Céad Míle Fáilte: Notes from an Irish Week
The words céad míle fáilte translate to one hundred thousand welcomes in Gaelic. Not just one welcome, but one hundred thousand warm-hearted welcomes that extend past the old wooden pub floor over the stone threshold, from beside the wood stove that sits in the cottage kitchen, out into the narrow winding roads held tightly in by hedgerows of spiky, sharp gorse and hawthorn, to the quilted pastures marked with stone walls that someone once put together. And of course, the sheep that dot the fields in the distance and the cattle, colored from dark leather to light butterscotch to black and white. All of those things say welcome, and if you let yourself take a deep breath of the air, watch the mist roll off the hillside, and drop your shoulders down just a bit more, you will feel welcome, grounded even in that land and its people.
Ultimately, for me, this little trip was yet another reminder that we often lose track of how we can choose to measure success as business owners, makers, dreamers, and honestly just as humans. In the grand scheme of things, our time here is very short. I'd like to think we can choose to measure our wins not solely on numbers, but on pints poured, seeds planted and sowed, banter with locals, a meal cooked from scratch, and that feeling of ease you get when someone truly cares about your answer to their question. That is success to me. Stressing just a little less, leaning into the unknown, and being open to tripping up along the way, because more often than not, if you've built your foundation right, you have more people there to help you up and hold you for a moment. It's just being open to knowing that help is the biggest cheer from the sidelines. That's it: when we help each other and truly care about the collective success of a good experience, a proper coffee, a beautiful bouquet, we all win.
That's the frame I carried into this short visit, shorter than I'd originally planned. I really wanted to tack on a tail-end trip to Scotland so I could hop on a horse in the Highlands, fall deeper into the greens, and keep my hungry travel bug fed. Soon I will go.
As for the week away? It was brilliant. The mission was wedding flowers for a friend's dear friend and college roommate. The trip was led by Emily, flower farmer, designer, and dreamer. Kayla, a talented florist, my travel and pub companion, and cat whisperer, also joined the adventure.
Once landed and sorted out, Emily bravely took the helm of our right-hand-drive vehicle out of Dublin and into the country hills. Our first stop, just outside the city center, was Fire and Stone Cafe. To get back into sync with our internal clocks after the overnight flight, we all needed coffee and breakfast. This cafe delivered. I remember Emily saying she hoped we'd have good coffee in Ireland. And yes, Em, that too is my hope everywhere I go. As a devoted coffee lover, my goal was to make sure that happened for her, for all of us.
I honestly had no idea what time this happened until I looked at the timestamp on my perfectly poured flat white to see it was 11:52 am. With a proper brunch in our bellies, we felt a little more human and ready to move on. Our plates were full with the most lovely, simple breakfast: eggs, asparagus cooked with just the right amount of crunch, sautéed mushrooms, a tomato halved and kissed by the griddle, hash browns made in-house, grilled halloumi, and toast that easily beat any quick breakfast spot at home. And the coffee, exactly what I love. A flat white, in ceramic, perfectly textured milk, and a barista behind the bar cranking them out with ease.
The drive to the cottage was spent trying to find the right soundtrack to accompany us as we left the paved highway and ventured into the countryside, along with a crash course in driving in Ireland.
We had a lovely cottage that became home base for the week. Hedgerows, ferns, and rocky bits led us to the gates we opened and closed to get there. There was a wood stove in the kitchen that we fired up a few times, especially when requested by the resident cat Star, whom we fondly dubbed Paul O'Reilly, who joined us for the last stretch of the trip. The animals here were a universal thread for sure. We three gals from the US, all animal lovers found that our tales of our pets matched those of the folks in the pub. Beyond food and beverage, our pets are part of the fiber that pulls us closer together. To know the barkeep's beloved cow is named Pam, and she calved Stormy and Velvet, and he recently said farewell to one of his Labradors- all of that was icing on the human connection cake for me. With maybe a tear in the eye, we all agreed dogs are the best as Buddy, the small black pub dog backed up just close enough to my shins for a little pat on the back.
Our first supper was in Ballywilliam at The Ash Tree Bar and Bistro, a humble spot where Kayla and I welcomed our first pour of Guinness and, for Emily, a dry, local cider. The food was comforting: a curry for Kayla, roast beef for me, gravy spilling over the mashed potatoes, roasted carrots and parsnips, and Yorkshire pudding to boot. I was so happy and so full, and for Emily, a tomato and roasted red pepper soup. The highlight of this pub visit was the barkeep coming back with a sparkle in his eye to ask Emily if she'd like a side of gluten-free bread with her soup as he graciously acknowledged and accommodated the dietary restriction.
