Michael J. Leamy

Michael Leamy was born in 1783 in the village of Drom, County Tipperary, Ireland. He was my great-great grandfather. Four generations later, this Michael Leamy was born in Vancouver, Washington, United States. The Scots added a dour touch to his personality, and the Germans added a dash of stubbornness. Those Irish are prolific, but tend to recycle names, so there are Michael Leamys scattered all over my family tree, and scattered around the globe. Search back far enough, and we are most likely all related. This particular Michael Leamy is not an athiest, but a believer in our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. and his writings reflect that belief.

The lovely lady with him in the photo is his bride of fifty-mumble years, Lynda. Her ancestry is Scots-Irish, with a bit of Sasanach slipped in. Her garrulous and gregarious nature balance her husband's tending to be a laconic hermit who often thinks in iambic pentameter. A poet at heart, Michael would be the story-keeper in the Irish clan. Stories stick in his empty head, and just have to trickle out through his fingers.

Ordained, he fills his messages with word pictures, in the parable pattern of our Lord. A teacher for forty years, word pictures filled his classroom presentations as well. In writing, his voice is that of the Irish seanchai.

Michael and Lynda live in a thirty-acre cemetery on the Oregon Coast. The solitude of nature is the perfect setting for a writer. The forest, the lashing storms, the bay, the wildlife, and the night sky all prompt creative contemplation. Yesterday is not ours. Neither is tomorrow. Michael lives now, colored by yesterday, and anticipating tomorrow with a mind of hopefulness.