Every nation has its traditional holidays. Scotland is the only country I know of with a ritual celebration of its national poet (Robert Burns). How great is that! The celebration is called a Burns Supper. It always includes drinking scotch whiskey, reciting poetry, and eating a dreadfully unappetizing traditional sausage called “haggis.”
I went to my first ever Burns Supper last night. I was nervous enough about eating haggis to consider bringing a granola bar as a backup meal. However, surprise #1: the haggis was quite edible—even good, served with mashed potatoes and rutabaga.
Surprise #2: I loved the poetry. I am not usually a big fan of poetry readings. Maybe it had something to do with the 3 different single malt scotches I tried. Anyway, my favorite poem was “To A Mouse, On Turning Her Up In Her Nest With The Plough.” This stanza stayed with me all day today (and not just because it is the only one in English):
I’m truly sorry man’s dominion,
Has broken nature’s social union,
An’ justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,