St. Patrick's Day Giveaway

According to family legend, my great-great grandfather, George Convy, brought a piece of sod from the homeland when he emigrated from Ireland in 1866. Now and then, when he was feeling particularly homesick, he would take it out and have a good cry.

The Irish, who fled their country by the thousands, did not have a word for "emigrate" -- instead, they used the word for "exile," which struck me as sad and poignant. In this song, The Turf o' Tullamore, I pay tribute to my Irish ancestors, who came from Tullamore, Ireland, to make a new life in St Louis, MO, -- and who occasionally grieved for their homeland.

In celebration of St. Patrick's Day, t

he song is available as a free download on our website, . Click here: Free Download Turf o' Tullamore

The Turf o' Tullamore

words and music © Erin Coombs Friedman


Into the West – land of the free
In freedom will I e’er a stranger be
So up the stairs I climb
Open up the trunk and find
The piece of home I carried ‘cross the sea

chorus:

Weeping o’er The Turf o’ Tullamore
Exiles both – the Irish sod and I
The Turf o’ Tullamore
Will know my bones forevermore
Sweeten my grave when I
Lay down to die


For my sons, I made a pledge
They’ll not beg the Crown for daily bread
There’s days I understand
The promise in this promised land
And days I fill my glass with my regrets

chorus

When I take my final rest
Lay the Turf o’ Tullamore upon my breast
And it’s sweet - the dream I’ll dream
Home to Erin’s fields of green
By the Shannon’s holy waters, I’ll be blessed

chorus

Youtube Link Here

A Little Love from Ireland

Found this very sweet entry on our website guestbook - it refers to a song I wrote: "The Turf o' Tullamore."

"I was casually browsing youtube references to my hometown when I came across the Turf o' Tullamore. Just about every major town in Ireland has had a signature song except Tullamore - until now! It was worth waiting for - truly exceptional. Thanks guys. "

The Internet has given us the opportunity to casually reach all the way around the world -- from Shasta County back to where my mother's family came from more than a hundred years ago. Marvelous and mind-boggling.

This song tells a bit of the story of my great-great grandfather, George Convy, who brought a piece of the old country with him when he emigrated from Tullamore, Ireland, to St Louis, MO.




The Turf o' Tullamore
words and music © Erin Coombs Friedman


Into the West – land of the free
In freedom will I e’er a stranger be
So up the stairs I climb
Open up the trunk and find
The piece of home I carried ‘cross the sea

chorus:

Weeping o’er The Turf o’ Tullamore
Exiles both – the Irish sod and I
The Turf o’ Tullamore
Will know my bones forevermore
Sweeten my grave when I
Lay down to die


For my sons, I made a pledge
They’ll not beg the Crown for daily bread
There’s days I understand
The promise in this promised land
And days I fill my glass with my regrets

chorus

When I take my final rest
Lay the Turf o’ Tullamore upon my breast
And it’s sweet - the dream I’ll dream
Home to Erin’s fields of green
By the Shannon’s holy waters, I’ll be blessed

chorus

Irish Roots

According to family legend, my great-great grandfather, George Convy, brought a piece of sod from the homeland when he emigrated from Ireland in 1866. Now and again he would take it out and have a good cry.

I loved that story and I enjoy studying Irish history with the kids.

We learned that the Irish, who fled their country by the thousands, did not have a word for "emigrate" -- instead, they used the word for "exile," which struck me as sad and poignant. In one book we read, a women sent her children off to America, but refused to go herself. She believed she'd be dying soon, and she wanted to be buried in familiar ground, ground that "knew her bones."

In this song.The Turf o' Tullamore - I tried to pay tribute to my Irish ancestors, who came from Tullamore, Ireland, to make a new life in St Louis, MO, -- and occasionally grieved for their homeland.





The Turf o' Tullamore
words and music © Erin Coombs Friedman


Into the West – land of the free
In freedom will I e’er a stranger be
So up the stairs I climb
Open up the trunk and find
The piece of home I carried ‘cross the sea

chorus:

Weeping o’er The Turf o’ Tullamore
Exiles both – the Irish sod and I
The Turf o’ Tullamore
Will know my bones forevermore
Sweeten my grave when I
Lay down to die


For my sons, I made a pledge
They’ll not beg the Crown for daily bread
There’s days I understand
The promise in this promised land
And days I fill my glass with my regrets

chorus

When I take my final rest
Lay the Turf o’ Tullamore upon my breast
And it’s sweet - the dream I’ll dream
Home to Erin’s fields of green
By the Shannon’s holy waters, I’ll be blessed

chorus

Irish Roots

According to family legend, when my Great-great-grandfather, George Convy, emigrated from Tullamore, Ireland in 1866, he brought a chunk of sod from his homeland to St Louis, MO. He kept it stored away, but when he was feeling particularly homesick and melancholy, he would take it out and cry over it.

I don't know how true it is, but the story tugged at my heart.

These days, my CD player has been spinning a variety of Irish music - sweet folk ballads, drinking songs and traditional fiddle tunes. I wanted to honor that bit of my family's history with a new, old Irish song:

The Turf o' Tullamore

words and music © Erin Friedman

Into the West – land of the free
In freedom will I e’er a stranger be
So up the stairs I climb
Open up the trunk and find
The piece of home I carried ‘cross the sea

(Chorus)

Weeping o’er The Turf o’ Tullamore
Exiles both – the Irish sod and I
The Turf o’ Tullamore
Will know my bones forevermore
Sweeten my grave when I
Lay down to die

For my sons I made a pledge
They’ll not beg The Crown for daily bread
There’s days I understand
The promise in this promised land
And days I fill my glass with my regrets

When I take my final rest
Lay The Turf o’ Tullamore upon my breast
And it’s sweet - the dream I’ll dream
Home to Erin’s fields of green
By the Shannon’s holy waters, I’ll be blessed

Read Trip

We're sticking pretty close to home this year - taking one brief sojourn to to LA to reconnect with family and friends. But I've already enjoyed several virtual vacations, thanks to some brilliant writers.

My current favorite traveling companion is Bill Bryson - I've accompanied him on the Appalachian Trail in A Walk in the Woods and through Europe in Neither Here Nor There Travels in Europe. His knack for observation and witty exaggeration make all his books utterly delicious reads:

"You turn any street corner in Rome and it looks as if you've just missed a parking competition for blind people....Romans park their cars the way I would park if I had just spilled a beaker of hydrochloric acid on my lap."

Reading vacations have given me the opportunity to dive for poisoned sea snakes and search for Bigfoot with Tim Cahill in A Wolverine is Eating My Leg. I survived a harrowing crash landing, air battles and deadly snakes with Roald Dahl in Going Solo.

A couple other places I'd like to experience this summer: Ireland and Alaska. So I'm looking for reading recommendations - books that'll take me there, allow me to savor the flavor of the place. Bonus points: the books are available at our Redding library.