Memoirs - of sorts

I've been putting together a fictional story (based on the few facts that I have) of my maternal grandmother's emigration from Ireland to America in 1904. The story is more emotional than factual, but it is dedicated to her courage and spirit. I find it fascinating that she - who knew nothing of cities or of much beyond the small plot of land where she grew up on the shores of the Atlantic - could walk away from everything she knew, and face a huge world of unknowns. Yet she did. And she was under twenty years of age. Here is an excerpt from that story, Voyage of Dreams.

"The setting sun glowed on the horizon. All about her, the flowers were in bloom and
gave a yellow glow to the hillsides covered with scrubby wildflower bushes. The magpies
argued amongst themselves as they flew in circles and made their nasty noise. Tess stopped
for a moment and let the sun warm her face. It was home. It was. A sweet warm wind blew 
off the sea and filled the air with a restless song. She lifted her voice and sang, and it 
filled her heart with joy and with life itself. There was goodness here, and she would 
never leave it."

I hope to finish the story some time this summer. This one has to be good. Neither my grandmother nor my mother are alive; but somehow I know they would approve. And perhaps in some other dimension, they will be able to read my story.