Sarah Cête Press  (pronounced Sarah Kate) was established in 2006 in honour of our dear friend Sarah Cête Feekery McNeill.

Sarah grew up on the Island of Barra in the Scottish Hebridies. She taught her family and friends to love Barra and Gaelic traditions. She loved to dance and had been involved in Scottish country dancing for many years.

It was an honour to know Sarah and be included in her circle of friendship and love. We hope that this small Press can reflect some of her aliveness, love of books and love of a great story.

Beannachdan leibh.

Elegy for Sarah Ceit Feekery McNeil

There is a place we go, you and I

just over the horizon,

just past where the wild gulls fly at dusk to say good-night to the fisherboats,

over the rim —

over the edge of the world itself.

 

We have been there together a thousand times

in a look, in a smile, in a song

— and so you need not fear to go alone.

You have gone ahead to light the fires,

to prepare the meal,

to lay the table,

as you have done for us a hundred times before.

 

You'll wander into that little house in the glen

and everyone will know you;

everyone who has waited for you will greet you,

and you will be singing long into the night.

And we will find you when we come

because we will hear your chatter —

your lilting descriptions of the day,

your poetry and your laughter,

and the cailleagh in your heart will call us,

and we will come

as we always did in the evening,

to sit at your feet like children, waiting for their morsel

of memory, of story, of culture, of song, of prayer and poem and old world banter.

 

We were hungry mother, for what you had sewn into your skirt hem.

We were uneducated and didn't know it

until we heard the depth of your tale.

We thought we were orators until you told your story.

We thought we knew who we were

until you taught us that we were woven into a larger tapestry —

part of an ancient weaving

made on a loom over thousands of years by women who knew the mystery,

who placed the threads to remove the pain. 

 

There is a place we go, you and I,

holding hands,

walking in the twilight —

spinning stories to the moon. 

When I close my eyes now,

I can still hear your footsteps on the path.                                     

 

  Jessica Syme 2/1/2006