Okay, let’s be honest. I am about 40% English, 10% Ulster (Dad’s side); 40% Irish, 10% Baden-Wurttemberg (Mom’s side.) So that makes me not really Irish, but  more or less half Irish.

But that’s okay, because we were married by a Cork priest, Fr. Enda Heffernan. The people from Cork assert that they are Irish and everybody else on the island is just pretending.

So I don’t care about my percentages.

And I know that corned beef and cabbage is not really Irish. (Most of our Irish ancestors lived their entire lives without once tasting meat.) But I don’t care, either, that it’s not a traditionally Irish. I will make that dish—one in the instant pot, one in the crock pot—at our house.


What I do care about is a little, elegantly-lettered sign atop a restaurant cash register—the restaurant was on a hillside with a breath-taking view of the Kerry coast below. Elizabeth and I were leading an AGHS student visit that included the first week of July.

“Happy Fourth to our American friends,” the little sign read.

That sealed the deal. I am Irish.

Oh, and the fish chowder was divine.

So let’s start to prepare for St. Patrick’s Day, shall we?

Music by The Corrs.

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