Every year, St. Patrick’s Day brings to mind several things, including my blessed Aunt Mary Donnelly Van Slyke, the most sainted woman I’ve ever met. She spent a long lifetime ministering to the needs of her family, friends and numerous others by providing words of comfort and a warm embrace during the most difficult of times.

Filling in for my sister and me, she was at my dad’s bedside when he drew his last breath at four in the morning. Ask people in the Falls about Mary Donnelly and before you get a word, you’ll get a smile. A true Irish rose.

Another memory involved an effort to curb my irascible behavior as a young lad. During one of my tantrums, my poor mother threw up her hands in total frustration as I carried on. Aunt Mary asked her if she could help. “I’ll try using the Irish faeries approach.” She took me aside and gently warned me that if I didn’t start behaving soon, the Dullahan would come and get me.

A Dullahan? It’s a faerie which carried its head in its right hand and had small, black eyes, a hideous grin and glowed in the dark. It would take me away on a black horse whose nostrils emitted sparks and flames as it thundered through the night.

If not the Dullahan, then the Fir Darrigs would pay me a visit. They were fat, ugly, rat-like creatures who carried shillelaghs topped with skulls and were waiting to spirit me away to their home in the marshes. Irascible behavior curbed.

I also recall having a teacher in middle school explode the myth that St. Pat chased the snakes out of Ireland. There weren’t any. She probably referenced Padraic Colum’s book, “A Treasury of Irish Folklore,” (get a copy-you won’t put it down!). Come to find out, when the Norse invaded Ireland, they noticed that the land was conspicuously devoid of toads; their word for which was “Paud.” The invaders had heard of a great man called “Paudrig” and concluded that his name meant “Toad Expeller.”

So, myth revised, the Saint actually drove out those cute little frog-like creatures. Colum also discussed the significance of the shamrock. It had long been written that St. Patrick used it to symbolize for his flock the doctrine of the Trinity. Truthfully, the Irish wore the shamrock because of its resemblance to a cross, and that “its association with the Trinity is through an afterthought.”

St. Patrick’s Day also reminds me of the incredibly rich literary heritage bequeathed to us by writers such as the warrior poets Thomas MacDonagh and Joseph Mary Plunkett, Nobel Prize winner W.B. Yeats and dramatist Sean O’Casey (Plough and the Stars).

Padraig Pearse is my favorite, not only for his poems but for his martyrdom, his willingness to die for a cause.

An Ireland free from British control. And die he did for his involvement in the Easter Rising on April 24, 1916. Before his execution, his mother asked him to write a poem for her as if she was speaking. Hours before he was shot, he wrote “Mother,” a eulogy to every mother whose son shed his life’s blood for a cause greater than himself.

I do not grudge them;

Lord I do not grudge

My two strong sons that I have seen go out

To break their strength and die, they and a few,

In bloody protest for a glorious thing…

Lord, Thou are hard on mothers;

We suffer in their coming and their going;

And tho’ I grudge them not, I weary,

Of the long sorrow-and year I have my joy;

My sons were faithful, and they fought.

Finally, the day will always remind me of the late, great Vincent Colgan, my very good friend. There ain’t nothin like Irish music. The songs of the old sod tell you all you need to know about Ireland’s history and its people. My charity concerts at HCCC were always before a full house when the Irish Balladeer (and my daughter Jen) was one of the performers. Vince’s selections taught the audience that Irish people could be rebellious (Four Green Fields), joyous (the Unicorn), mischievous (Seven Drunken Nights), loved the ocean (Home from the Sea), and were intensely patriotic (Ireland, Mother Ireland). And if “Danny Boy” and “Galway Girl” don’t stir the romantic heart, nothing will. Rest in peace old friend; we truly loved ye.

So, enjoy your corned beef and cabbage, a Guiness or two, tell your colleen you love her and watch out for those Dullahans. If you’ve a mind to, say prayers in the memories of the Mary Donnellys of the world and Rome’s own Army Sgt. Christopher Simpson who was killed-in-action in Iraq on March 17, 2008. And if something strange happens to you, like finding your pockets filled with mulligan stew or you’re wearing two different colored socks, you’ll know that those more renowned faeries, the little people, leprechauns, have paid you a visit.

Finally, if perchance it rains on the 17th and you see a rainbow, make your way to its end. Sorry, you won’t find gold in the pot. But if you squeeze that marvel of Mother Nature’s, the pot will fill with a magic elixir. One sip and you’ll be happy for the rest of your life. Erin Go Bragh.

Ray Lenarcic is a 1965 State University of New York at Fredonia graduate and is a resident of Herkimer.