Page 32 of Highlands Homecoming

But we hae meat, and we can eat,

And sae the Lord be thankit.”

Everyone raisedtheir drams again with a “Sláinte.” Then they started the soup course.

“So, Melissa, what’s your favorite Robert Burns poem?” asked Margaret.

Melissa felt caught off guard, but she thought about it. “I think I probably readMy Love Is Like a Red, Red Rosesomewhere along the line. Probably high school?”

Margaret nodded kindly, and Melissa was relieved that she had gotten the correct writer.

“What are your favorites?” Melissa asked quickly to pull herself away from the center of attention.

“I always likedTo a Mouse,” said Margaret. “How about you, Sandy?”

Sandy coughed, and Colin suppressed a grin.

Margaret looked from one to the other. “One of the more bawdy poems, then?” she asked.

Sandy said nothing but took a long sip of his dram. “Burns had quite a wit.”

“I look forward to hearing you read, then,” she said.

As they finished their soup course, Lindsay popped out of the kitchen for a minute.

“This is just amazing!” said Melissa.

Lindsay blushed and looked excited. “Really?”

Sandy stood and hugged his daughter. “So proud of you.”

“Not bad,” said Colin, punching her lightly on the arm.

“Thank you so much. I’ve got to dash back, but thank you!” Lindsay flushed and hurried back into the kitchen just as a piper appeared in the room.

The piper was a young dark-haired man dressed in a red, black, and white Inverness tartan kilt, with a dark gray vest and jacket and a black sporran.

“He’s going to pipe in the haggis,” said Colin.

“That makes it sound like he’ll be frosting a cake,” said Melissa.

“Nope, this is part of the tradition.”

Soon the pipes began to drone, and everyone stood. The piper played a tune that Melissa didn’t recognize at all. The program on the table listed it asA Man’s a Man for A’ That, a song written by Robert Burns.

Drew, also dressed in his finest kilt—a slightly different red-and-black plaid—carried the haggis on a silver tray. He lifted it high, at shoulder level. He walked solemnly and ceremoniously, following the piper around the room so that everyone had a chance to see the haggis.

Melissa had half expected to see an entire sheep on the plate, displayed the way some chefs served the whole fish or roast suckling pig. Instead, this was a smallish cylinder, a little bigger than a large baked potato. On the outside was the gray casing. Inside, Melissa knew the haggis contained sheep's heart, liver, and lungs, some spices, and oats.

Melissa stood at attention like the rest of the room, but her thoughts raced. She was surprised at what a solemn affair this was, and how seriously everyone was taking it. She thought it was amazing.Chocolates and books on Christmas eve like the Scandinavians, and now celebrating a poet as part of a national holiday.Melissa tried to think of any other writers or creators who had sparked a holiday.There was May the Fourth, the informal holiday for geeks who loved Star Wars. Some people celebrated Festivus, the holiday from the television show Seinfeld. Others had toast, jelly beans, and popcorn on Thanksgiving in honor of Charlie Brown’s Friendsgiving. But nothing like this.

When the piper finished playing and Drew had displayed the haggis for all to see, he set it down on the table in the middle of the room.

Melissa’s eyes widened as Colin coughed and stood. Without a book, without a scrap of paper, he began to recite from memory Robert Burns’Address to a Haggis.

“Fair fa’your honest, sonsie face,

Great Chieftain o’ the Puddin-race!