and why is his “day” one big drunk? I grew up in New England, 2 hours north of Boston, a city I have always thought of as divided equally among Irish, Italians and blue blood brahmans (the old Beacon Hill aristocracy). Once a year, on the Feast Day of St. Patrick, March 17th, everyone in… Continue reading who was St. Patrick?
Thoughts from the Lowcountry swamp