Genealogy and Geology

by Julia Peterson (United States of America)

Making a local connection Ireland

Words cannot begin to explain the beauty that surrounds me. Pictures can’t capture the true essence of the hills and cliffs and rocks that encompass me. Instead I try to capture this heaven the old-fashioned way: stone and tablet. Just like the druids. Thus, begins my written encounter at the Giant’s Causeway in Antrim County, Northern Ireland. For the first time since I landed, I find the solace I’ve been seeking in the home of my ancestors. Three days ago, I climbed onto the stifling tour bus and took an excited seat next to a window. As we drove closer to the city center, my heart began to drop. Where were the rolling green hills with baa-ing sheep? Where were the cobblestoned quaint villages? Where were the misty moors? Where was the freaking fog? If we weren’t driving on the opposite side of the road, I would have thought we hadn’t left Milwaukee. We lived like tourists the first few days: drinking at the top of the Guinness brewery, taking pictures with St. Patrick, and climbing aboard the tragic Titanic. My city dwelling classmates were enjoying every second. I, who didn’t know many of the girls, was going along waiting for today. I had no idea how transforming it would be. In the dewy grass, among yellow, white, and pink flowers, I look out into the vast sea. I later learn the names of the flora: Sea Aster, Common Bird’s Foot Trefoil, Field Gentian, English Stonecrop, Marsh Marigold, and Common Dog-Violet. Brown cliffs jut out to the cerulean blue water. The coast is dotted with moss covered basalt rocks. Only heroes and royals should be allowed to visit such a mystical world. Yet common people, tourists with bulky cameras and screaming tots, swarm en masse especially on summer days like today to gaze at the natural specter, but they don’t quite understand. Do they see these rocks and think of the land’s history? Do they look out into the water and think how violent fits and time shaped these boulders? Do they feel wet grass beneath them and think of the people who walked here before them? Do think of their ancestors? Do they think of God? Knowing I only have a few hours at Giant’s Causeway and I haven’t yet seen the famous columns, I abandon my place on the hillside. I walk along the coast and ponder these things. Prior to my trip, I had just learned my mother’s side of the family- the Lynchs- weren’t actual Irish. So, who were they then? Part of coming to Ireland was to learn about the conflict in the Emerald Isle. I was twenty-two and didn’t even know the island was two separate countries. Along with some reading, I concluded that the Lynchs might have traveled to Ireland or Northern Ireland before journeying across the Atlantic. The red hair might have actual been from Viking ancestors, who came to Ireland in the tenth century. I finally reach the basalt columns, but the unusual heatwave has people packed to them like ants on an abandoned Dum Dum. I let the kids and my classmates enjoy them. Plus, the uneven, slippery rocks, and a bad knee make me anxious. I take a final glance and breath of sea air and head back up to the gift shop. Crisscrossing the honeycombed rocks, I dream about coming back, perhaps in the fall when the weather is cooler, and it might be less crowded. I want to spend an entire day dedicated to enjoying this scene again. I want to bring my sweetheart here. It’s more than for romantic reasons. I feel connected here, spiritually. The religious vibes I didn’t get in the mammoth, marble cathedrals I got here at the Giant’s Causeway. Looking around me I can’t help but think only a mighty God could make something this magnificent. As a scientist, I know volcanic activity and natural processes are the true creator, but it’s more fun to think it was a giant who did this as local lore tells. God, giants, geology, whatever made this splendor gave me peace and a sense of belonging 4,000 miles from home.