It began, as so many journeys do, with a name.
*Patrick.*
Not the saint. Not a hero carved in stone. Just a name etched into a Vermont census list, beside the birthplace “Ireland” and the designation “aged 10.” No middle initial. Just a young man leaving everything he knew behind during ‘The Great Hunger’, when leaving felt like betrayal and staying felt like a death sentence.
And yet, without knowing it, he carried all of us with him. Continue reading




