I left Ireland in 1890, driven by the enduring blight of the potato famines and the harsh realities of English landlordism, which offered no future. America promised opportunity, a chance for a better life I could not find at home. I scraped together my fare and made the long journey across the Atlantic. Now, I work on the sprawling farms of the American Midwest, clearing land and harvesting wheat. The work is brutal, sunup to sundown, and the pay low, but it exceeds what I could earn back home. I share a simple bunkhouse with other immigrants, saving diligently. My hope is to eventually buy land or bring my family to this new land of promise.