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“Know from whence you came. If you whence you came, there are absolutely no limitation to where you can go". -James Baldwin

Life is about forging a path you did not know was there. You know the current path, it is secure and sure but something in you, something in me knows that another path lies before us. This new path, the unknown and, usually life-giving path is different and scary. It is also exciting and full of surprises.

Time is fast. Faster than it ever used to be. I am living not just in my experiences of today, but also the memories I of have of each season. It is a woven tapestry of color, texture and dimension illustrating life and memory. It represents my own growing up memories, parenting memories, words, images, and stories swirling through my heart and soul. It reminds me of who I am and shows me where I come from. Tells me where I am home.

I am the family archivist. I have thousands of photos on my computer and more in photo albums. I pour through boxes and albums my mom has, copying and scanning, even more to discover. I am reminded of times forgotten and discovering the unknown. I am seeing things again for the first time, and I am feeling and thinking about times gone by. There is a picture of my whole family together just before my brother Seth got married, we are all adults and have gathered at the farm. Mom and Dad are sitting at an outdoor table. They are looking through a photo album. I am laughing. They are laughing. My three brothers are also in the picture leaning in to look at what picture is so funny. They too are laughing. Faces shining with glee at the memory, while creating new ones.

There is another picture of my brothers and me. We are in Tobermory, Canada and “captain” hats were purchased for us. It was 1982 and I was twelve. This is one of the only pictures where all four of us are smiling at the same time. Last month my ten-year-old niece was visiting and saw that I still had that hat hanging on a wall of memories and art. “How” she asked, “can you possibly still have that?” Good question my dear, good question.

I have every journal I have ever written in since I began keeping one at age 11. They remind me where I come from. They provide substance and form of the tapestry of my life. My teenage drama, self-righteous young adult hood, heartbreaks, and parenting. I find in my own words that I come from stories and events written down years ago. I come from yarn and leather and potted plants. I come from affection and dry humor. I come from education and writing, and critical thinking. I come from a messy house full of toys, crafts, creativity, and boys. I am the oldest of 4 and the only girl. I come from quiet respect. I come from social justice, protecting the vulnerable, and ponderous thinking. These roots are steppingstones, jumping off points for narratives, relationships, education, love, and struggles.

I wrote my first poem in kindergarten:

A Table

A Label

A Wood

The teachers published all of our poems into a mimeographed booklet for the parents. I wrote lots of terrible creative stories as a child. In high school I got more serious about writing due to an amazing 10th grade English teacher who taught me to edit and not doubt myself. Academic and creative writing came easy to me in those days. I have always loved reading. The story is so much bigger than this. Story is what makes cultures and religions. Stories tell our biggest fears and bravest moments. People love to tell their stories. Woven stories of home, stories of food, holidays, and the street where we lived. Stories that make you cry and make you laugh. Remember when…. did you hear…..

Stories are my journey leading to detours and up mountains, years in valleys, and back again. Together they tell the story of who I am. They tell the story from whence I come.

1997 was the year my parents bought “Two Feathers Farm” in Pike Co. Ohio. 50 acres of rolling hills, golden, almost purple in the setting sun. Fifty acres of woods. There are Sycamores, maples, wild growing things of all kinds. Mom was fifty-one. I am fifty-three now. My first trip there I knew I’d come home. As I drive through Ohio, I can feel and know in my bones and blood that this land is where I am from. I see the winter landscape- leafless trees, brown hills, the subtle shapes of the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, the bird nests now visible in the naked trees. I know this place. I will always know this place. It runs through my body and my soul. It is from where I come and to where I return. This is where my heart feels most at peace.