Thursday, March 17, 2011

St. Patrick's Day - We all wear green.

Our last St. Patty's Party - Barry and me, brown-bagging in Young Harris

Although we are told that everyone is Irish on St. Patrick's Day, I feel I'd be a fraud if I pretended I came from the land of the shamrock. My ancestors came over from England in the 1700's. However, I believe I have some Scots-Irish blood in me, like many families from North Carolina and Georgia.
I love celtic music, poetry and books set in Ireland.
Celtic Thunder is one of my favorite musical groups. I have been playing Celtic Thunder Heritage over and over since I saw the group on Public Television recently. Celtic Woman is another terrific Irish group and their haunting harmonies take me to the moors overlooking the pounding sea.

I want to share this poem by an Irish poet. I love the title.

On An Apple-Ripe September Morning

On an apple-ripe September morning
Through the mist-chill fields I went
With a pitch-fork on my shoulder
Less for use than for devilment.

The threshing mill was set-up, I knew,
In Cassidy's haggard last night,
And we owed them a day at the threshing
Since last year. O it was delight

To be paying bills of laughter
And chaffy gossip in kind
With work thrown in to ballast
The fantasy-soaring mind.

As I crossed the wooden bridge I wondered
As I looked into the drain
If ever a summer morning should find me
Shovelling up eels again.

And I thought of the wasps' nest in the bank
And how I got chased one day
Leaving the drag and the scraw-knife behind,
How I covered my face with hay.

The wet leaves of the cocksfoot
Polished my boots as I
Went round by the glistening bog-holes
Lost in unthinking joy.

I'll be carrying bags to-day, I mused,
The best job at the mill
With plenty of time to talk of our loves
As we wait for the bags to fill.

Maybe Mary might call round...
And then I came to the haggard gate,
And I knew as I entered that I had come
Through fields that were part of no earthly estate.

By Patrick Kavanagh

Here is my Irish toast to you, my readers.

Like the warmth of the sun
And the light of the day,
May the luck of the Irish
shine bright on your way.


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