On Being Irish

I was watching an episode of Star Trek Voyager in which the crew is stuck in a storm, and order to pass the time, the holodeck is opened to the entire crew to come and go from the village of Fair Haven. It is exciting for the crew is to interact and become part of the life of a 19th Irish village. The exhilaration that the crew feels is tangible as some use the time in the “Old Country” to take their mind of the stresses and monotony of living on a star ship while others use the time to explore and relive their own ancestor’s way of life and traditions.

Watching this episode today quickly brought me back to me the exhilaration and anticipation of visiting my ancestral home as I was fortunate enough this past winter to have had the opportunity to visit Ireland.

I understand the significance of this anticipation and restlessness, as I grew up with this longing for insight and understanding of the life of my ancestors. I grew with a feeling that I am not only a boy from Montana, but a boy whose essence encompassed generations and places that were well beyond the scope of my surroundings and experiences What causes this longing, this restlessness, this necessity to come into contact with the ancient?

Being of Irish descent, I have grown up with an unspoken understanding that we have an innate sixth sense that directs us back to the motherland. It is my belief that there is a force that draws us back to the Emerald Isle in a way that is tangible, but inexplicable.

The trip to Ireland was all too short and there was so much about the country that was new and strange. Some of the differences of language were at times somewhat difficult and cumbersome, the plumbing was a new experience, driving and finding road signs a challenge.

Yet, amidst the insecurities of being in a foreign country there was an internal warmth and familiarity that that I can not explain. The rolling green hills, the wild daffodils and the thatched roofs all were part of who I am. The earthy, somewhat musky smell of burning peat elicited a wave of memories that I have never experienced. The brogue was familiar and comforting.

I was able to experience a very limited area of Ireland and was unable to visit any of the actual areas where we know my family comes from; I did, however, learn much about myself. I learned that who I am, is not only determined by the house I in which I was nurtured and the extended family that helped mold and shape me; but by centuries of tradition and history, by wars and famine, by stories and legends. I learned that I am me and more, I am Irish.