Come with me as I recall a memorable walk in the land of my mother, Wales. First, I'll explain that her grandparents came to the U.S. in the late 1800s through Canada and finally settled the town of Caledonia in Columbia County. Roberts was the last name. Our two daughters, Jodie and Angela, toured with Peter and me. Jodie set up the trip on her computer via Internet. Unbeknownst to her, the itinerary she plugged us into would reveal a few surprises.

First, of course, we crossed the big pond, landed in London then took the train to Cambridge. Waiting to travel, we noticed we were standing on Platform 9 3/4, it's the one that Harry Potter escaped through to the land of the wizards. After a visit with Peter's aunt and uncle in Cambridge, the train swiftly (at 120 mph) careened us off to North Wales. Shortly we arrived at the railroad depot in a slate mining area called Blaenau Ffastiniog (don't try to pronounce). My great-grandfather worked in these very slate mines until an accident took his eye and he returned to farming on the family homestead at Trawsfynydd.

The operator of the Bryn Elltyd Guest House bed-and-breakfast located near town was our transport to his home. After settling in and looking around, we found behind his property a mountain where slate had been mined. A worn path ascending long and high led to a hole in the side of the mountain. Our host informed us this is where slate was tunneled out through after being mined, then wheeled down the path to load on a narrow gauge train, transporting the raw slate to be prepared for market. The narrow-gauge train and rails were just over the ridge from the bed-and-breakfast, and it still operates. We heard the train whistle as it puffed through the valley that evening. Slate is no longer being mined at that site, though.

Walking in the backyard later, I picked flowers and berries that the host used for our supper meal. Jodie and Angela's room, a remodeled farm building, had an outside north wall that was all slate. They sat by the pond in the backyard with ducks swimming among the cattails. The water flowed across the road and down to a lake that overlooked Snowdonia National Forest and Park. The highly prized area of North Wales was being protected and kept natural for future generations. Once visiting my aunt Ethel Roberts in Portage, she revealed to me a beautiful picture of a Snowdonia mountain scene on her living wall. She told me about the Welsh people trying to save that national park from development.

Our host of the bed-and-breakfast graciously offered to take us to our next day's destination to tour the restored Harlech castle. It is one of the few rebuilt, from more than 400 castles built centuries ago to protect Wales. As we toured the castle, from the top we could see Ireland, that green island across the sea. In the castle we met tourists from Wisconsin. They said they regularly attend the Gymanfa Ganu (Welsh sing) in Cambria. "Oh! I do, too, so I will see you back in Wisconsin in a few weeks."

Walking down town at Harlech we caught the train to our next stop. Jodie had reserved the evening at the Old Mill bed-and-breakfast operated by Margaret Roberts (my mom's name) in the town of Trawsfynydd. Our stay there was amazing. Upon walking uptown to the local church, St. Madryn, the custodian invited us in and opened the church records of the past. There it was, my great-grandfather and grandmother's wedding date on record, June 7, 1836 (Angela was just married on June 7, 2008). The church building was simply beautiful. Outside the stone church was the cemetery, most of the gravestones were lined up side by side, very tight quarters. The name of Roberts on several of them. No doubt some are long-ago relatives.

The custodians told us of the homestead farm that my great-grandparents farmed just five miles out of town. So the next morning I was up early, ready to take a walk in Wales on the narrow highway (Ffordd A4212) to my mother's family homestead.

Only having so much time before our departure, I walked half the time out, turned around and got back in time. I did not reach that farm, but what I saw along the way sufficed. Small fields all fenced with slate piled high and careful, with sheep grazing (there are four times as many sheep in Wales as people). As I passed by other farms, all the buildings were built with slate. Along the highway were benches set, inviting me to rest. So I did. The hills were steep; one had hay cut. I love the smell of new mown hay. I found out later that the grass grows year round in Wales, there was little need to store much. Warm air streams from the Caribbean Sea flows to Wales.

Many cars whizzed by me as I walked, one stopped to see if I was lost. I said, "No." But I can tell you I was lost in a fantastic land of my forefathers. I wrote several poems on my walk. I will share with you, from one poem, an anonymous line I found in Wales, "I found a road along the way, it followed me home so they say." The memory of that walk will last forever since I have now shared it with you.

Margo Holzman is a member of the Pauquette Wordcrafters. She writes mainly poetry but tries to produce prose as well.