The Green Lady

Sioga Geagan

     I can remember standing on the upper deck of a immense passenger ship alone, seven

years old, in the early morning mists searching the horizon for her. My family was asleep

below and I could not  bear to be with them, for I longed to return home again even as

our journey across the Atlantic was beginning. I was nauseous with heavy grief that

 prevented sleep, combined with a stern undeclared anger toward my parents for moving

us to the United States of America.

     I was born in Ireland, where I knew and loved the Goddess that was present

everywhere in the landscape.  I was nourishing a curiosity about what she would look

like in this new country. I’d been told a story about a lady who would welcome us,

as she welcomed all immigrants into the harbor of New York. I had a crumpled

picture of her secretly tucked into my coat pocket, and she seemed frightening and

strangely serious to me, unlike the familiar images of home. Every field in Ireland

has been given a feminine name, the green hills beyond our farm rolled down to the

Boyne Valley, named for the river that runs through it, and on a clear day I could see

the Paps of Anu rising from the mountains in County Kerry.

     Some nights later my Da came and woke me from a deep sleep, wrapping me in

a wool blanket to carry me up to the ship deck, where Mum was waiting. They both

were excited and I still half asleep taking in the crisp night air, that was cold to breathe;

the mists were gray and thick, veiling unlimited darkness. Mum suddenly pointed to

lights reflected into the dark waters that we were moving toward. I had never seen

so many lights at night, and shuddered with a cry as a deep fear took hold of me, and my

Da noticed my tears and swaddled me into his warm coat. I was beginning to make out a

great figure rising up before us immediately capturing my attention. As we slowly crept

closer I began to discover a tall green lady standing there in the waters. She was wearing

an odd looking crown, holding a book in one arm and a bright flaming torch in the other

raised arm. I realized that this must be her, the Green Lady and she was welcoming us to

her lands.  Her face was fierce and strong and though I searched her face could not find

welcome in her eyes. As we passed under her gaze, I had failed to notice that the ships

deck was filling with other sleepy folks who were silently standing around looking at her

with hope.  Many were immigrants, a few Irish, some had tears streaming down their

faces, others dropping to their knees in prayer, as we stood together in silence, in     

darkness wondering at the mystery that awaited us in America.

     Mum whispered to me, “there she is, the mother of this land welcoming us into her

Country; she will bring many changes for us, asking many strange things of us, but she

will offer our family a safe home” . The reverence of that instant moved into a frenzy of

excitement as anticipation created dancing among us including all present.   It was

a moment in 1960, a brief and precious memory  that I have carried with me all my life.

     Lady Liberty lives in the harbor holding high her lantern, lighting the way for all of

 us to follow.  She welcomes immigrants into her fold with protection under her mantle

of light.  She is beautiful and stands proud & strong, defiant of winds and stormy seas

and changing human conditions. She has been an inspiration to me and her history is

a story of the potential alive in our spirit of cooperation.

     This statue was a gift from the people of France to the people of the United States.

There were no governments, charities or foundations financing this lady. The people

of France created, built and transported this statue to where she now stands. The United

States was asked to provide a place for her to rest by building a platform. There was no

money available for this until an enterprising newspaper publisher named Pulitzer put

a advertisement into his paper, stating that he would publish the names of each man,

woman, and child who gave funds to build the platform. It worked, and folks responded

with nickels, dimes and quarters until enough money was raised to build a home for

Liberty to stand.

   This is a story that we need to remember and reflect upon its significance.  Many of

us are feeling beaten down by the current trend of policy, and our role in the ongoing

war. In troubling times we are asked to reach out toward one another with our big

questions of how to live together in peace when change is imminent everywhere.

Liberty’s story is a powerful tale of the working class, working together to make what

seemed impossible become a reality.  Our stories remind us of what we are all capable of

accomplishing when we ‘stop, look and listen’, and begin to work together, it seems that

anything is indeed possible.