A rare sunny St Patrick’s day has appeared in northern Ohio. Luck of the irish, maybe. But that luck is an elusive thing.
My grandfather was a Donovan, full blood Irishman second generation from a boat. Great Grandmother on other side was full blood too, but some Irish changed their name to gain employment besides clergy, police, street cleaning, butchering and low end jobs at the time.
These were the times when indentured servitude ended. The Irish were greatly exploited for labor in exchange for their passage to the new world. Ten to twenty years of labor to pay for the trip, then room and board. The elderly were free and broke (financially and physically). But happier thoughts are now associated with Irish heritage.
My shamrock is from twenty years ago. It’s maker long since meet her own maker. She lived in an apartment run by the Catholic Dioses, which meant poor elderly only. But crafty a women with a rich history. Not quite as good as celebrating the guy who removed snakes from Ireland.
Rare gems to share.
A pussy willow whose branches are weighed down with blooms
The first daffodils of the season. They are a full month early.