[caption id="attachment_50887" align="aligncenter" width="1024"]<img class="wp-image-50887 size-large" src="https://theenterprise.net/wp-content/uploads/sites/23/2021/03/PatPio-2-1024x446.jpg" alt="" width="1024" height="446" /> Rolling Green Hills of Daniel O’Mara[/caption] Daniel O’Mara By Beverly Belcher Woody In honor of St. Patrick’s Day, we remember one of Patrick County’s very own Irishmen, Daniel O’Mara. My grandmother was born in 1918 at the “O’Mara Place” as it was commonly known. I was always curious as to how that name came about. Our family knew that Mr. O’Mara was born in Ireland, but that was about all. Fortunately, Mr. James Henry “Squire” Dillon knew Mr. O’Mara and recalled how the Irishman came to America. Daniel O’Mara was born in 1828 in Limerick, Ireland; his parents were John and Nora O’Mara. When Mr. O’Mara was sixteen years old, he purchased his first box of matches. He was amazed at the thought of carrying fire in his pocket; yet he was skeptical that the matches would produce an actual flame. As he was walking home, he passed a man and team of horses pulling a load of straw. Mr. O’Mara, being young and impetuous, struck a match and stuck it to the straw. To his horror, the straw was immediately engulfed in flames. The teamster jumped from the wagon, the wagon overturned, and the horses perished with the wagon. Mr. O’Mara escaped to the nearest seaport and stowed away on the Jane Black, not knowing where the vessel was bound. He remained hidden for three days and nights, with no food or water. A sailor finally discovered him, and he was taken before the captain of the ship. Luckily, Mr. O’Mara did not have to “walk the plank.” The captain gave him some food and water and put him to work. Fortunately for Mr. O’Mara, the Jane Black was bound for New York, where two of his aunts resided. On May 2, 1844, he arrived in the city, where he found his aunts and a job. Mr. O’Mara lived in New York City for a couple of years, working and saving his money. When he had earned enough capital, he left the city to purchase a farm of his own. He traveled through Pennsylvania, Maryland, West Virginia, and Virginia along the Great Wagon Road. When Mr. O’Mara discovered the lush, green, rolling fields of the Ballard (Mountain View) community, he knew that he was home. One has to think that Mr. O’Mara was reminded of the Emerald Isle when he discovered this beautiful area. On May 28, 1857, Mr. O’Mara married Miss Leona Wickham of Floyd County. The young couple had a son and a daughter before war broke out in 1861. Mr. O’Mara served in the 54th Virginia Infantry, Company A during the conflict. Fortunately, he survived and returned home to his wife and little family. In a little over a decade, the O’Mara’s had five more daughters and three more sons! The oldest son, John Robert, remained at Mountain View with his parents and worked on the farm. The other children married into local families, but Susannah was the only child besides John Robert that remained in Patrick County. Susannah Nora O’Mara married Charles Buck Clifton, the blacksmith and Vesta postmaster. Judia, James, Margaret, Leonia, Joseph and their spouses all migrated to Indianapolis, Indiana. Daniel Jr. moved to New Orleans, Louisiana and Sarah and Mary wound up in Los Angeles, California! Mr. O’Mara was instrumental in helping start the Mountain View United Methodist church. The timber from his property was used to build the place of worship. Leona Wickham O’Mara passed away in 1887, leaving Mr. O’Mara and John Robert alone. Mr. O’Mara passed away in 1894 and son John Robert died the following year. All three of the O’Mara’s now rest peacefully in the Mountain View cemetery, high on the ridge overlooking their farm. “Shall I climb the rolling hills, of Irish country sides, where as a child, I found a peace, that let the time slip by. And shamrock green is blessed by God, the finest green on Earth, no other green for these fair hills, no other green by birth. Wait for me, blessed hills, though time shall pass us by, I long to see your Irish face, I long to say good-bye.” From the Irish American poet, Lynn Brown. (Thank you to Shirlien Belcher, Mary Osborne, and Matt Hubbard for contributions to this article. Woody may be reached at <a href="mailto:rockcastlecreek1@gmail.com">rockcastlecreek1@gmail.com</a>.)
