My Love Letter to Ireland

March 13, 2021 Marsha Mowers

Years ago, 2002 to be exact, I was 25 years old and living with my dear friend Caroline in a 17^th floor apartment in downtown Toronto, steps away from Citytv on Queen St W where I worked as a publicist. The apartment wasn’t fancy in the slightest, but we had a great view and Caroline and I would sit out on our balcony at night and talk about what we were going to do with our lives.

One night, likely after a few glasses of wine, Caroline suggested we go to Ireland, where her family is from.  “Marsh, let’s just do it.”  Next thing I knew, flights were booked, plans were made and we were on our way.  I was so excited that I bought green streamers and decorated the entire 17^th floor on the day we were leaving, including a homemade sign that said “We’re going to Ireland!” that was right in everyone’s face when they got off the elevator.

It was my first time to Europe.  What an introduction.

With the exception of her mom, dad and siblings, Caroline’s whole family lives in Ireland – aunts, uncles and cousins. Though I fully appreciated it at the time, it wouldn’t be until years later when I fully realized just how special the entire trip was. Caroline’s family welcomed us with open arms and we hopped from tiny town to tiny town, the waft of turf – a type of peat that’s found in the bogs and used to heat houses – in the air. 

When I say tiny towns, I mean tiny – 100 people or less.  There were sheep in the fields, bordered only by a two-foot high stone fence. I wondered how they didn’t just jump over and accidently get hit by a car, but Caroline’s uncle said they don’t because the like where they are. I couldn’t blame them.

It was there that I realized what might have been the inspiration for U2’s song “Where The Streets Have No Name.”  These streets did not have any names.  In fact, on our way home from a pub one night, I asked Caroline’s aunt and uncle how they give directions to people.  They said they didn’t have to, everyone knows where everyone lives, and if they don’t, they use landmarks for guidance – turn left at the big stone, right at the wobbly shaped tree.  I was literally where the streets had no name.

We hopped around a lot – from Dysart (Roscommon) to Ballinasloe to Galway and Dublin.  It was amazing. Everywhere you went the people were so warm and welcoming.  I bought my Claddagh ring (a traditional Irish ring which represents love, loyalty, and friendship) with Caroline in Galway and I’ve worn it every day since. 

When I said it wasn’t until later I realized just how special that trip was, it’s because Ireland will always hold a very special place in my heart.  My dad’s favourite U2 song was “Where the Streets Have No Name.” He died suddenly in 2016 and every time that song comes on I think of him and an amazing trip with a best friend.

When we moved to our current house, we were welcomed with open arms by our next door neighbours. I would wake up to the sound of them cutting our grass or shoveling our driveway. We became almost one big family, so much so that we used to joke about building a bridge between the two houses to make things easier.

They were Irish.

Many people ask me where the first place I’ll travel to when we can again post-pandemic.  I always answer Ireland.  It’s been twenty years since I’ve been, though it doesn’t feel like that.  For me it would almost feel like going home.

And I have a sneaking suspicion that if you visit, you’ll feel the same.

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