Tipperary, County Cork, County Kerry...Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral

Have you heard that there are no snakes in Ireland? For many of you this fact may not be very remarkable. For me, it is miraculous. I have a fairly severe snake phobia, which is a handicap living where I do. We live in a snake sanctuary. Parts of our house are nearly 300 years old. We have a basement that is more earth than house, and many stone walls around our property built from rocks collected probably around the time the house was built. Lots of time and room for snake families to flourish and multiply. In addition, beyond the yard is a field of alfalfa and weeds that is ideally suited for frolicking snakes. Snakes have been found in our basement, our living room, our barn, and of course in our yard. (I have frequent nightmares about discovering them at the foot of my bed.)

From March through October, I walk through our property with toes curled, fists clenched, and at the height of alertness. I have a very keen eye for spotting snakes. I am an accomplished "snaker" (like birder.) There are days when I might see three or four snakes in an afternoon of cautious gardening.

I am a lousy but diligent gardener. Gardening is exhausting for a person who suffers from ophidiophobia. First of all, you are in a constant state of semi panic, which is exhausting all by itself. (Not unlike sitting in the waiting room to hear the results of your mammogram.) In addition to the psychological struggle, you have to keep your feet away from any plant taller than your ankle (a snake could be hiding under something that tall and then slither over your feet - the ultimate horror for the ophidiophobic.) Then you have to kind of dart your hand into the target area to drop a seed, grab a weed or harvest a tomato. You don't want your hand to dilly dally for long among the fronds of snake camouflage. The unknowing observer of my gardening technique might think I am playing a very competitive game of Twister. As you can imagine, this style of gardening is far more demanding than the kind of activity you see pictured on all the catalogues that arrive at this time of year - a relaxed, contented lady kneeling at the edge of her tidy garden in the suburbs wearing pristine gloves, not a weed in sight. I would no sooner kneel in my yard than I would try to figure out how to cock a pistol while facing one of my children. It would be foolish.

Anyway, how did I get on this rant. So, the highlight of my brief trip to Ireland was walking through tall grass and pasture with toes and fingers relaxed, taking in the spectacular views, the intoxicating smells and knowing I had nothing to fear...except maybe cancer. I will say that I was a bit more aware of my cancer in Ireland than in Massachusetts. I have said before that I don't usually feel the need for a support group because I don't feel too isolated in my misfortune. I have known many people with cancer. My friends and family know many people with cancer. It is a familiar ghost that haunts many of us. In Ireland, I felt I needed a support group because it seemed like I was the only person there who had it. Perhaps there is no cancer in Ireland? Wait - a - minute...I think I've made a monumental discovery! There are no snakes in Ireland. There is no cancer in Ireland. Ergo, snakes cause cancer! I got cancer because of the disproportionate exposure I have had to snakes. This could be the discovery that makes me famous. Keep your eyes on the New England Journal of Medicine, people.

We did a lot of driving in Ireland. I usually hate driving as a way of exploring a new place. I would much rather walk, bike, kayak, or horseback ride. The road itself ruins the scenery. However, for this trip it  worked pretty well since I was in the more symptomatic phase of the chemo cycle, and didn't have it in me to do most of those things. We arrived in Dublin on Wednesday morning, rented a car and spent the next three days driving southwest towards the coast of County Cork and then northwest through County Kerry to Killarney National Park. We stayed at lovely hotels, and at a beautiful resort in Sneem.  We took long walks and ate fabulous meals made from local produce.

One downside of this mode of travel was my husband's driving. A man on vacation, driving a sporty, new, rented Mercedes, on the "wrong" side of the road, using a steering wheel on the "wrong" side of the car, quickly resembles an irresponsible, slightly deranged teenage boy on a bumper car ride. It was harrowing. And what made it worse was the Irish. Their speed limits are ridiculous! Driving one hundred kilometers per hour on narrow country roads with hairpin turns, twelve foot stone walls on one side and rocky cliffs on the other, is not a sensible pace. Worrying about dying in a car accident, however, made me realize that worrying about breast cancer is a luxury reserved for people who aren't about to die from something else.

Although neither of us had ever been to Ireland, much of the scenery seemed familiar to us. At the Rock of Cashel we had long views into valleys of sheep and cattle farms. (I confess that I am not much interested in religion or religious history so the historical significance of the place didn't make much of an impression on me.) Along one side of the property was a little footpath that meandered through a sheep pasture to the village below. I have often yearned for a lifestyle that resembles 19th century ladies living in rural England a la BBC productions of Middlemarch or Sense and Sensibility. That little path was the place.

We were also reminded alternately of the coast of Maine, New Brunswick, Arizona, Washington...It became a running joke. You know what this reminds me of? My husband remarked that the trip was like a smoothie that blended all of the trips we have taken over the last 35 years. Delicious.