The holly green, the ivy green,

The prettiest picture you’ve ever seen


Is Christmas in Killarney,

With all of the folks at home.

With the joys of technology, my son had downloaded the song from Bing Crosby and Bluetoothed it to the speakers in our bright green rental car, the Lucky Leprechaun. This has always been one of my favorite Christmas songs, but somehow listening to it while we were actually in Killarney made it even more enjoyable. So enjoyable, in fact, we may have played (and sung) the song on repeat for nearly the entire drive around the Ring of Kerry.

The countryside was so beautiful and green, and in between hiking to old ruins, exploring circle forts and checking out stone circles, we drove around and looked at farms. At a gas station one night, my husband was thrilled to find Ireland’s version of the Fastline.

It doesn’t matter what part of the world we are in, it seems we always gravitate to the agricultural sector. Ireland was no different. Soon we found ourselves on “half” land roads, dodging sheep and tractors and eyeing with much interest the black-wrapped silage bales that dotted the countryside.

About 10 years ago, in an attempt to salvage our last cutting of alfalfa, we purchased our first McHale round baler, which chopped and wrapped individual bales — creating what many people in the Walla Walla Valley refer to as “marshmallow bales.”

It’s been a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it means we can put up hay even into the snow — but on the other it means that we are still putting up hay even after it snows. One year we were still swathing and baling just a few days prior to Christmas.

Our youngest son has loved the round baler all of his life. McHale was founded in the mid-1980s in the west of Ireland, so, when he learned we were going to Ireland, it wasn’t the Blarney Stone on his bucket list.

We put more than 2,000 miles on our Lucky Leprechaun, in a country that is 3.5 times smaller than the state of Oregon. Most of those miles were on back roads checking our Irish farming operations. Several times we’d make unscheduled U-turns when we’d see a guy out feeding his cows or, once, a farmer digging carrots. We were so fascinated by the sheep wandering down the road or next to tourist attractions that one would have thought we’d never seen them before.

While walking along the Cliffs of Moher, there was a rock wall on one side and an electric fence 3 feet on the other, housing herds of sheep and cattle. Often, to reach a particular abbey or monastery ruin, we would have to walk through the neatest little turnstiles designed to let visitors in easily while preventing the animals from leaving pastures that included ancient ruins, some dating back to the 1100s.

The luck of the Irish obviously extends to their animals, as well. My kids were born in a calf trough — while their calves are born in castles!

We tried to make up for it a bit by staying in several castles. One of our rooms had two bathrooms, one of which was bigger than the living room in my house. It had a huge old-fashioned claw-footed tub in the exact center of the room. What is a family of rednecks supposed to do with that — except climb in and take family photos? After all, my grandmother used to say “the family that bathes together, ‘staythes’ together.”

Too soon, we had to return the Lucky Leprechaun and head back to our own round baler, and sheep. But our adventure wasn’t quite over.

On the plane ride back to the States, one of the flight attendants asked what had prompted our trip to Ireland. My husband told them it was our 20-year anniversary that day. Within the hour, they delivered us a gallon-sized Ziploc bag full of all sorts of first-class snacks, wine, and a note signed by the whole crew and both captains congratulating us on 20 years of marriage.

It’s nice, you know, to kiss your beau,

While cuddling under the mistletoe.

I’m handing you no blarney: A trip the likes I’ve never known
was Christmas in Killarney, with all of the folks at home.