In my years BC, before children, I shopped at a local flea market and found a one of a kind find – a sturdy, slightly roughhoused, man’s immigration trunk. The Douglas fir grain, aching with age, is textured with tiny rivulets and boasts a host of small scuffs and steely spike impressions. Rustic iron grab handles, forged and fashioned against an archaic anvil, remain firmly fixed. When their weight clanks against the iron strapping, I hear the sound of metal pounding metal in a smoky aired, heat blaring smithy.
On left side of the ancient chest, the wood is discolored where a rectangular patch had at one time ID-ed the original owner. On the opposite side, a fading label hauntingly advertises The White Star Line, whose most infamous ship was the Titanic. For a homeschooling project, one of my sons researched and discovered that these ships sailed out of England at a time when waves of Irish immigrants flooded American shores. The label dates the trunk back to 1880’s and possibly the 1860’s.
I’ve often wondered about the man who trudged onward, hoisting the awkward chest or dragging it behind. Did he sit on it while waiting to board? Or lean against it, dreaming of a place far away. I wonder of its treasure trove, and marvel at what pressure drove him. No doubt, tools of his trade, some household goods, and his best Sunday suit were hid within it, but what were the dire straits that pushed him to gain to the gates of enchanted Ellis Island? I imagine him, melancholic, reminiscing on bucolic Ireland. Poe’s poetic phrase gives me pause (and pardon my slight paraphrasing): This weary, way-worn wanderer bore not to his own native shore… and yet, he was coming home.
I love this trunk. A man’s hands built it, a man’s hope filled it, a man’s heart and head hauled it to his home away from home. And now the gallant piece, its adventuresome life completed, sits snuggly in my living room, serving as a conversation piece and a place for wine and cheese. It’s fitted with a customized glass top to save it from anyone who thinks of having a sit down. Tucked underneath the glass, an Old World map enhances its enduring, endearing aura.
To help with unravelling the tale of its travelling, I can suggest a read and a watch: How The Irish Saved Civilization, by Thomas Cahill; and the British-Irish television serial entitled, “The Hanging Gale.” It tells the terribly true and truly terrible tale of famine and disease, combined with Cromwell’s unruly rule.
