In 1926, my grandad left Ireland for the U.S.

He passed away in 1968, two years after I was born.

I have had something deep inside of me that has always wanted to go to Ireland, to where he grew up. Where he left.

That finally happened in February of 2025, when I got to spend 12 days in Ireland, half of them in County Mayo, where Pa was from.

I started in Galway and immediately felt at home. My grandmother’s family was from just north and west of Galway, and while enjoying my full vegan Irish breakfast, I delighted in a conversation with a woman who reminded me of her.

There was a moment when the woman acknowledged something I had said by saying, “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” and I immediately felt like she was my people. I say that! So did my Nana. This was the beginning of so many feelings I would have on this trip, intense feelings about people and places.

That same day, I took the bus to Castlebar and walked to the Enterprise car rental from the bus stop. As soon as I arrived at the shop, I was grateful that I had rented a car. Before I even walked to the car, my mind was filled with excitement and thoughts of exploring where my grandad was born and lived until he was 18.

As I began the drive to Westport, my home for the time I was in Mayo, I took deep breaths as I drove on the left side of the road in pouring rain. I was in no hurry, so I took my time, and before I knew it, I was in downtown Westport. I was surrounded by gorgeous Ireland.

The next morning, I left early, like 7:00 am, for the one-hour drive to eastern County Mayo, where my grandad grew up. The drive was wonderful; I was already used to driving on the left side, and there was no rain. I found an Irish music station, and before I knew I was pulling into the parking lot of the church my great-grandparents attended, St. James.

The cemetery was directly across the street, and I walked up and down each aisle in search of my great-grandmother and possibly any other family member. I had no luck. I did find the gravesite of some people who shared my great-grandmother’s maiden name, and took photos for future investigation.

Walking among the buried, I wondered if my family members knew any of these people. Were their great-gandchildren alive and well and possibly even seeking family history answers too? Did any of them know my great-grandfather and know why he left for England, only to die in a coal mine accident (so family folklore says)?

The questions and curiosity stayed with me.

After the cemetery, I drove about a half mile to the town/municipality of Barroe, where my grandad lived. I parked on the road and walked. And walked. And thought of him and his family. I felt like I belonged there, like I was walking home. I didn’t want to stop.

I had other places to visit, so I went back to Carracastle, took some photos, and then drove to Charlestown, the “big” city of the area. In Charlestown, I found Jenny’s, a place to have a meal, and fortunately for me, they offered a full Irish vegan breakfast!

The server brought me my plate of food, and I began to devour it. Yes, more coffee. Thank you. As I ate and sipped my coffee, my mind drifted to my family and this place. I was still surprised that I was even there. I wanted to go back to the cemetery and investigate more. I wanted to find some connection to my great-grandfather and great-grandmother before I left.

That will happen on my next trip.

It was time to head north, to the city of Sligo. For now, my family exploration was at an end.

Traveling has always been wonderful for me. Traveling to where part of my family lived before immigrating was even more powerful. I highly recommend it if you ever have the opportunity!

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