St. Patrick's Day
The Forest Fairy in My Blood; How My Irish Roots in Butte, Montana Shaped My Wild, Playful Soul
There’s an old saying that if you’ve even got a speck of Irish in you, you’re entitled to the whole legacy—storytelling magic, deep-seated resilience, and the kind of wild-hearted connection to nature that makes you want to dance barefoot in the woods. And let me tell you, I’m claiming every last drop of it. My roots trace back to Butte, Montana—an old Irish mining town where hard work and grit met laughter and song, and where the Celtic spirit refused to be buried, even in the deepest mineshafts.
Butte isn’t just any town—it’s an Irish stronghold, a place where generations of miners carried their homeland in their hearts and in their hands, where St. Patrick’s Day isn’t a holiday, it’s a full-fledged spiritual awakening. In a town built on the backs of Irish immigrants, the culture isn’t just remembered—it’s lived. The fierce loyalty, the irreverent humor, the stories that weave history with legend—all of it soaked into the bones of the place, and somehow, into mine.
While the mines shaped the town, the wild shaped me. Somewhere between the grit of Butte and the whisper of the Montana forests, I found my own kind of Celtic magic. You see, the Irish don’t just live on the land—they live with it. The ancient Celts believed in the Tree of Life, a symbol of the connection between all things—roots deep in the earth, branches stretching toward the sky, an endless cycle of rebirth and wisdom. And I’ve always felt that in my bones. Maybe it was the fresh mountain air or the way the pine trees seemed to hum with their own old stories, but I always knew I belonged to something wilder, something older.
My heart beats like a bodhrán drum for the ones who came before me, for the ones who found laughter even in hardship, and for the ones who carried their traditions across oceans. It beats for the storytellers, the poets, the dreamers who saw a forest and knew it was sacred. It beats for the fairy folk, the mischief-makers, the ones who knew that a good laugh could heal just as well as time.
If you’ve got even a whisper of Irish in you, take this as your permission slip to celebrate—to honor the land, to tell your story, to dance a little when no one’s watching (or even better, when everyone is). Because the Irish spirit isn’t just about where you’re from—it’s about how you live, how you love, and how you embrace the magic all around you.
Sláinte (Cheers) to the wild ones, the forest fairies, and the fierce souls who claim every last root of their heritage. ☘️
