Where I'm From

This excercise has been haunting my dreams ever since I read Jett Superior's stellar version a while back. When I stumbled across Schmutzie's this moning, I knew it was time.

So here's mine.

I am from bikes, from Burton, and from so. much. sky.

I am from windraked grass and jutting limestone and soft, flaky shale and clay valleys slaking away into a wide calm river. I am from Chinook arches and a big wind that blows life and death over the foothills onto the Prairie.

I am from raucous family reunions and stolid practicality, from Hildebjorgs and Kvellos and McKenzies.

I am from the storm and the calm. From Wind'll Change and Your Face Will Stay That Way; from Books Are Awesome.

I am from the CathoLutherProdeUniWhatever, pretty much in generational order.

I am from a small town clinging to the edge of a fjord, from a green island I have never seen, from the deep forsests and open plains of a new world.  From lefse and lutefisk and Yorkshire pudding.

I am from the ones who came North trapping and hunting horse thieves; from those who rode days in bumpy carts to break an ancient Prairie. I am from workworn bodies and beautiful eyes.

I am from a simple writing desk crammed with journals going back a hundred or so years. I am from a big kitchen and lots of hands to help with the work. I am from big hugs and fierce love and workparties and feeding people too much. I am from who came before and who comes after. I am from laughter and anger and denial and acceptance and family and grace. So much grace.