01 - A Kerry Boy

Big and green and roomy enough for six, the family wagon cruised through twisting, turning country roads as Patrick Cahill drove his family from the village of Kilkenny to a townland just south of Tralee. Lizbeth, his wife, sat next to him. Ever since they married each other, they wanted a boy. The good lord, however, decided they would have four daughters, all of whom were scrunched in the back seats.
First, there was Meg. She was named after Patrick’s sister, ‘Aunt Meg’. A year later, Sally was born. Two years after that, it was Korrit. Another year later, they had Chelsea.
“Four lovely daughters,” as Aunt Meg always said.
Meg, their first-born, had hair as orange as carrots and light brown eyes. Freckles spotted her face and shoulders. Her hair had the same color and texture as dear old dad. Sally was fair of face, with auburn hair and dark brown eyes. Korrit had coal black hair and emerald green eyes, just like her mother.
Chelsea, the youngest of all the Cahills, took on very few of either parent’s traits. Although her eyes were blue like her father’s, her hair was a shade of boown so light that it looked blonde in the right light. Chelsea often wore it in a ponytail, just like her Grandma, held in place by one of the fancy elastic bands she stored on the newel post at the top of the staircase.
“Is everyone excited to see Grandma Georgina and Grandpa Jack?”
A resounding ‘yes’ came from the back of the car as the girls shouted in glee. Grandma and Grandpa’s farm sat at the top of a rocky cliff. It had pigs and cows and sheep on one side and a field of potatoes, cabbage, and carrots on the other.
A mailbox with a sign saying “The Donaldsons” marked the entrance to Grandma and Grandpa’s farm. As Mr. Cahill turned onto the long gravel drive, the car passed between two split-rail fences.
“Connor!” shouted Chelsea. Connor raised his big, beefy head. Connor was Grandpa’s prize bull.
“Hello, boy!”
The rest of Chelsea’s family headed to the porch where Grandma and Grandpa waited with open arms.
“Good to see everyone!” said Grandma Georgina.
Korrit inhaled deeply.
“What do I smell?”
“I’m braising some pork for colcannon stew.”
“No, not that. It smells sweet and yummy.”
“Could be the rhubarb pie…”
“That’s it!”
“We’ll have it for dessert. Right now, we have to finish making the stew. Would you like to help?”
Korrit nodded emphatically.
Korrit, just over a meter high, wasn’t tall enough to reach the stove. Grandma Georgina placed a step stool next to the stove. Now, Korrit was just the right size for the job.
“Can you pour this chicken broth into the stockpot for me?”
Korrit nodded.
“And please add these potato cubes, too?”
Korrit carefully emptied the contents of the bowl into the stockpot.
“Is there anything else?”
Grandma Georgina nodded as she sliced the pork and cabbage. Then, she handed the cutting board to Korrit, who carefully pushed everything into the stockpot.
The stew frothed and simmered as the ingredients came together quite nicely.
“Let’s add some sage, some garlic and parsley, and some salt and pepper, too.”
Korrit helped work the shakers, stopping as her Grandma commanded. When Grandma gave her the ladle, she used it to stir everything together.
“Can I have a taste?” asked Korrit.
Grandma Georgina nodded.
“It needs something else,” she said as she tapped a finger upon her cheek.
Grandma eyes lit up as soon as she took a taste test.
“”Green onions!” she exclaimed.
“But not too many,” said Korrit.
“Just enough to give it that special snap,” said Grandma reassuringly. She chopped the long green tails into tiny bites and shoved them from her cutting board into the stew. She gave it a quick stir and placed the lid on top.
While Korrit helped with a mid-day meal, Megan and Sally sat with their mother and father and Grandpa Jack. They slumped on the couch like two dirty potatoes.
“What do you two think you’re doing inside?”
.”What do you mean?”
“There’s a great big world just outside the door and you’re sitting around collecting mold. You should be outside getting some fresh air.”
“Grandpa, you’re telling us how good it is outside, but there you are, sitting in your old rocking chair.”
