The 'Luck' of the Irish
As St. Patrick’s Day approaches, I’m reminded of a trip my younger brother and I made with my grandparents to the Great Smoky Mountains. Now, my grandparents had made many trips to that area, but it was a new experience for me and my brother. To this day I remember a hotel that had a pool with a breathtaking view of the mountains, another sitting right on a rushing stream—and some kind of trading post that had a big black bear outside. Throughout the trip, my brother and I would try to get a sense of where the next day’s adventures would take us as we followed along in one of those big fold out roadmaps. But in response to our repeated inquiries as to our next stop, my grandfather would demur, saying only that he was relying on “the luck of the Irish” to find us a place to stay for the night. To this day, I’ve no idea if he truly was or not (the Irish in my heritage doesn’t come from his side of the family, but from my grandmother)—but we always found a place to stay for the night—an