I have no Irish heritage other than a very tenuous connection. I descend from an Indian tribe which was death-marched to the Indian Territory (now Oklahoma) in 1842. In 1947, the survivors, that is one-third of the tribe, very poor farmers themselves, learned of the Irish potato famine and collected among themselves $170 to send to the needy farmers across a sea they had never seen.

Still, one should never miss an opportunity to celebrate. I have nothing truly green in my wardrobe and spent the weekend in chartreuse. Susan and I began by going to Deepwood House for an Irish tea on Friday.

Then, on Sunday, after a very musically-Irish service at St. P’s, Gillian and I went to the Konditorei for some green food — I had spinach salad and she had split pea soup.  The Konditorei’s locally-very-famous owner was on the scene, in some colorful attire.  He posed with Gillian.

Then out to the Shoemaker’s wonderful country place where I was treated to a delicious and beautifully presented traditional dinner.

My contribution was a bit of a mixed-metaphor — gelato and shortbread.  It least it was green.