March is the month of my people. My maternal family came to Canada from Ireland and worked hard, lived simple. St. Patrick’s Day has never been a day of drinking but of feasting and preparing to work the land. On the farm, we would see the tiniest signs of spring that the cold prairie winters would allow. Our feast would be the collection of poplar buds for the yearly tradition of making Balm of Gilead, of which there’s always a jar of in my apothecary. Seedings would be started, thoughts of warmer days ahead, collection of remaining cabbages in the root cellar for colcannon. These were the icons I knew around St. Patrick’s Day. This month I think of my grandmother who never lost her strawberry hair or thick Donegal accent and I think of the kelly green dress she brought back for me on her last visit back home. Happy St. Patrick’s Month. May your cup be filled with spring hope and your heart with summer love.☘️
