Is iomaí eachtraí a tharla i saol an duine. Eachtraí grinn go mór mór arae is deacair iad go léir do choimhéad id cheann, agus is fiú iad a theacht i machnamh agus scéal éigin uait.

It is many adventures that happen in a person’s life. Funny adventures for the greatest part but it is difficult to keep them all in your head, and they are worth reflecting on and telling about in some stories.

Tamall ó shin agus mé ag obair chomh tapaidh is féidir mo chéad lón d’fháil, an t-ailtín do ghlanadh, an lón do ghearradh, agus an drámh do chuir i mála, ní raibh ach deich neomaití liom an obair go léir do dhéanamh.

A while ago I was working as fast as I could to get my breakfast, to clean things up, to prepare the lunch, and to put the garbage in a bag, and I didn’t have but ten minutes in which to do all the work.

Is minic a téann sruth beatha an duine ar an gclé aige, go mór mór ar tráthnóna fada Dé Domhnaigh. Ba mhaith liom an tráthnóna sin.

It’s often that the stream of a person’s life goes astray, for the most part on a long Sunday afternoon. I would like that afternoon.

Lá dá raibh i lár na geimhridh bhí baisteadh mhór Mhennonite ann i n-aice le Baile Stouffer.

One day in the middle of winter there was a great baptism of Mennonites next to Stouffville.

Nuair a bhí mé im' ghearrcaile san tsráidbhaile úd Baile Stouffer, bhí fear ann darb' ainm Liam MacCoisir.

When I was a little girl in the small town of Stouffville, there was a man by the name of Liam MacCoisir.

Aon lá amháin an tseachtain seo caite agus mo bheirt stócaí amuigh faoin spéir ghorm, tháinig tuirse na nGort Mór orthu faoin spórt éigin a bhí ag imirt acu.

One day this past week and my two young men out under the blue sky, they became tired of the game they had been playing.

Bhí an lá caite agus an beirt ridirí ina leaba. Ní rabhadar ina gcodladh, áfach, ach ag gol agus ag cur scréach astu go minic.

The day was spent and the two riders were in their bed. They weren’t asleep, however, but crying and screeching often.

Tá rian ár dteangacha trasna na mór-roinne seo go hiomlán, ó Tír an Iasc a chur Donnchadh Rua i rannta beodha, agus Alba Nua 'na bhfuil an Ghàidhlig beo fós…

There is a trace of our language across this entire continent, from Newfoundland that Donnchadh Rua described in verse, and Nova Scotia where the Gaelic is still alive…

Lá dá raibh i lár na geimhridh bhí baisteadh mhór Mhennonite ann i n-aice le Baile Stouffer.

One day in the middle of winter there was a great baptism of Mennonites next to Stouffville.

Le déanaí chuaigh an Taibhse Rua amach ar lorg na háite 'na rugadh a máthair, Iseabal Ní Eanraí.

Lately the Red Ghost went out searching for the place in which her mother was born, Isabella Henderson.

Is minic a téann sruth beatha an duine ar an gclé aige, go mór mór ar tráthnóna fada Dé Domhnaigh. Ba mhaith liom an tráthnóna sin.

It’s often that the stream of a person’s life goes astray, for the most part on a long Sunday afternoon. I would like that afternoon.

Ní raibh Micheál ach bliain go leith nuair chuir sé a chabhair beag romham. Ní raibh cúnamh uaim an lá sin agus ní bhfuaireas é in aon chor, ach seo mar an scéal.

Micheál wansn’t but a year and a half when he helped me a little bit. I didn’t need help that day and I didn’t get it in any way, but here is the story.

Lá agus allas ag titim go trom leis an obair trom a bhí á dhéanamh agam faoin spéir glan gorm, tháinig in aigne an linbh óg Mícheál cabhair do thabhairt.

One day and sweat falling heavily with the hard work that I was doing under the blue sky, in came into the mind of the young child Mícheál to help.

Bhí beirt buachaillí óga agam, argoidíní beaga gan aird ceart don aois, agus deirimse leat níl an grá athartha agam dóibh-san uaireanta.

I had two young boys, little arguers without the proper heed for age, and I tell you that sometimes I don’t have the fatherly love for them.

Bhí beirt buachaillí óga agam, argoidíní beaga gan aird ceart don aois, agus deirimse leat níl an grá athartha agam dóibh-san uaireanta.

I had two young boys, little arguers without the proper heed for age, and I tell you that sometimes I don’t have the fatherly love for them.

Ar maidin inné bhíos ag cantaireacht domh féin san dabhach folcaidh gan meas ar bith ar bhfoclaibh an amhráin. Tharla gurb é amhrán ‘Let Erin Remember.’

Yesterday morning I was singing to myself in the bathtub and without thinking at all about the words of the song. It happened that it was the song ‘Let Erin Remember.’

Bhí dhá fhear ann aon uair amháin, agus smaoinigh siad go rachadh siad ‘un Oileán Úir.

here were two men once, and they thought that they would go to the New World.

Bhí tiarna talún ann fadó, agus bhí buachaill aimsire aige darb ainm Seán Ó Baoill.

There was a landlord long ago, and he had a hired boy servant by the name of Seán Ó Baoill.

Bhí lánúin ina gcónaí i Rann na Feirste fad ó shin agus iad beo bocht…

There was a couple living in Rann na Feirste long ago and they were very poor…

Seán Crosach and Irish forcible transportees to the New World

San am fadó bhí ropaire ina chónaí tríd sléibhte Dhúin na nGall anseo dar ainm Seán Crosach.

Long ago there was a highwayman who lived in the mountains of Donegal here by the name of Seán Crosach.