Where I’m From
by Ann Kroeker
I am from the persimmon tree, ripe fruit dropping, splitting, squishing soft into the grassy lawn below. I am from sweet-spring lilac and lily-of-the-valley. I am from clover and crown vetch, hollyhocks and honeysuckle, peonies and pansies.
I am from soybean and corn fields, hay and straw, and Black Angus cattle grazing in the pond field.
Our 30 acres held barn swallows, snapping turtles, red-winged blackbirds, and the lanky black-and-yellow garden spider poised in the center of a stringy orb made of dewy threads stretching from the flaking boards of the tool shed to the old red gas tank used to fuel the 8N tractor.
I am from Dick and Lynn, editors who carried home the scent of newsprint and ink in their hair and clothes. Their book collection lined the walls of every room in the house, and I am from those classics, mysteries, westerns, and biographies. I am from my brother’s comic book and insect collections, “The Maple Leaf Rag” he played on the chipped keys of our family piano, and his Beatles albums that spun on the stereo console.
Barbies and Breyer Horses, Operation and Life, Pong and Pacman; “Scooby-Doo,” “Gilligan’s Island” and “The Brady Bunch”; I am from board games and early electronics, cartoons and sitcoms. I am from white diaries snapped shut with a metal lock and key; and I am from the library, curled in a corner with Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys.
About a mile from home sits the tiny brick church with tall windows opened on hot summer Sundays to let the breeze blow across Mr. Bowman’s farm field and onto our sweat-glistened faces and necks. I stood among neighboring farmers holding worn hymnals, singing “In the Garden” and “Trust and Obey.” I am from those dark wooden pews and the coins and bills jangling in the offering plate. I am from the two-digit numbers slid into the display board listing the previous week’s attendance.
Squeezed between my dad and brother on the bench seat of the old red GMC truck, straddling the stick shift mounted to the floor board, I rode to the Belleville diner for giant tenderloin sandwiches, all-you-can-eat catfish, or Beef Manhattan topped with mashed potatoes and gravy. Dad would sing sometimes, songs from his childhood, like “Indian Love Call,” imitating Jeanette MacDonald in a falsetto voice, and “Down by the Old Mill Stream,” encouraging us to join in the chorus.
I am from track meets, softball games, and the woodwind section of the high school band. I am from the bedroom with yellow-flowered wallpaper and two windows overlooking the lilacs where a mockingbird perched to serenade. I am from Dairy Queen Dilly Bars and Dr Pepper chilled in a glass bottle.
I am from simpler, slower times, riding barefoot down the tar and gravel country road to the creek on a banana seat blue Schwinn, wearing ponytails and secondhand T-shirts and shorts. I would wade into the creek and dig for clay to make coil pots that would dry in the sun. I would skip rocks and watch minnows the color of silt or moss slip past my ankles faster than I could catch them.
I am from long summer days. When the sun sank low, I would pedal home for fresh-sliced tomatoes straight from the garden, still sun-warm, served with crisp, sugar-sweet corn on the cob, slathered with butter and coated with salt.
I am intrigued, and have become semi-addicted to writing prompts (not to mention photography prompts.). However, where I am from is daunting, my version might not be so pretty and scenic. It won’t be comfortable and inspirational, I fear. So I am going to ponder this, maybe write it and tweek it.
Maybe I’ll join, I just don’t want to smudge the beautiful view that has already been given.
Blessings,
Andrea
Andrea, I hear what you’re saying. But those need to be told, as well, both for the writer and perhaps for the audience…someone may need to see that we don’t all come from lilacs and minnows.
And, as Charity hints at below, I could write a completely different version of this.
I chose to focus on snapshots that created this “feel.” And sometimes I wonder if that’s what I chose as a child to focus on, as well, to tune out some of the harder parts? Maybe I’m still doing that…
Ann – This turned out beautifully! I am so glad I was sitting across from you as the idea emerged. As I read Andrea’s reply above, I was thinking about how many versions each of us could write to this prompt. I am from a very similar place as you. And yet, I am also from a very different place. I would love to follow this prompt myself. Need to, in fact.
Charity, thank you for stopping by! Yes, you are right. I could write a completely different version. If you see what I replied to Andrea, you’ll see me processing my choices a little bit.
I already feel like I know you better.
It’s a much more romantic way of saying, “I grew up on a small Midwestern farm.”
Hi Ann! How sweet and lovely. Just delightful.
I’d never considered publishing a post as a draft to continue tweaking, but what a great idea. It will be fun for you to link back to it from time to time.
Charity was kind enough to choose my blog for her visit. I need to follow y’all’s examples and participate – though I might be a day late. No surprises there. I seem to always be tagging along behind the rest.
Patricia, I’m so interested in bokeh, and loved how Charity was inspired to write something so personal in respond to your post. Also, I’m sure Charity will be delighted for you to link up whenever you can handle it! 🙂
Love it!
Mary
Mary! So fun to see you here! Thanks for taking time to comment on this post–God bless your running, cooking, parenting and writing.
This is beautiful, Ann! I feel like I really got a picture of where you’re from and what molded you as a child. And I really love this idea of There & Back Again! I hadn’t heard of it, and I have struggled for ways to get more involved in THC community. 🙂 Thanks for the link love, and I will be on the lookout for someone to pass it forward to.
Thank you so much, Melissa. I loved how you handled your version of Where I’m From.
Also, it would be fun to see more people interacting in the TheHighCalling network and writing in response as part of There and Back Again (or just for fun anytime).
Have a great weekend!
Ooooh, what an enchanting essay you’ve written! Delightful!
Linda
Ah, I hadn’t thought about this being memoir-ish, but here you are and of course I begin to think that way when I see your name appear! 🙂
Thank you for this note–you encourage!
Ann your version is so wonderful. I was nodding my head along the way – this could have been my own story of growing up in the Midwest. Thanks for the beautiful perspective on our era!
I love this….since we grew up in the same town and all.
The track team part made me smile. I am from the same track team where our coach said I should run more like you, no worry that you were like 8 inches taller! 🙂
It’s a great piece.
You can see it all, too, Teresa! And Coach G…I saw him in April. He’s exactly the same. Exactly.
Ann,
I loved this sensory trip down memory lane with you…I remember the Brady Bunch and that game, Operation…Thanks for taking me along with you.