“I am an old, old man. I have already seen the world. I know what it looks like.”
“Grandpa Jack’s as right as rain,” said mother, “you two go outside and find some adventure.”
The girls reluctantly pulled on their jackets and puddle-jumpers. Then, they headed out the door. Chelsea was still outside, among a herd of Kerry cows. She had taken her raincoat and used the hood as a full cape. Then, she made two horns with her fingers and chased the tiny black Kerrys through the pasture. There were about a dozen cows and Connor, the only bull. Of all the Kerrys, Chelsea picked the only one with horns – Connor the bull.
“What do you think you’re doing?” asked Meg.
“I’m bull fighting!” said Chelsea.
“That’s not bull fighting! That’s asking for trouble.”
Chelsea stopped in her tracks and stood next to Connor. He twisted his head and stared at the little girl.
“If you don’t watch it, he’ll hook you with his horns and throw you over the cliff.”
Chelsea twisted about and looked toward the cliff. It was a long fall to the bottom. She didn’t want that, so she plucked her raincoat from her head and wore it like a normal raincoat.
“Come on, let’s go and take a look.”
Meg offered a hand to hold onto; Chelsea grasped it tightly. They walked to the edge of the pasture where the split-rail fence protected all of Grandpa’s animals (and grandchildren, too) from falling over the edge. Megan laid on her belly and scooted to the edge. Sally and Chelsea followed along.
“Be careful,” said Meg.
“I will.”
Even the old bull came along, looking out over the cliff. The beginning of the vast Atlantic Ocean started there and stretched west and north and south farther than any of the children could imagine.
“You know, that’s the Atlantic Ocean,” said Meg.
“That’s what you always tell us,” said Chelsea.
“It’s where the sailors from the North landed a long, long time ago.”
“You tell us that, too.”
“It’s just one of the folktales Grandpa Jack tells us.”
Just then, Grandpa Jack stepped out onto the porch.
“Isn’t it cold and windy out there?”
“Yes,” shouted Chelsea, “but we’re watching the waves crash against the shore.”
“You’re awfully close to the edge. I don’t want you falling into the sea.”
“That’s not the sea, Grandpa. That’s the Atlantic Ocean.”
“All the more reason for you to come inside for a bowl of stew.”
They raced to the house, leaving old Connor behind. They landed on the porch: one, two, three, oldest to youngest.
“Don’t bring the mud into the house!” commanded Grandma Georgina. The girls quickly removed their raincoats and galoshes and left them near the door.
With a fire in the hearth, the house was warm and inviting. The smells of colcannon and rhubarb filled the air. Everyone took their seats at the table in the kitchen as Grandma gave the stew one last stew before bringing it to the table.
“Let’s eat,” said Grandpa.
“Who will lead us in prayer?”
“I will,” said Meg.
Everyone folded their hands and bowed their heads.
Then, Meg began to pray.
“May the road rise to meet you.
May the wind be at your back.
May the sun shine upon your face,
and rains fall on your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.”
As quickly as Meg said Amen, Grandpa Jack grabbed a soup spoon and ladled stew into bowls.
“Hold your horses, my dear husband!”
“I told you, we don’t own any horses.”
“Yes, because if we did, they’d have jumped over the cliff.”
Grandpa Jack just continued serving stew as Grandma added dinner rolls to each plate. Everyone ate and ate until all were full.
Afterwards, the family gathered around the hearth.
“Would anyone like some homemade ice cream and rhubarb pie?” said Grandma.
“Yes!” said everyone.
“Korrit, would you like to be my helper?”
“I’d love to help.”
“Hurry up, I’m starving!” said Grandpa Jack.
“Hold your horses, Grandpa!”
“Yes, Grandpa,” said Grandma Georgina, “hold your horses.”
She pulled a strange contraption from the kitchen cabinet and handed it to Korrit. It was the ice cream maker. Of all things the Cahill girls loved about visiting their grandparents, fresh Kerry ice cream may have been their favorite…
…and as long as everyone could hold their horses, good things were bound to happen.
.