Page 192 - WDT MAGAZINE IRELAND ISSUE WINTER 2018

Then I remembered that my brother had talked to
a David Crockett, who now owned the farm. When I
mentioned that name, the old fellow nodded know-
ingly and said it was about a half mile down on the
right. “Look for a little yellow house,” he added. Eying
the soaked Americans in front of him, he invited us
in for coffee or tea. The day was speeding by, so we
declined and headed back to the shelter of the van.
Indeed, after about a half mile up the road, we spot
a neat little yellow house surrounded by wide fields
home to flocks of sheep. There were no cars in the
driveway but we walked up and knocked, not really ex-
pecting anyone to answer. In the rain, I slowly walked
around the house for a full view of the expansive prop-
erty. In my mind’s eye, I was seeing the same rolling
green hills that my ancestors saw two hundred years
ago. I was walking where they walked, where dreams
were dashed and realized, where some were born and
where some died.
Our next mission was to find the Old Burt cemetery
where my great-great grandmother and perhaps other
Jameses were laid to rest. We continued on Coshquin
Road on to even narrower roads with grass growing in
the middle. Denis likely was concerned about getting
stuck, never flinched from our mission. For nearly
an hour we drove up and down the hillsides, even
stopping to ask for directions before abandoning our
quest. We had found the farm, and that was enough
for me on this trip.
In 1955, I met my great-grandfather William James
in Washington State, then an active 80+-year-old who
walked miles every day and combed over his still dark
brown hair. It seems unreal that his father helped farm
the land in Ireland we had just visited until he set out
for America and a new life. That connection makes
me a living part of this story. Then and now, I feel a
bond with Ireland and that lovely farm on Coshquin
Road.

192 WDT MAGAZINE WINTER 2018