Not So Famous…

How is it that a cold, wet country can so capture my heart that when I read the description of a Scottish farmhouse, I get all misty-eyed? How is it possible that I can be so homesick for a land which I’ve never set foot in? In all my meager travels, I have never felt so homesick as I do when I read about, see, or think about Scotland. I miss my wife terribly when I am without her, but that is a longing to be with a person. Home is wherever she is. But something ties me to the land of my ancestors so strongly that years and generations of not being there have not dulled that ache. Not the mingling of my Scottish blood with the blood of other peoples, not the years of being in America…nothing has pulled me away from the land of misty moors and shadowy glens.

I envision a story of a young Scot forced to flee his homeland. You see, the hated English had been forcing the highlanders to stop wearing the tartan. The sound of pipes was outlawed. Being Scottish, it seemed, was no longer allowed, and many Scots fled the land of their birth that they may be Scottish in another land. Ah, but they missed their land. They knew not the blessing which they had been given while they yet held it in their grasp. They did not know how much they would miss their singularly beautiful land, and while they could now enjoy the skirl of the pipes, wear the tartan whenever and wherever they pleased, and be Scottish, all of that was less enjoyable than they thought it would be without smelling the smoke of peat fires and the heather moors, which added to their enjoyment. They fled to Canada, America, and Australia, bringing those nations the light that shone in their hearts, which was their love for their homeland. They continued to be Scottish, of course, but added a hyphenation to their nationality; my family became Scottish-American, and since they were in America, they would do as the Americans did. They joined in the melting pot. Soon, the Dows became Scotch-Welsh-German-Dutch-English. And yet…and yet…

I do not claim to be an expert on such things, but it seems to me that in a mixed family such as mine, some traits manifest themselves more strongly in some offspring more than others. I don’t know whether love for one’s homeland is a trait, but it has sprung up in me. Neither my father, mother, or sister care much about Scotland. My mother likes their music, sure, but none understand my homesickness for a land which I have never visited, let alone lived in. No matter how clouded with other nationalities a bloodline becomes, one will be born who will be a throwback to the earlier, more “pure blooded” nationalities. That one will be more one nationality than another. Though my ancestors left their homeland, their longing for their homeland lives on in me. My children may not inherit their father’s love for Scotland, but there will be another…My children’s children perhaps, I know not. But there will be one who will miss a land they have never visited. I hope that I am yet alive to get misty-eyed with them. Perhaps to share my experiences of being there once I am able to visit. But I most hope that I am able to share with them that there are other Scots abroad…and that though you may take a Scot out of Scotland, you can never take Scotland out of a Scot.

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