Mr.

Derry Ireland is a very different place from western Canada. It is a large county with some 100 000 people. To the western side of Derry is the small town of Moneyneena where my family is from.

My mother's relatives have lived in the hilly Irish countryside for hundreds of years. Between these never-ending hills are wide valleys where farmers have settled. It is on one of these farms that my grandfather lives in a stone brick house that is centuries old, which looks out into the valley. Inside this house, there is a stale musty smell. As you enter there is a charcoal black, crumbling fireplace where many generations have crowded for warmth. When the fire is burning, the smoky air is suffocating as it fills the room.

It is surrounded by a crumbling brick wall and above it is a brick shelf, with hazy black and white photos of my long gone ancestors. To the left of the fireplace is a narrow corridor with one bedroom at the end. Directly opposite the fireplace is a small kitchen. In this kitchen there is a grated stove beside the once white rusty sink, with its solitary dripping tap. My uncle made us puffy glistening gold fish and chips from this kitchen, with sweet orangeade.

In the yard, one can feel the salty sea air brushing through their hair. Many things in the house such as the TV, microwave, and washing machine are very new. But the fireplace, stove, clocks. Radios have been there for many decades. The main foundation of the house is over 200 years old.