Mornings began with French press coffee I made while I watched the fog lift from the hillside from the little kitchen window. We had brown bread toast, smeared with Irish butter, cherry and plum jam, and just enough time to dial in for the day ahead. The days moved quickly, balanced between flowers and exploring. Emily did a superb job planning, sourcing, and packing her rocks and candles to make this wedding a real thing of beauty.
A daisy chain of events led us to Shirley, fondly known as our Irish Emily, farmer and owner of Lily's Field, to pick up flowers for the wedding. It was a treat to see Shirley and Emily standing side by side, talking shop, sharing the same smile lines, perhaps carved out by the joy they share in flower farming. While there, Shirley mentioned a bakery pop-up that takes place in Joyce's Pub, right by the wedding venue in the center of Borris. This wasn't the first mention of this pop-up by a local. It’s this kind of word of mouth for small businesses that makes my heart swell. Sure, you can scroll past a reel of it, but to have someone's face light up as they share this once-kept secret of a special spot in town is like sharing a treasure. It's small business gold, it speaks way louder than staring at it on a screen, and in my opinion, gets people there.
Back at the cottage, the kitchen and side yard became the studio space. Centerpieces were made, ceremony pots created, bows shaped at night with a glass of wine nearby. Emily lovingly put the bouquet together, a work of art she's made plenty of, but this time it was even more special. It was in a foreign land, for a loved one, made of bits and pieces from here and there.
The wedding day arrived, the weather was perfect, the timing felt well-paced, and we were on our way to Borris House, a gorgeous estate that became even more breathtaking with each placement of Emily's flowers and candles. After setting up the reception space, I left Emily there to work on her finishing touches and walked down to Joyce's Pub to take part in the Plúr Bakery pop-up.
The word plúr means flour in Irish, which makes perfect sense for a bakery that grows, mills, and bakes with its own wheat. They also roast their own coffee under the name Silín, Irish for cherry. Their commitment and care for their craft are what fill my cup as an advocate for small, heart-led businesses. I felt the smile stretch across my face as I patiently waited in the queue, peeking through the door to see the flaky pastries glowing in the sunlight coming through the old pub window. I adored everything about this scene: the little terrier waiting outside under the picnic table, the voices of regulars, the oohs and ahhs at that first sight of artisan bread and baked goods, the low hiss of the steam wand. Again, a perfectly poured flat white, an order of pastries I couldn't wait to try, a T-shirt, and some coffee to bring home, and I was on my way. It was all so well done, from the service to the product, and that's what lights me up, the same thing that lit me up for years at BirchTree, watching people feel that happy and welcomed all at once.
I met back up with Em, handed her a flat white, and we made our way back to Kayla and her creations to all pile into the car and finish setting up a scene right out of a fairy tale. Emily changed from her Blundstones and flannel into a gorgeous dress in greens that could be seen in the landscape nearby. With that, Kayla and I made ourselves at home in the little town of Borris while Emily took part in a wedding she had not only beautifully designed, but was a guest at.
We stepped back into Joyce's Pub not once, but twice that night, this time trading the morning's coffee for Guinness. There we were welcomed into conversations and a curiosity that led to connections. We met Nigel, the seasoned barkeep, the one with Pam the cow. He shared with us that he'd been tending bar a long time. I am an observer, so as I watched him throughout the night, I saw a man who cared deeply for the experience people were having. That kind of care extends further than someone just doing their job. It's the hospitality that holds the attention and patronage of customers for decades. We learned the origin stories of the pub, of Borris House, the local lore of people and things.
In a whirlwind close to the night, we picked up Emily, joined in a little dancing at the wedding, felt the great sigh of relief that she'd pulled off an international event, and made our way for a nightcap back at Joyce's. It was at that point, I can say I felt at home.
And isn’t that what we all want? Isn’t that another sign of success—to make someone feel at home? Whether that’s in pints poured, coffee being made in a cottage kitchen, in packing rocks and candles to adorn your college roommate’s wedding, or in welcoming the cat that graces us with his presence.
From that very short adventure, I can wholeheartedly say I will be back to Ireland. I will chase that 25% of Celtic blood I have because, as my fellow travel lover and sister-in-law says, I think there’s something in our DNA that calls us to the places we belong. It makes sense why I’ve always felt called to the country, to the slower pace, to stone walls, to chatting with strangers who turn into friends.
That feeling is the whole point, really. Not a grand revelation, but a quiet remembering. We each have our own story, and the steps along our paths sometimes lead us through fire and over craggy bits and bobs that can trip us up. But ultimately, they lead us to parts of home that we make and take with us. That is what I found during my time in Ireland, and I can't wait to go back.
