Trifter

I’ve always known that most of my ancestors came from Scotland, and when I was in college, I even met a maternal third cousin who specialized in taking clan members back to the auld country.  All the same, since Cousin Albert looked like he had just come out of steerage, I wasn’t interested. In 1981, however, Mother finally talked Dad into taking her to Europe after thirty-five years of Dad’s protesting that he had more than exhausted any interest in European culture during 1944 and 1945.  Thus, my brother, his wife, and I came along for the ride for the United Kingdom portion of the trip.  Even though we touched down in the UK the week before the wedding of Lady Diana Spencer and the Prince of Wales, our first stop after going through customs at Heathrow was Edinburgh.  I enjoyed my week’s visit, but something was missing–I couldn’t place my ancestors as hailing from any particular location.

Fast forward to 2009–Ancestry.com has allowed me to associate my immigrant ancestors with particular places:  To summarize, they almost all came from either the Hebrides (Mull or Skye) or the western Highlands to North America between 1750 and 1800, settling first in North Carolina, but eventually within the space of about one or two generations ending up in North Texas.  I’ve even traced two ancestors who fought at Culloden for Bonnie Prince Charles.  But alas, I’ve also discovered that my pocket book was empty, which meant I have had to satisfy my inner Scot by contacting distant family members by way of various clan web sites.

Most clans charge their members a small yearly membership fee, although anyone can visit their Web sites, which more often than not delve deeply into family history, but occasionally descend into more mundane matters–a request for the loan of a kilt for a wedding, blurbs for a clan member who has published a book, or else really corny jokes–all of which, serve as preparation for getting together at various regional Highland Games.

These venues, which take place throughout the year, feature piping, Highland dancing, strictly Scottish athletic events, such as tossing the caber, and a field full of white tents where anyone interested can inquire of the McDonalds (Clan Donald), the Campbells, the Hendersons, and the like about family history.  Of course, a lot of vendors come along for the show, selling haggis, shortbread, tartans, CDs by Scottish and Irish artists, and Celtic-themed jewelry and t-shirts.  In the evening, the individual clans gather for ceilidhs (pronounced “kay lees”)–Gaelic-flavored jam sessions that on the other side of the Atlantic usually take place in a pub.  Of course, the visitor will encounter many more kilted want-to-be Scots at an American-based Highland Game then he or she would ever see in present-day Edinburgh or Glasgow unless perhaps attending a wedding.

Naturally, one doesn’t have to be of Scottish descent to enjoy visiting a Highland Games festival.  Last year, I overheard two German speakers who were watching a pipe band contest, and when I inquired, they told me that while visiting Fort Hood, they had decided to take in the nearby Salado, Texas, Highland Games.  Being a very practical Scottish-American, I asked if perhaps it would have been more convenient to fly across the North Sea. 

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