On "Being Irish"

What does "being Irish" mean to you?

This was the question posed in the 6th Edition, Carnival of Irish Heritage and Culture, hosted at Small-Leaved Shamrock. Lisa has done a tremendous job of showcasing the many wonderful entries.

My entry about my Irish grandmother is here: To Be 100% Irish.

The 7th Edition, Carnival of Irish Heritage and Culture involves a summer reading challenge, complete with homework. Tune in to Small-Leaved Shamrock for details!

To Be 100% Irish

Growing up, “Irish,” to me, meant leprechauns, shamrocks, pots of gold… basically things that were “magically delicious.” Ireland was just some far-away place, full of strange, mystical things.

My maternal grandmother was fond of telling me – often, and with great gusto – that she was “100% Irish.” I wasn’t sure what that meant. Was she was related to leprechauns? Did we have a pot of gold somewhere? Was I 100% Irish, too?

What was so special about being 100% Irish?

There was definitely something special about this to my grandmother. Although her parents did not come from Ireland, she was certain that her grandparents – maternal and paternal – did.

She kept a pot of shamrocks in her yard and frequently told the story of how they came from a real, Irish, shamrock plant in Ireland. Someone (I’m sure she told me who, but for the life of me, I can’t remember) hand-carried this shamrock cutting to America and gave pieces of it to various members of her family. She was so proud that her 100% Irish shamrocks were thriving under her care.

My grandmother was never able to tell me why it was so important to her to have this connection with her Irish heritage. For some reason, being 100% Irish was of great consequence to her, despite the fact that she knew so little about her ancestors. I was not able to understand this connection until I became interested in genealogy.

Doing the math (which I know is much more complicated than this), I can estimate that I’m about 26% Irish, give or take. My maternal grandmother – as you know – was 100% Irish, and my maternal grandfather was French-Canadian, making my mother approximately 50% Irish. My father’s family had been in America since before the Mayflower, in some cases, and although his mother’s Dunns may have hailed from Ireland, we have no proof, and it was a looooong time ago. So I gave myself an extra 1%, just in case.

But 26% (give or take) is still a pretty substantial amount. To say that I’m “one-quarter Irish” may not be as meaningful as my grandmother’s statement that she was 100% Irish, but it still matters, right?

Yes, it does. And I’ll tell you why it matters to me.

Many times on this blog, I’ve bemoaned the fact that I have very little information about my mother’s ancestors. Fathers abandoned their families, and no one spoke of them ever again. Personal papers were destroyed. Family photos were found in boxes and (non-archival) albums, decaying and unlabeled. Personal history books were left empty or incomplete.

Most of my maternal ancestors are strangers to me.

But this much I know: They were Irish.

And knowing this, it’s almost like I can reach back in time and touch them through their “Irishness,” like a golden thread connecting generations. We may be strangers, but we share a common connection to Erin… the Emerald Isle. Someday I hope to visit Ireland – to take my daughter to stand on the soil where her ancestors – her father’s and mine – once lived.

I may never know who they were, but at least I know where they came from.

And in some instances, I know why they came to America:

There were those who came over during the Great Potato Famine of the mid 1800’s. Others came in the 1890’s and found work on the railroads. Still others migrated to the Midwest and became successful farmers and land owners.

These are some of the classic stories that we learned in high school American History… stories that meant nothing to me when I was in high school, as I doodled in my notebook and daydreamed of boys.

But now I know. I know that my own, Irish, ancestors were part of some important moments in history.

I can imagine them coming to America on big steamships, probably cramped into steerage, joyous at beginning a new life, but at the same time sad to be leaving Ireland… their homeland.

I can imagine them trying to learn strange, new American customs, yet trying to preserve some of their own culture and heritage.

I can imagine the souvenirs and heirlooms they brought with them from their homeland, which have since been lost to time and carelessness.

And when I look at my grandmother’s pot of shamrocks – which now lives in my own backyard following her death – I can almost feel what it’s like to be 100% Irish.

