-buggy traffic accident. Fun fact: the four-year anniversary of my surviving a hit-and-run while riding my bike in the place I call home is this upcoming Saturday).
So, yes, while I’ve been busy promoting Round America with a Duck (here’s where you can get yours all over the world), it’s been busy getting ready to head on out there again via bike (oh, that’s a whole other story), buses, trains and working on organic farms from Ellis Island to the Emerald Isle.
Unfortunately the step dance instructor has been away for the summer, but there’s still YouTube and August ahead! My mom already gave me some pointers from when she was a girl.
If you haven’t been following me on TikTok at SpeedOfBike, I invite you along on the journey. If you’ve read my book, you may especially enjoy videos tagged Round America with a Duck as part of your multimedia experience (if you loved the book, please consider leaving a five-star review on Amazon and Goodreads). If you haven’t read it yet, I’m an indie author and your support is greatly appreciated. In fact, it’s my arán agus im.
Le do thoil for joining me. Slán go fóill! (Goodbye for now!)
As always, trust the journey (muinin an turas),
Pattie
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