The last time I wrote I was sporting cowboy
boots, western shirts, and working on a Wyoming dude ranch for the summer. After six consecutive summers working at
summer camps and ranches—expending long hours to facilitate summer vacations
for others—I decided that this summer it was time for a vacation of my
own. Eager for a new adventure, my
family and I packed our bags and boarded an Aer Lingus flight bound for
Ireland, the Emerald Isle.
With Irish ancestors in every root of my
family tree, a trip to Ireland served not only as a scenic get-away, but an
opportunity to get a flavor for the land left behind by our family five
generations ago. McKenna, O’Neil,
Sullivan, Flanagan, Maloney, Conoley, Gleason, and Manning, among others, are
the names of my great-great and great-great-great grandparents that emigrated
from Ireland to America in and around the 1860s, pausing first in New York
before finally settling in Southeastern Minnesota and Northeastern Iowa. One can assume their story is similar to that
of many of this region’s early Irish settlors.
Though their arrival is now many decades distant and their culture largely
assimilated into the American melting pot, their unique legacy is still
evidenced by the names of the places (Wexford, IA, Irish Hollow, Irish Ridge,
Cork Hollow, etc), the names of the people, the region’s traditional foods, and
the heartiness and spirit of this region’s inhabitants.
While I wish I could report we were welcomed
into the open arms of, and immediately fed a hearty Irish breakfast by, distant
relatives we found by scanning the local phone book upon our arrival, this was
not our experience. Connecting with
unknown and distant relatives takes more effort than I was able to invest prior
to our arrival. Nevertheless, we were
able to navigate the island in our small rental cars, experience the
breathtaking scenery, soak up the Irish mist, meet friendly locals, learn about
Ireland’s history, visit sites of cultural significance, and of course, stomp
along to traditional Irish pub music while enjoying Irish whiskey and beer. For those interested, I share some of our
experiences and my impressions in this column.
Whether you proudly trace your roots to Irish ancestors or not, whether
you have visited the Emerald Isle or hope to one day visit, or whether you are
simply curious as to why people of Irish ancestry are so proud of that connection,
I hope in the next few weeks this column will take you to Ireland’s green
shores and shed some light on Ireland—as best as words can describe the sights
and sounds of this rich land across the pond.
Central to the Ireland’s history and the primary
cause for the massive outward migration from Ireland to America is, of course,
the potato famine. The potato was the
central source of nutrients for most Irish poor and some estimates suggest that
working men consumed up to 60 potatoes per day.
Many of the potatoes planted came from a single variety, the Irish
Lumper. Potato crop failures were not
uncommon in Ireland prior to the famine, but the famine marked the most
sustained, widespread, and devastating crop failure, stretching from 1845 to 1852
and destroying between one third and one half of the acreage planted. The blight and subsequent famine caused one
million Irish peasants to perish, and an equal number fled the country during
that period—reducing Ireland’s population by 25%. The Irish continued to immigrate to America
in large numbers after the famine and an estimated 3.5 million Irish arrived
between 1820 and 1880. It was during the
latter part of this period this region was settled by Irish immigrants.
Most Irish immigrants traveled to America in
what are now known as “coffin ships.”
With death rates during the six-week voyage commonly reaching 20%, one
can understand how these vessels inherited that ominous name. While it may have taken our ancestors six
weeks to make the voyage, today a six-hour flight from Chicago to Dublin can
get you back across the Atlantic. Even
accounting for the guy in the seat next to you hacking and coughing all over
your personal space, your odds of surviving the passage back to Ireland in good
health are substantially greater. When
one studies the living conditions of steerage passengers, suddenly the obtrusive
airport security, the cramped seating on the plane, and the insatiable microwave
dinners and meager rations of pretzel snacks served by the airline become insignificant
inconveniences that we dare not complain about.
It is with this background our wheels touched
down in Dublin for a ten-day adventure that would take us around most of the
country. From Dublin to Belfast,
Bushmills to Galway, Limerick to Dingle, and Killarney to Cork we hit the big
tourist sites as well as many lesser-traveled roads in-between (and not all of
them on purpose!).
Next
week the journey begins—on the left side of the road. As they say
in traditional Gaelic, slán go foil (goodbye for now).