Copyright © 2008 by Elizabeth O'Neal

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Lá Fhéile Pádraig!

What a St. Patrick's Day treat to find the 4th Edition of the Carnival of Irish Heritage and Culture posted at Small-Leaved Shamrock this morinng!

If you aren't feeling green enough today (or even if you are), be sure to check out the terrific job Lisa has done rounding up these great posts.

My own post is here: Walking Tall with an Irish Shillelagh.

I'm definitely going to have to order the book The St. Patrick's Day Shillelagh by Janet Nolan that Lisa talks about at A Light That Shines Again. It sounds like a wonderful story to share with my daughter when she gets a little older.
____________________

The 5th edition of the Carnival of Irish Heritage & Culture will honor the beauty of the Irish language with a focus on Irish Gaelic names and words.

• Has the charm of the name of a place in Ireland always called to you to visit someday?

• As a child did you secretly wish you had the Irish name of a great-grandparent instead of the name you were born with?

• Do you have a story to tell about someone with an Irish surname?

• Is there an Irish proverb that you have always loved to let slide off of your tongue in its original language?

Join us for the 5th edition of the Carnival of Irish Heritage & Culture. The only prerequisite is that your post must tie in with our focus on the Irish Gaelic language. Posts for this edition of the carnival are due April 27. Submit your entries here. The carnival will be posted at A light that shines again on St. Ciarán's Day, April 30.

____________________

May you have love that never ends,
lots of money, and lots of friends.
Health be yours, whatever you do,
and may God send many blessings to you!

~Old Irish Blessing

Copyright © 2008 by Elizabeth O'Neal

Walking Tall With An Irish Shillelagh

My Daughter, the Irish Princess, Models my Mother's Shillelagh (click to enlarge).
Photographs by Elizabeth O'Neal, March 13, 2008.

Before my mother died, she frequently had to use a cane to get around. She hated canes, as I'm sure most people who have to use them do.

So her full-blooded Irish mother - my grandmother, Mary Margaret McGraw - bought her a shillelagh: a handmade Irish walking stick.

My mother never used her shillelagh because it wasn't sized properly for her, and canes that are used for medical purposes need to be the right size in order to be functional.

This lovely shillelagh has been sitting in the corner behind the door of my office since we moved to this house a few years ago. I had never really given it a thought... until my daughter found it - and started beating on things with it - the other day.

The shillelagh is typically made of blackthorn wood or oak, and is named for the Shillelagh Forest in County Wicklow, Ireland, once known for its massive oaks. The wood would be smeared with butter and cured in a chimney, giving the stick its shiny, black appearance.

A shillelagh may also be used as a club or weapon, and the knob was often made from a heavy blackthorn root for weight. Sometimes the stick would be hollowed out and filled with molten lead, increasing the weight. This "loaded stick" would pack quite a wallop, I'm sure!

While examining Mom's shillelagh, I found that it is indeed shiny, although I'm not convinced that this is caused by cured butter. It weighs slightly less than a pound, so it's obviously not filled with molten lead (thank goodness!).

There is a rough-hewn band of copper around the bottom tip, although the wood remains exposed where the stick meets the floor.

In the handle is what appears to be an Irish penny, dated 1996 (see inset).

The tag reads: "This 'Blackthorn' is identical to what I handcrafted for President Kennedy, President Ronald Reagan, and Tip O'Neill on their Historical Visit to Ireland. Made in Ireland."

I have no idea who crafted this item or where my grandmother bought it; however, I did find this link to the National Geographic Online Store, where they state that "The craftsman who makes this blackthorn and hazelwood walking stick has made ones as Ireland's official gift on state visits by U.S. dignitaries including Presidents John F. Kennedy, Ronald Regan, and Bill Clinton."

Until recently, I was unaware that such a special piece of Irish culture was right under my own roof. I'll be looking for a more prominent place to display Mom's shillelagh, but one that is safe from curious little fingers!

Copyright © 2008 by Elizabeth O'Neal