:: st. patrick's day ::

i am irish. of this i have always been undeniably sure. however--i don't remember the moment i learned it for the first time. the facts and tales of my ancestors surviving potato famine, and the boat trek to ellis island, and the prejudices in america, and their growing families-- were passed on to me from toddler-hood. and i came to honor and cherish my heritage deeply.

so today- on st.patricks day - i celebrated in a most unconventional way. with my best intentions of baking a delicious loaf of irish soda bread gone by the wayside, i honored my roots by traveling deeper into the city where my family originated. i met a man at a city bike shop. watched as he expertly repaired a bicycle. brushed shoulders with the kids from the neighborhood, as they crammed in the entryway to have their transportation assessed. the man reached up and grabbed a flat off a high shelf. brought it to the counter. brushed his grease stained hands on his apron. and presented me with an amazing array of sunflower sprouts. grown by him & his partner, the sprouts were started at a hoop house in the heart of detroit. they are amazing additions to salads. smoothies. sandwiches. or on their own. their farm feeds a city. and their passion fills a need.

after i had my sprouts tucked away in the back of the durango, i drove around the city a bit. found another urban farm (pictures to come). perused several showcases of city art. stared at the old train station. and as the sun shown, i sighed. i don't know why my family chose to settle in these neighborhoods. and on these streets. but today, st. patricks day, i looked around and was ever so glad they did.

erin go bragh.

:: the pipes. the pipes. are calling.

somewhere in time, amongst the great-great-great's on my father's side, a man decided to move his family out of famished ireland---and into the great nation of america.

and it is because of said man that i am here today.

growing up, my paternal grandpa was, with nearly every breath he took, reminding us of the importance of our irish heritage. and even though my nationality is a delightful mixture of cultures and countries, i came to honor my "irish-ness" above all else. (i occasionally allowed myself to admit that i am part native american--especially when pocahontas was big).

my grandfather passed away when i was 8 years old. i regret that i never got to know him as an adult. that i never got the opportunity to hear and appreciate his stories. that he was never able to see my passion & delight in where i come from. but i think he might know.

it's one of my ultimate goals to step foot on irish soil. to set my sights on the towns and mountains and castles of the land my family originated. to do so would fill a spot in my soul. i can almost see myself in a lush, green valley. eyes closed. sweater wrapped snugly around me. wind whipping my hair about my face. being home for the first time.

smiling. knowing that, up above. my grandpa was smiling too.

photos courtesy of my friend niamh--wh0 lived in ireland till she was 7.
i told her it would be in her best interest to plan on my accompaniment on her next trek to the land of the green hills.
our friendship assuredly depends on it :)